Hatred filled her heart near to bursting, and each pump of it sent waves of dizzying energy through her black limbs. It was so like a Purebred to mouth a platitude at her. He was calm, seemingly unconcerned at the rage that showed in her pinned ears and rolling eyes, and El Aran knew that beneath her fury was a cold, solid terror. If she gave way to it, acknowledged it, it would destroy her. That was how Akhal-Tekes worked: through subversive, cunning little tactics such as his unexpected calm to undermine the confidence of their enemies.

And Orhan had done nothing to drive him away.

Disappointment in her son welled within the black mare and her ears flickered up for a moment at the sound of his voice. His question took precedence over the mundane statements the bay Purebred had uttered —she did not know his brother, nor did she care to— and she pinned her ears again but did not spare a glance for her pale son behind her as she replied shortly, "Yok." El Aran’s dark eyes never left the Akhal-Teke's skinny face and shimmering body, alert for any signs of physical retaliation.

Hadn’t she taught her son that pure blooded horses were evil, creatures to be met with suspicion and distrust and driven from the Desert immediately? She now saw that going to the Crossing had been a mistake for more than one reason. "You, and your brother, are not welcome here. Get out!" The seer reinforced her words by stepping forward and kicking forward at the stallion, her hoof aimed at his knees and her slightly dished head held high to avoid any retaliation.

El Aran knew Orhan would be no help to her now, and she put him from her mind to focus exclusively on the Akhal-Teke. She was done with words, and if he did not move now to leave, she would set herself upon him with all the fury and hatred she had learned to survive with in her homeland— before her adrenaline left her shaking and helpless to defend either her land or herself.