The pair emerged from the waves together, the stallion not hesitating in his stride, as though he knew where he was, and why he had come. It was only when he was well enough away from the ebbing and flowing tide that washed flotsam up onto the golden sands than the lean, pale ‘Teke turned to consider his smaller companion, fine-boned in her own way. He was pleased to observe that she seemed only a little worse for wear – the swim had been a long one – but he dared not show it, and his narrow features remained impassive. She reached for him, and he snorted softly, turning his countenance away from her and instead studied the lay of the land, glistening and golden in the noon-day sun.
They had arrived in good time – he had started their journey early so that there was little risk of them being caught in the open water as dusk fell, but now his primary concern shifted. The young mare beside him would need to drink and rest in the shade. The air carried many scents, but none of them familiar. A knot formed in his stomach, but he cast the worries that gnawed at his heart aside for the time-being, and let loose a call to the inhabitants of this land, hoping that one among them would not be too far off.
“Beni terk edemezsin!” the young arab mare protested fiercely, squealing in fright and pain as the Akhal Teke stallion nipped at her shoulder while the words were still upon her lips. Her blue eyes took on that wounded look she’d perfected during the course of their journey together, but the stallion deigned not to notice, and ushered her a little further on, leading her to a small rise to better see and be seen.
“Do not forsake the Language of your People,” Kahraman reprimanded in the girl’s native tongue, fire glinting in his eyes. It was the first time he met her gaze since they’d made landfall, and under the weight of it, the little Arabian mare angled her pale muzzle away from him, shaking her head in an attempt to pretend she wasn’t upset, (even though Kahraman could tell she was). If things had been other than what they were, the Teke would have shifted, and lipped at the flyaway tresses of her flaxen mane to comfort and reassure her.
But Kahraman did not move, and continued his vigil beside her, stoic, blue eyes roaming, ear (one tall and proud, the other half-gone and healed all tattered). He said little else for now, for though he held out hope that they would find what it was he sought – a place of Belonging for his vesayet altındaki çocuk, he did not wish to stir the embers of discontent within her. “We will rest well tonight, with the sand beneath us and the stars above,” he murmured softly, in an attempt to broker peace, to soften her anger and open her eyes to the beauty of the Dunes that rose and fell before them.
His words had the vibrant chestnut mare straightening, and she surveyed the land with growing curiosity. What she saw was so much like the Home she’d been taken from, and the Place where she had been kept before Kahraman had stolen her away from her captors. The way the wind sang as it danced across the mountains of sand resonated with her soul, and Shahrazad was helpless against the longing that rose from the depths of her to wander the land alongside those who lived here, discovering the past, embracing the present, and learning of the future that was hoped for.