The Dunes, Iftikhar finds, are acceptable.

The sand is loose beneath her hooves but she does not sink far. Each step kicks up a cloud of the tiny granules that are soon swept away by the dry wind and the chestnut mare lifts her white legs high as she ascends the steep side of one dune. The land is aptly named, and much of it looks the same. Rolling, sandy dunes make up the majority of the territory although she is certain there must be an oasis tucked away somewhere. Her acknowledgement that the bay breeder cannot possibly be stupid enough to acquire a territory without a source of water or sustenance is begrudging, but she must admit that the ‘Teke has done, as El Halin has said, well.

The High Seer already stands atop the dune that Iftikhar now climbs, her dished face turned toward the east, delicate ears pointed forward and her gaze focused on the distance. “Çabuk olmak,” she calls down to the red mare. “Watch Iç sleep in my stead tonight. We have much to discuss and time is, as you say, precious.”

The two mares left Maslakhat shortly after arriving on Salem, expressing their wish to familiarize themselves with the territory. Unsaid but implied was their additional interest in speaking privately together. On their way through the territory, Iftikhar learned more about the bay breeder they now share a home with and shared with El Halin all she had learned about the customs of the Isles.

Iftikhar crests the dune now and examines the area around them before she settles in beside her High Seer, shoulder to hip, and the two Arabians watch one another’s backs while the sun hangs heavy and fat in the distance like a smoldering coal. Iftikhar faces west, watching it set behind the dunes, and notes how the sand below bleeds red in the dying light.

The chestnut mare shudders her coat at the omen. “Your ‘Teke is smart. I wonder, what does he stand to gain by assisting two Arabian mares?”

“The opportunity to breed with the honorable Iftikhar.”

Iftikhar snakes her head back and snaps at El Halin’s hip, but the gray mare has already swung her hindquarters out of range. Her laughter, soft and low, prevents Iftikhar from following to repeat her strike. The chestnut resumes her position and flattens both ears until she feels the warmth from El Halin’s hip as her High Seer shifts back into place as well.

El Halin bumps her gently. “I jest. Be at ease, Iftikhar; we may be far from home, but things between us have not changed. No. Maslakhat has asked for nothing from you or I. I believe we may take him at his word. Did he not soothe your fears in the Falls?”

“These Isles have strange customs. He could be lying. You know how ‘Tekes are,” Iftikhar says with a toss of her head. Each mare has one ear turned back toward the other and are vigilant as they examine the land below them. Typically there are four horses to share the work of sentries, but they do well enough with two. “Though these dunes do offer excellent vantage points. I can see much from here. There’s a dark patch north west of where we stand; it may be our oasis.”

The red-freckled mare tips her head to rest her lips briefly on Iftikhar’s croup. “I would rather know his movements and intentions personally than learn of them from another. Or would you rather be the surprised victim of any nefarious intentions on his end? Come, Iftikhar, use your head. We are two foreigners in a land that does not realize how backwards it truly is: we do not have power here, you told me yourself. Would you really distance yourself from one who makes sense among these incomprehensible strangers? There are already many obstacles in our path. Our alliance with the ‘Teke need not last forever, only until our job is done. Then we may turn our attention to other priorities before we return home, if necessary.” El Halin lifts her head and exhales abruptly in a low snort. “Of course, any disrespect or deception will be dealt with—”

Iftikhar shifts her weight, restless. “I’ll strike down any kurtçuk —”

“—in due time, Iftikhar.” El Halin leans against the red mare until she stills herself. They share quiet for a time, each mare considering the tasks before them. The sun sinks further and though the air has cooled the sand beneath them still releases the heat of the day. It feels good. Almost like home. “I must leave,” El Halin says into the silence. “Only for a time. But while I am gone it would be good for you to speak with Maslakhat. Perhaps the two of you can explore the Desert together.”

El Halin turns around and stands shoulder to shoulder with her lead mare for a moment longer before she strides forward and begins to descend the dune. She breaks a new trail through the sand that runs parallel to the set of hoofprints each mare made on their ascent.

“El Halin,” Iftikhar says as the gray mare picks up speed. “Drink the wind.”

The High Seer begins to jog, throwing out her right foreleg as soon as she reaches level ground to slip into a steady canter. She heads for the ocean while behind her a lone red mare watches her journey across the sands from the top of a dune.


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IFTIKHAR & EL HALIN
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