Orhan lay poised on the threshold of sleep for a short time, his mind too active to allow him any deeper rest. Thus, when a gentle whicker reached him, it was with little effort that he bestirred himself from his doze. Lifting his head and pricking his black-tipped ears, he met the eyes of a grey mare he did not recognize. She stood proudly at the base of his incline, cutting a striking figure against the gold of the sand, though her stance was not aggressive: only curious, and confident.
"Merhaba," she said, and to his surprise, Orhan realized he could understand her. Though he could barely string a sentence of El Aran's mother tongue together nowadays, all he had learned from her still sat dormant in his mind, simply waiting to be awoken. Before he could gather his wits and respond, however, the mare continued, switching to the common language of the islands. It was then, as the angle of her head caught the light of the sun, that he realized exactly what he was dealing with: an Arabian. Self-consciously he gathered his legs beneath him and rose, not bothering to shake the dusting of sand that clung to his legs and barrel. A mixture of suspicion and excitement battled in his belly, and briefly he wondered if this mare was a relative of A'idah's. But A'idah did not speak our language, he remembered, a slight crease forming between his eyes.
"Elbette," he finally murmured, and dipped his head to the mare in a belated greeting. "I am sorry, you caught me off-guard. Have you come far?" From atop his rise, he began to angle his sand-caked body away from the stranger, indicating that she should follow him.
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