He is, she is sure, purposefully vague as he responds to her inquiry with as much poeticism as she offered in her question. Irritation flares. She has danced these steps before, led by a cruel partner, and Ak Burun will not be lulled by such music again. Her tail switches at her hips and she frowns at his turned-away face, seeing in his silhouette the sharp slope of a dapple gray face, imagining his pelt is silvered with so many scars.
Once, she had felt the pull of someone else’s strings upon her body, aiming her in the direction they wished her to go. It had taken too long for her to realize this, and longer still to cut the ties that bound her, but the hard-learned lesson never left her. And now? A smile rights the curl on her pink lips. Now it is her touch that drives change— and she knows that feather-light is best, more subtle than a spider testing its web for a quarry caught.
Impatience, however, runs in the family.
Ak Burun shifts her weight and glances into the distance, but when Maslakhat speaks her eyes snap back to him. His words are direct and his tone lacks any velvet subtlety. A new step to this dance, a sudden shift in the rhythm of the song that underscores this budding relationship; Ak Burun’s eyes narrow in satisfaction. "Hiçbir şey," she admits with a cheshire-cat grin. "But I have only returned to Salem this day, and have not yet had time to speak with my kızkardeş." A conversation long overdue, but one that can stand to wait a little longer. Ak Burun is not yet finished with Maslakhat— nor is she eager to deliver to him with so little effort her obsidian prize. There is still much to be discussed.
"The Dunes themselves have seen a number of rulers," she says with an unwavering gaze, "What can you tell me of he who oversees them now?" |