The marwari mare listens as Bahadir stumbles over his words, voice coloured by the pain he feels, and the shame of defeat. She nods sombrely, her sharp eyes softening in empathy. That the Desert Rulers’ enemy had been waiting for them indicated that the attack had been premeditated, and was driven by deep emotions, instigated by malicious intent. “You did well to make it Home,” Naz replied, reassuringly pressing her muzzle to his cheek for a moment. One could never be certain that they’d make it back when facing a formidable enemy, but to have been ambushed in such a manner - to have been disadvantaged the way Bahadir had been... It was a small miracle that he’d managed to make it back to his herd and to her.
If nothing else, Bahadir’s survival spoke volumes for the strength he had within him. Naz could see it now, and she marvelled.
Her demeanour shifted then, becoming serious and steady as she prepared to assist Bahadir in the final stretch of his journey to safety. Nothing more was said to the colt, but his words had Naz snorting softly. Her delicately curved ears slicked back for a moment, clearly expressing her displeasure, but she pressed her velvety lips together and focussed on the white speckled king, leaving the distressed prince to do as he wished. With that, the pair began their slow trek to the oasis, with the young buckskin trailing along with them.
When Bahadir paused at the crest of the dune, whispered his thanks, Naz accepted his gratitude with a gentle inclination of her white muzzle. “You are most welcome,” the marwari murmured. It is clear that Bahadir suffers greatly. His injuries cause him pain, and it distresses Naz that she can do little more than help bear his weight. She doesn’t give any of this away though, and maintains a calm air, knowing that this would serve the situation better, and put Bahadir a little more at ease, and perhaps the troubled younger male.
At the cusp of the oasis, when Bahadir sinks to sprawl in the shade, Naz withholds a sound of distress. They were so close to the cool, life-giving water that sustained the herd that dwelt among the rolling dunes. But Bahadir had done so well to make it this far, and he clearly couldn’t go any further without rest. At least he’d settled in the shade - he’d fare well for a while, and the fears of dehydration wouldn’t be nearly as immediate. Naz hovered over Bahadir’s sleeping form, taking a moment to study his breathing pattern. Satisfied, she raised her head and squinted up at the sun. The bay stallion was sheltered by the palms for now, but as the sun moved, so would Naz, circling around him to shade him from the biting heat with her own shadow.
Words from the colt, who’d been so quiet that Naz had almost forgotten he was nearby, snapped the black and white mare to attention. Swiftly, she turned her head to him, her two-toned gaze settling on the young buckskin’s face. Her curled ears swivelled, catching the emotion behind what he said, feeling the weight of it. She waited for clarification, but none was forthcoming, and Naz decided not to press for more; it was clear the boy was deeply troubled. Now that Bahadir’s safety was no longer at such risk, the fierce desert born mare found herself softening a little towards the colt.
She had not foreseen such an apology, and inwardly chastised herself for this. Though she knew not the colt’s name, it was clear to her who he was. He looked so much like his mother - the only other horse dwelling here that Naz had met. The mare Shaydowfax had fallen short of the marwari’s expectations, and it was not fair of Naz to judge the colt for the actions of his mother. “I too, apologise.” The words were spoken softly, so as not to disturb Bahadir’s slumber, but they were genuine. “And I understand how you feel.” Just as the colt feared for his mother and brother, so Naz had feared for Bahadir, when she’d beheld him staggering in the surf, sea foam tinted pink with his blood.
Now came the clarification, and Naz listened intently. She knew not who this Warsaw was, nor why he and Shaydowfax had clashed in the past. The reasons hardly mattered now. Warsaw had finally triumphed, and his victory was a huge blow for Shaydowfax- costing her very freedom. Internally, she feared more for the dependent colt than Shaydowfax herself, but did not voice this, for she did not wish to burden the buckskin further, nor feed his fears.
“I know it is easy for me to say this, and much harder for you to do,” Naz began gently, hopeful that her change of heart concerning the colt was not about to become something she’d regret. “But you cannot allow your fear to rule you. Now more than ever, you need to be strong on your own and keep a level head.” She paused a moment to glance toward the nearby oasis, looking for any sign of other mares. “With your mother absent, and Bahadir injured, the others may look to you during this time of unrest. As Prince of these lands, you have a duty to the herd, a duty that belongs to you alone.” Again, Naz fell silent, allowing her words to sink in. For his own sake, the white-legged mare hoped he would take her well-intentioned advice to heart.
“I confess that I cannot do anything for your mother right now, and for this I am deeply sorry.” Naz knew nothing of this Warsaw that had beaten Bahadir so savagely, and had spirited Shaydowfax away. She did not even know where the buckskin mare and her newborn son had been taken, nor where to look for her across the cluster of islands. “I must stay with Bahadir. And even if he weren’t injured, I would not know who to turn to for help.” Naz freely admitted that she was lacking, but her gaze sharpened and brightened as a thought came to her. “Do you know of anyone who may be able to help your mother, Prince of these Dunes? If so, take courage, and show initiative. Trust that I will watch over Bahadir until you return with news.”
With her piece said, Naz fell silent. It was up to the colt, who’d impressed her with his apology and showed promise, as to whether he would act on her advice, or continue to wait and watch. After sometime, the pale-faced Marwari turned her attention back to Bahadir, and she lowered her muzzle to brush his salt-tangled forelock aside. “ 'Asmae sawti, Bahadir,” she whispered in his ear. “You are needed here. Rise and drink. Regain strength and fight for what is yours.” Naz remained there, her head low and held near to Bahadir’s, her blue and gold eyes focused intently on his face. A steadfast sentinel.
The time for watching and waiting was over. Naz would no longer distance herself, for it was clear to her in this quietly intimate moment that she’d stood idle for far too long. No more. No more.