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Her father’s preconceived notions about who she should be were of little value to the red mare. She cast them all away when she left him and the desert of her birth at a young age. She did not ask for this life. Yes, it was a gift, but one she had no choice but to accept. Therefore, she deemed that her life should be free of obligations. What mattered to Nekharat was the path in front of her, not the one behind.

She grinned back at the Arabian, glad to see her wit was not overlooked. She did not spend enough time in one place to call anyone a friend, but this mare seemed the sort she could get to know. Settling somewhere for any length of time elicited a strange feeling in her—an inkling that there might be an advantage in having a true ally. Certainly she was getting ahead of herself. This mare was not waiting for her, but another.

“And I presume I would not have been able to resist hers,” Nekharat retorted with a glimmer in her eyes, implying a similar flattery. She was curious the sort of company a mare like her might keep, and perhaps if she chose to stay a little longer she might find out.

“I am here purposefully,” the red mare affirmed. “I recently crossed paths with Bahadir and a foe of his who claimed he stole these lands away from her.”

She flicked her tail, considering if perhaps she was being too forthcoming. Then again, she hardly had a reason to distrust the Arabian. After all, the best way to gain trust was to give it, and this information was not exactly closely guarded.

“My name is Nekharat,” she added for her to stow away in her head. “And I thought such a claim might be worth investigating.”

NEKHARAT