After Maslakhat had led the Arabians back to the Dunes, he honored their request for space dutifully. He had no reason to keep an eye on them, as they were both more than capable of handling themselves. In the mean time, the bay stallion had busied himself with the mundane but necessary task of ensuring that the wretched black mare had not tried anything unscrupulous in his brief absence. He wondered if she had caught wind of his acquisition of the Dunes yet, or if perhaps their forthcoming onslaught into her closely guarded realm would prove a more unpleasant surprise than his previous lone intrusion. He grinned at the thought of her dished face ripe with shock, enjoying that he would soon have the chance to prove to her that he was not to be underestimated.

The sun fell in the sky; dusk casting a blood-red glow across the edge of the dunes as the purple-black night encroached steadily upon the land. He trotted along steadily, his long legs sweeping over the sand with swiftness and great endurance. He slowed when he spotted the distinctly Arabian shape of Iftikhar watching from atop a nearby dune.

“Merhaba Iftikhar,” he called to her calmly, waiting for her invitation to come closer before he moved further forward. Maslakhat hoped that perhaps he would get a chance to know Iftikhar well enough that she would work alongside him without resentment. He felt that her trust in him only extended as far as her willingness to listen to El Halin. Thankfully for him, El Halin understood the usefulness of the opportunity they had. It was obvious that they could accomplish much more together—and accomplish it quicker—than they would alone. Maslakhat had no reason to be deceitful, so long as their goals remained similar. And while there was no guarantee they would find what they sought hidden in the rolling, hot sand, they would all be fools not to at least try.


MASLAKHAT
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