He grew stronger with each passing day, though his progression felt as slow as a lame tortoise. Occasionally he ate and drank, but most of Orhan’s time was spent reclining beside the calm waters of the oasis, letting the heat of the sun fill him with strength, or – when he got too warm – laying flat on his side in the shade, dreaming of vast, snowy landscapes where his winter coat was a boon rather than a hindrance. Meanwhile, his fever raged on, blurring the lines between unconsciousness and reality. He had never known it was possible to feel so broken, and was grateful when sleep took him, for it meant at least that he was free from hurt for a while.

Then, one day his fever broke, and the young stallion sat up with dark eyes wide, as if he had forgotten where he was. The oasis stretched before him, a vast pool framed by lush green and drooping trees, and it had never looked so tantalizing. That day he ate and drank until his belly felt ripe enough to burst, before reclining once more upon the soft sand and promptly falling asleep until the next afternoon.

Then began the itching. It prevented him from sleeping for more than half an hour at a time, so great was its infuriating tickle. Most of the time Orhan was too tired to move, but when the itching grew too persistent to ignore, he rose and rubbed furiously against the jagged rocky outcrop that overlooked the oasis. His thick winter coat, gold as the sand he stood on, began falling out in patches, revealing the sleek buttermilk hair beneath. Once he realized exactly what was happening, the young stallion never hesitated to rub as soon as he felt an itch coming on, fully intending to help himself speed his way through this uncomfortable yet necessary metamorphosis.

He was still itchy the day he caught the scent on a dry breeze. Immediately his eyes went to his mother, expecting to see her alert and testing the air, but when he realized this was the perfect opportunity to fall back into the swing of things, the skinny young stallion stumbled to his feet and barrelled over a nearby dune without a second look at El Aran. His head swam and his limbs trembled from the sudden exertion, but he looked on with tail flagged and head high, watching the figure of a red horse travelling nearer and nearer. His heart began thumping hard.

He trotted down to meet the mare, ears pinned against his crest and body stiff, unconsciously favoring the hind leg with the long scab that looked like a fork of red lightning. “State your business, if you would.”