While Shaydowfax no doubt thought she was being helpful, it had dawned on Naz rather quickly that the two of them, strangers conversing in the valley of dunes, were polar opposites. Again, the marwari found herself shaking her head, her face creasing in concern for a moment. There was no doubt that Kahraman would be on the lookout for rogue Trackers sent by his father, but Naz would prefer if her own presence on the Isles was kept from him. After all, it would be a pain if he were to bolt, and she was rather keen to return to her King with good news. “That would be ill-advised. The stallion is a traitor to his own kin,” Naz shifted, the muscles in her shoulders tensing briefly as she recalled his desperate flight from their desert, far across the sea. “I could not be certain that he wouldn’t try to harm you, if he were to suspect for even a moment, that you and I were acquainted. There is no love lost between the Prince and I.”
Naz relaxed then, the tightness fading from her body. She shifted in the sand again, stretching, uncoiling herself, shaking all remnants of anxiety from her. It would be fine. The marwari mare would find the akhal-teke stallion, and do as her King had commanded. Even if he was alerted to her presence here somehow, she would not quickly give up the chase. Her curled ears turned forwards as Shaydowfax spoke again, and those bright golden eyes flicked back to the buckskin mare’s face with veiled interest when she spoke about pride. That Shaydowfax seemed to associate it with stallions was very intriguing indeed. After all, the marwari herself expressed such a narrow-minded opinion. Emotion and motivation were universal. It mattered not whether one was male or female. Naz bit down on her tongue, forcing silence upon them, waiting for Shaydowfax to fill it. And fill it, she did.
Some part of Naz was extremely disappointed. But a more prominent part of her burned hot with a myriad of emotions. This particular distillation was a rather potent mix. Anger. Desire. Exhilaration. Pride, too, though this Naz held firmly in check. Even when among those she knew well, Naz was always careful to consider what her actions said of her. In the marwari’s eyes, Shaydowfax was weak in that moment because she allowed her pride to control her mouth, instead of allowing wisdom to shape her words into something more diplomatic, something that was expected of all those reigning with titles in her homeland.
“Do you even hear what you are saying? Every word you speak paints you a hypocrite. You have the gall to tell me to heed your advice when twice you have rudely rejected that which was offered you in an attempt at peace, as if what I say means nothing, and you know far more than I,” Naz replied firmly, one ear, and then the other, turning back. “To insult a newcomer to your land in such a manner, when you have no idea what I am capable of, is very foolish indeed. I meant no harm by my words, nor did I single you out.” A hint of anger laced the marwari’s words now. She had been slighted twice now, and the buckskin mare’s lack of respect –that impetuous stomp of her hoof – had set them on this path. Naz saw from a distance, in her mind’s eye, where that path would lead, but there was no foretelling the outcome.
She barked out a peal of laughter, thoroughly amused. “Oh, Shaydowfax, you really have no idea, do you?” Naz straightened, her ears pinned, and she retreated a few steps, lifting her muzzle, bold and unafraid. The marwari mare certainly wouldn’t strike out at the pregnant buckskin, but if Shaydowfax moved to attack her, Naz would be swift and vicious in her retaliation, not hesitating to defend herself. “You think you know these lands? You find them enjoyable? Let me tell you something that a measly six months here would not have taught you, no matter how superior you think you are to me. All deserts are constantly changing, and you can never be sure of them, never know them. The days are blisteringly hot, and the nights are frigidly cold. Flashfloods can wipe out entire herds as can seasons of drought. The desert is many things, interloper, but ‘enjoyable’ is not one of them.”
Naz snorted sharply, her whole body coiled, ready to spring into action the moment it was required. But she did made no advancement towards Shaydowfax, nor did she turn from her to run. The Hunt and her Quarry were cast aside, and in this moment, her distant King held no sway over her. Naz had claimed earlier in the conversation that she had been loyal to him, but above all things, she was loyal to herself, and right now, she was incensed, and driven by passionate fury. True it may be that Naz was at all times like a handful of glowing embers – biding their time and capable of mass destruction, but Shaydowfax had through her actions and treatment of Naz fanned those sparks of fire into flames. The marwari pawed at the sand with a forehoof, sending a spray of granules into the air. Her chest heaved, and she trembled, her golden eyes darkening with anger.
Highly-strung, that’s what the King had said she was. That was what had drawn him to Naz in the first place, what had led him to spare her. But he had trained her to control her pride, shown her the value of wisdom and humility, taught her to respect such things. Looking upon Shaydowfax now, Naz saw neither of these qualities in Shaydowfax, who had, not once but twice thrown her attempts to be helpful back in her face. Naz would not stand for such treatment, nor did it sit well with her that such an individual held dominion over these rippling dunes of sand. “That’s the only sensible thing that you’ve just said,” the marwari continued sharply. “You are not from the desert and you do not belong here.” Naz’s ears remained tightly pinned and she lowered her head now, weaving her neck through the air, snake-like.
“No matter how long you pretend, it does not change who you are. Go, leave. This place is not meant for you. You are built to live among mountains and along ridges.” Naz’s words are sharp, cutting, a clear warning. Her mouth gapes, and she bares her teeth, but still she does not strike first. “You are a fool to stay here, to think you can survive, especially in your current state. I am not surprised there are so few here, you are a weak leader, living with your head in the clouds, quick to dismiss the idea that someone may know more than you. From your own mouth the truth comes out. You are only here because it was conveniently empty. A short-sighted decision made in haste. And you proudly lay claim upon it as if you earned the right to be here. This is folly.” Naz ceased in her movement, fell still and quiet as she fixed her eyes upon Shaydowfax.
“All deserts are sacred to my kind, and you… You are empty of wisdom and humility, you are slave to pride. To me you are unworthy of leadership of these lands.” With that said, Naz turned nimbly and swiftly scaled the nearest dune, muscles working hard to pull her up the incline. On the crest of it, she turned and looked down on Shaydowfax. “There is nothing you can say that will convince me that I am wrong about you. Your callous attitude towards me, and your flippant attitude towards these Dunes condemned you to this fate. I will be back, mark my words, and then we shall see if you are as great a leader as you think you are, Queen.” And then the marwari took off, sliding down the opposite side of the ridge of sand, and picking up a quick pace, heading along the route she had entered this land by, all the way to the sea. If Shaydowfax attempted to pursue her, it wouldn’t cause Naz any alarm. She was confident that she could outrun the pregnant buckskin mare, and clearly did not view her as much of a threat. Every movement was purposeful, powerful and graceful. She was built for lands like this. It was in her blood, her bones, her very soul.
And no outsider would ever understand this connection, between desert horses and their deserts.