He could feel her when he and Kore had arrived at the oasis, her presence prickled at his spine like an unknown shadow in a familiar place—deeply sinister like a wolf in waiting. Maslakhat swung his narrow nose around to face Ak Burun as she easily slid into the conversation. There was something predatory in her tone, but he stood his ground, unwilling to let this formidable mare intimidate him despite how little he knew about what she was capable of. He would need to learn—and soon—lest she gain the upper hand in their dangerous dance. At least she was being inclusive, referring to him and her as a unit—our bouquet, she had said.

The golden bay stallion looked to Kore, measuring her reaction to the white-nosed Arabian’s pointed question of her origins. She explained a storm was responsible for her arrival here, meaning she had not intended to leave her homeland, but clearly the gods had other plans. Indeed, it was an easy enough answer, and he had no reason to pry further. He looked back to Ak Burun, curious if she would demand anything more of her explanation or if this simple story would satisfy her.

He flicked his tail as Kore introduced herself—relieving him of the obligation. Then her tone shifted away from formality and back toward the realm of playful, chiding him for keeping Ak Burun’s residence unknown to her. He met her gaze again with a flicker of mischievousness in his own amber eyes. “You never asked,” he replied simply.


MASLAKHAT

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