When he comes to her rescue, it is when she only has one beast left to be rid of - and it only runs at the sight of its partners running from the stallion of the Dunes. They can see she is green, that her newness makes her fighting poor, for all that it was spirited. It had been a good game until real danger entered in.

Maslakhat is a handsome devil, that is for sure, as she watches his head snap to and fro and his teeth bare and his hooves hammer more decidedly than hers had done. It does not intimidate her, but it does matter enough that she stills rather than fleeing the first stallion she’d ever crossed without a stall door to separate them, or a fence to hem them in. She eyes him, though, just as though there had been - as if he’d never keep up with her if she wished to spirit herself away. He asks after her wellbeing in her own tongue and she is proud but not stupid, grateful but incapable of groveling.

"Yeterince iyi. Ben yumuşak toprağa alışkın değilim." It is perhaps sounding like an excuse, but she is willing to bet he had a wiser mind than to tamper with her pride so soon after their meeting. Most of Their Kind were wiser anyway - but she had always found the stallions to be moreso than other sorts especially. One time only had a silly-headed mutt tried to woo her. He had a flattering tongue, but the shameless carrying on that he had made habit of was utterly unseemly and her toying with him had only brought her dismay. Apparently the two-legs saw it as a reason to open up to offers for breeding. If she had known what her flirtation could have wrought then with her lineage so stellar in racing -- she would have never teased the silly idiot.

Here, though, she could flirt and sidle, she could toy as she willed with her liberty granted by the simple act of turning her haunches and speeding off into the night. The jingles and clanks and swooshes sound so loud in her ears, though, staring at his nakedness and aweing just so slightly at how such nakedness could seem so much more splendor when weighed down by the human finery. "Adım Merwerit." she trades him for his name, though she is sidestepping, a slight dance when he asks where she hailed from.

She had never been one to play the game of courtship, sure, but now a game it had become. "From the sand beneath my mother’s rump." She speaks in the commoner’s tongue before rising up on spindled legs, "For the rest, beni ilk yakalamak gerekir" She lunges, racing past him with all the speed her parents and training had given her. She was not so sure she wanted to outpace him, but she did know she would not go any more willingly to this stallion than she would have gone to any of the others.