Maslakhat walked with her, casually paying the grey mare about as much mind as he thought he should. She called herself Adelaide—Ade for short, she insisted—and the Akhal-Teke quirked a perplexed eye her way when she asked if he had any shorter nicknames. He paused, his lips tightening with thought. In truth, Maslakhat had always been called as such. His name was the only thing he knew his mother gave him, besides his life, and it was never too difficult to pronounce for his kin. However, he was keenly aware of the simple fact that Adelaide was different than he was—she was not an Akhal-Teke, or any sort of desert horse really, and thus it made sense that speaking in the tongue he knew might be difficult for her.

“Truth be told I don’t have any nicknames. Though I suppose you can call me bayim or bay if that’s easier.”

Maslakhat of course preferred his own name, but these titles would do just fine, with the added bonus that Adelaide would seem quite polite in front of the Arabians—never a bad thing when a cultural barrier was concerned.

As they reached the small pool, Maslakhat too decided to quench his thirst. He touched his lips to the water and drank his fill as Adelaide did, and when he was satisfied, he returned his gaze to her dark eyes.

“So now what? Surely you’re here for some reason other than sustenance?”

Or maybe not. Maybe it was that simple.


MASLAKHAT
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