When the Akhal-Teke surged forward, El Aran felt sand sting her face as she lunged for his shoulder with her teeth, thinking he meant to attack. But the stallion galloped past them and the black mare did not think he fled. She turned her body as he passed, pivoting in a half-rear to keep him in sight, and lifted her ears enough to hear his voice as he called down to her. Hiding? El Aran was hiding nothing but her growing terror and panic, and the rising fear that others would follow the slender, shining bay who topped a dune of her home with so much authority. A second war was coming: her interlude on the Crossing had proved that, where she had seen the harbinger of death.

The Purebred’s words did nothing more than remind El Aran that her body was fighting a losing battle against her mind, and it was with great relief that she watched her foe disappear at a run into the distance. Only then did she turn her attention to her son as her trembling was steadied by the steady burn of her anger.

Orhan ran away.

The seer stared after her pale buckskin son in disbelief, because he did not charge after the intruder to be certain that the Akhal-Teke truly left their territory (instead of hiding just out of sight behind the mountainous dunes in the distance, or tok refuge at one of the smaller oases), but instead ran in the opposite direction where he could not possibly be of any use to her or the herd.

Her fury faded, spilled out of her as if she held too much water in her mouth and it dribbled in a wet sheet from between her teeth. El Aran knew it was up to her to follow their enemy and be certain that he was gone from their borders, but as she took a step to follow the Akhal-Teke her legs betrayed her. One knee buckled and she stopped to brace herself against the sand. Weariness fell over her, heavy and unrelenting, in the absence of her adrenaline and the emotions that energized her.

The black mare turned toward the main oasis and made her way to the supposed safety of the pool and trees and shade and herd that waited there. Each step was harder than the last but she made it, fueling herself with promises that tomorrow, as soon as she woke, she would travel to the smaller oases in their land and check for signs of inhabitation. Orhan was gone: whether or not he was returning did not matter at the moment, the black mare thought coldly as she half-collapsed against the sheer rock that bordered one end of the oasis. he folded her knees and curled her legs under her and rested her back against the natural structure. At least she could sleep knowing her back was protected. It was clear that the safety of the Desert and its herd fell on El Aran’s shoulders, and not those of her son’s. She would have to speak to Vesti as soon as she was done checking the far oases. El Aran rested her nose by her knee, intending to stay awake long enough to order her thoughts and prepare for the morrow, but was sucked almost immediately into the dark depths of sleep.