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Nekharat thought it strange how Valens insisted on continuing to press against her, yet she made no effort to thwart it. There was a certain tenderness to him that she found endearing—and having had so little contact with others like this in her life thus far, she was surprisingly okay with it, as foreign as it seemed. In fact it was pleasant, and there wasn’t much that was pleasant in the world these days.
He stepped away to compliment her even more, gushing over her name, another aspect of herself she hadn’t given much thought. In fact, she never even asked her father what it meant. Truthfully, she never cared about its significance. In time, she would bring her own meaning to her name, and those who knew it would hopefully come to associate it with what she was capable of.
“Someone special?” She inquired. “No, there’s no one like that really,” she paused for a moment, thinking of the black Arabian from the Dunes. Shararat. She recalled her fondly. Their bond had been immediate, perhaps on the verge of something special, but it was really too soon to tell. “Maybe one day,” she offered with a coy smile, actually considering the possibility of a suitor of some kind—someone to share her life with that was worthy and true. However impossible it seemed, perhaps Valens was right that it was not so farfetched an idea, even if she never prioritized it.
There was something about him that made the improbable seem possible, and Nekharat liked this about him. “Seems as though you have plenty of gifts,” she decided.
NEKHARAT
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