I do not remember the moment our passion gave way to sleep, for I dreamt of him through the night. Together we soared through the stars above in a dance that had been made for the exultation of our creation. My heart was so full of him, of us, that I could not imagine loving anyone else this much ever again.

He rouses me from wakefulness with his whispered words, and a smile ripples across my lips before I even open my eyes. I press my lips to his face as his neck passes over me before shuttering my eyes open against the glare of the sun overhead. It is bright this day, and I realize how much time has passed since I last stood on my own hooves. It is not surprising, I think to myself with a secret smile, for our exploration had carried us through the breadth of the night sky and into the still wakefulness of the early morning.

Eagerly I rise, taking care to do so as elegantly as is possible in such a clumsy movement, and shake the fine particles of sand from my sleek coat. Soreness radiates through me and I do my best to hide it from him, averting my head momentarily so that he will not feel guilt at my body's capitulation of innocence. It is a pleasant sort of ache, one that I do not yet regret. Perhaps tomorrow I will regret yielding to him so freely and so often, but my heart is still full of hope and optimism, and thus immune to such doubts. I swore to become his in the night, and the weight of my promise is no less to me now than it was under the light of the stars.

"ln 'uteib abdana min alaistiqaz 'iilaa janibik," I say with a smile, suddenly shy without the cover of darkness to hide my face. I step toward him gingerly before touching his shoulder and inhaling the now-familiar scent of him. Traces of salt from our exertion linger on his skin His closeness set my heart to pounding once more and a nervous giggle bubbles from me.

"Kayf tunam haby?" My voice is quieter than usual as I sidle close to him once more. I remember watching other newlywed couples and the jokes that adults made of their bliss, and thought that I would be above such over displays of affection. I was a princess, and such displays were below my station. Or had been, I corrected myself. I was no longer Sayyida bint Abdullah, princess of my father's dynasty.

I was only Sayyida now. Well, Sayyida zawja ...? I froze. Zawja who? Who was I now the wife of? My face stilled as I replayed our night through my mind, afraid that he had gifted me his name and I had forgotten it like I was some common woman of loose morals. Worse, I realize, the panic growing in my chest, I did not have his name. I had not bothered to learn the name of the stallion I had pledged my new life to, our vows consummated beneath Allah's eyes despite the lack of pomp and ceremony.

Tears of worry prickled at my eyes and I shift away from him, terrified that he will have thought me nothing more than a night's passion. Did he love me, as I him? Did he mean to keep me at his side, or were those words spoken in the heat of the moment, spurred by the needs of his body?

"Ya amar..." I start, but find myself unable to find the words to ask him. If I question him and find that his heart does not yearn for the same, I know I will crumple into the sands and cease to exist.

OOC: As if the Sayyida needed to give more evidence of the growing up she still needs to do, prepare for the "I won't tell you what's wrongs"