Ever alert, El Aran noticed her son almost as soon as he topped the ridge of the dune on the edge of the oasis. The black mare turned her head and pointed her ears at the lone stallion. She stood still and breathed in short, shallow breaths as she counted the seconds it would take for the Arabian to crest the dune and stand beside Orhan, waiting to see the hated dished face of her enemy as her son defied her for a second time in the space of a day.

At the end of an eternity, Orhan came down the dune alone. El Aran allowed herself to draw in a deep breath and fill her lungs to capacity as she watched her son close the distance between them. His sun-bleached coat and silvered hair reminded the black mare of Orhan’s father, but the general bearing of the buckskin stallion she had borne within her womb reminded El Aran of the horse she saw reflected in the pool at her feet. Orhan had never met his sire. Only she had influenced his upbringing, and today the seer regretted it. Only because I have failed, she thought as her son stepped into the oasis.

El Aran’s gaze flicked back up the dune following Orhan’s deadpan report to confirm for herself that it was true. For all she knew, the Arabian lingered on the far side of the dune, protected from the seer by a wall of sand and Orhan’s trust —however thin that thread might currently be stretched— that El Aran would not go scour the territory to ensure that the enemy had indeed departed. She kept one ear trained on her son as she surveyed the top of the dune, wondering if perhaps she should climb the hill of sand to see for herself whether or not the Arabian was truly gone when he spoke again. His words rattled against her ears like stones.

The black mare turned her head slowly to stare at Orhan. Her gut felt tight, as if it had twisted within her belly, and she shifted her hind legs in an attempt to ease the abrupt ache in her belly. That was the worst sign— that sharp pain had always preceded an ambush, as if her body was aware of impending danger before El Aran herself was conscious of it. Danger, her gut cried, but all of her focus was on her son and the line he had crossed.

"Is this how you show gratitude?” El Aran spoke slowly at first, as much to conceal the strain in her voice as to make sure she enunciated each word carefully, but soon her words picked up both speed and heat. “After all I have done to protect you and this land— what did that orospu say to you, to turn your head so upside down?" Her ears tipped down and she lifted her chin. “Or do you have some delusion that she’ll carry your sons and daughters for you, and this little show of impetuousness is driven by desire?”

Despite her rising fury, El Aran’s gut continued to clench while the muscles in her legs began to spasm in a familiar but uncontrollable fit of trembling. It had never occurred to her that her son might be the enemy, but here she stood, filled the brim with an unholy mix of adrenaline and anxiety as her own son told her she was no longer welcome in the Desert she had called home for over a decade.