"Valve," he calls out softly, his deep voice skimming over the moon-illuminated sands, leading him up the slope of the dune the black mare tops. He flicks sand off one hoof and walks beside her. "There is something we should discuss." Recently, he has visited their neighbors in the desert and learned of the family there. It is a tiny herd seeming only to consist of the band stallion, a band mare, and two children. He would like to know more about all of them, especially Orhan. Gabbar has had little interaction with other stallions and longs for brotherhood, for that natural feeling of companionship he has ben unable to relax into with any of the mares.

"Do you know anything of the Desert herd?" he asks, looking from the distant territory to Valve. "They seem peaceful, if wary. I do not think they will be a threat to us." This is his initial impression. Given how long the two herds have lived in proximity with no contact, also, the Arabian believes it will take provocation to elicit violence from the Desert— that is, it seems unlikely Orhan or his herd would initiate an assault on the Dunes. "However," he continues, fully aware that he knows little of their neighbors, "It would be wise to declare where we stand with them, at least between ourselves."

Easiest would be to continue along the metaphorical path they walk now and declare nothing, depending upon history to ensure a future of little to no contact with the neighboring herd. Easiest is also stupidest. Gabbar turns his gaze to the darkness cast by his dunes, deep shadows falling down the far side of each hill, as he considers their other options. When the doubting voice against Valve tries to snake into his thoughts, he dismisses it with a quick head toss and returns his attention to her. He knows her. That is what he trusts. And so he waits with patience to hear her thoughts on this situation.