Orhan had been exceedingly kind to him. Moreso than he had ever expected. From time to time, he heard the stallion’s voice over the sand, conversing with his mares or his son about everything from the weather to other recent happenings. Yusuf did not have the courage to approach him, nor did he want to bother any of the mares. He assumed they would be horribly distraught by his presence and would rather not speak with someone as pathetic as he.

He often thought of Ava, and how she had proven she was the exception to that rule, but he hadn’t heard her voice in many, many months. And even if he did deign to approach her, he didn’t want Orhan to think he was doing anything underhanded to try and steal her away from him. The dark brown stallion did not have the capacity to do such a thing.

So he kept to himself, occasionally making his way to the oasis to eat and drink what little sustenance he needed to keep himself alive, and then he would retreat to a distant patch of sand to think—and sometimes dream.

Yusuf’s dreams were exceptionally vivid. Wrought with color, light and sound that twisted together as one soul, he felt these dreams as he felt reality. Hot, cold, wet, dry, gritty and smooth. They touched him in ways that no one ever had; only when he awoke did these sensations separate into singularities.

His thoughts were as dark as the new moon—endless and enigmatic. He often felt as though someone was always at his heels, following him with a scythe and waiting for him to stumble and fall. It was a doomed feeling that he could not shake, save for in his dreams.

Oh how he wished he might lie down and never wake up again.


-yusuf