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Nekharat walked alongside the black mare, making memories of the lines in her face, the light in her dark eyes and the warmth in her smile that radiated from her lips. Shararat had an elegance about her that invited Nekharat closer, begged her to lean in—but she didn’t. Not yet. Instead, she listened as she recalled her observations of Bahadir and his mannerisms. It was clear she was fond of him and content enough to remain under his protection within these sands, at least for now. Good.

Her mention of Gods is curious, though not entirely unexpected. Yes, there were those from her homeland and plenty of other desert lands who believed in the presence of such Gods, complete with their compelling tales of fire and brimstone. However, Nekharat did not like the concept of Gods. The idea that these almighty overseers planned and plagued and wielded their influence over everyone without so much as an inkling of physical proof of their existence unsettled her. They were theoretical, maintained by a mechanism called faith that those truly in power used as a tool to exercise control over others without seeming tyrannical. Gods were a crutch for those with weak constitutions who did not dare think for themselves, she decided, and so she had never believed in them.

“I see,” she affirmed, reserving her opinions for the moment and pausing along with Shararat before they entered into the clearing of the oasis. “Oh really?” Nekharat prodded at mention of their moonlit encounter, and she chose this moment to lean in closer to her as she laughed. “How romantic,” she jested as she lightly nipped her shoulder and darted ahead, feeling energized by the levity Shararat imposed. “What else does your gut say?” She retorted playfully, feeling content enough with the situation to allow herself some space for fun for once.

NEKHARAT