"Zaman sana uymazsa sen zamana uy."


Al-Hattaal had not expected that this shaggy, two-toned breeder would know anything about where his sister had gone, but to hear his suspicion confirmed aloud was depressing all the same. Perhaps this journey had been made in vain—that Seher was nowhere close to here and he had abandoned his herd for nothing more than a fantasy. He sighed heavily, his breath unfurling from his flared nostrils, visible in the chilled air of this tundra.

And then came Avangeline’s velvet-soft muzzle upon his shoulder, rather unexpectedly, and he tilted his nose in her direction; there was a certain degree of disbelief in his eyes that she had actually touched him in such a tender way (as brief and seemingly innocent as it was). In his gut something panged sharply, like a volcanic stone, and Al-Hattaal felt desire and shame twisting together deep inside of him.

In the sky, the sun glowed hot and moon’s dappled surface lingered despite the blue sky of the day. Iç and Uzay laughed at him and his slender ears rang. It is only the shaggy stallion’s follow up question that silenced his own tumultuous consciousness.

“She is white as the clouds on windless day,” he began, not knowing how else to describe his reverent sister to a complete stranger. “Seher is her name.”

Al-Hattaal felt odd speaking her name out loud and paused afterward, feeling as though he had said too much, despite his barely adequate detailing of a mare he had known his entire waking life. In his gut the hot feeling intensified, and he desperately wished it would go away.