At first, Orhan followed the trail his mother had left in the sand with his heart in his mouth and his eyes looking ahead. But as he travelled, and the scream of rage and adrenaline in his blood cooled to a dull roar, his thoughts turned inward, and his eyes dropped to the ground.
His mind was in pieces, and grief sat heavy in his throat. Fragments of their argument replayed in his head, over and over, until he wanted to scream. Yet he held himself together as best he could, knowing that this short time before he reached the oasis was all the time he had before he confronted his mother again. With effort, he attempted to concentrate the maelstrom of his thoughts into something resembling order. He pushed what had just happened to the recesses of his mind, and focused instead of what he would say to El Aran when he caught up with her.
Yet when he crested the last dune and looked down at the familiar black silhouette standing against the grey-green waters of the oasis, it all fell away like bones crumbling into dust.
Perched there on the high sands, he hesitated and fought against the wave of terror threatening to consume him. Tears pricked at the corners of his bloodshot eyes as he did his best to arrange his face into a hard mask. Then an arid breeze came along and pulled at the thick locks of his mane; he closed his eyes momentarily to enjoy it, to let it calm him, and inhaled deeply. It helped.
Then he descended.
She is gone, he announced in a monotone grumble as he strode up to his mother on her left side, leaving a stone's-throw of space between them. He stood tall and still, and let the silence grow before speaking again.
I want you out.
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