Fat drops of rain tumbled from the edges of the water-laden palm fronds overhead, splattering onto Orhan’s nose. He blew out of his nostrils and retreated a little further into the tree’s sparse shelter, until the rough bark of its trunk rubbed against the dampness of his sides. Before him, the oasis swelled with more water than it had known in months, its surface rippling and dancing in the onslaught of the rainstorm. Orhan’s brown eyes rolled upwards to study the heavens, where thick grey clouds concealed any trace of sky or sun. Some may have found this weather miserable, but the stallion rejoiced in it. Rain meant another year of survival; it meant new grasses, new life, new hope. It brought with it cooler temperatures and eased worries.

This was winter in the desert. It may not have been as ethereal and otherworldly as a landscape blanketed in pristine snow, but it had its own charms. It was a breath of fresh air. The real trouble came when their bountiful water supply became a flood, or the constant humidity and wetness caused rain rot among the inhabitants, but Orhan had not seen or suffered from these ailments in some time.

His body was grateful for the cool shower, having just completed a brisk and strenuous patrol of his borders. Orhan did not spend nearly so much time patrolling as he once had, and when he did commit to it he often rushed so that he could get back to the oasis and his herd as quickly as possible. This was not out of complacency, however; rather, since multiple foals had graced the sands of his home, he felt anxious when he was away from them, as though he could protect them better when he was nearby than when he was off on the horizon looking for unseen threats.

His muscles ached from the exercise, but the rain was like a delicate massage and it made him sleepy. Hanging his head, the stallion cocked a leg and let his eyes droop half-closed. Today had been uneventful; he could afford to let his guard down.