It had been brought to him by Antares that his teaching had been insufficient for the Princess Sayyida - Set be praised this once - to be properly set on the course of First Wife. What magician that had conjured her into this place he could not begin to contemplate - but he is rather fond of her anyway and is therefore joyful for her and his brother having made their full-circle return to start.

He is an equally dark and light splash on the horizon when he comes to the littler oasis Antares had claimed for her and those who would be called his own. She was not bound to this place, of course, but it was meant to be the place of supreme safety - a place to take one’s ease and raise children. He found himself rather awed by it, for it’s diminutive size and placement in the desert had indeed been a wise choice of his brother. He shakes himself as he crosses beneath the shade of a few palms a trot away from the edge of the central pool, readying himself for the harder discussion with Sayyida than the pleasant ones of merely teaching words he had previously been allowed.

Today they would discuss pleasures and duties and other things of state that would find her a pillar meant to support Antares’ own nobility. Not so tedious has her own kingdoms demands had been, as he had learned, but perhaps odious in the same manner as she had seemed to find the learning of her spoken vows.

He calls with a high nickering sound, ears pricked to listen and tail catching the breeze spun off of the dunes and towards the water. He had slaked his own thirst at the more generally known oasis further towards occupied land and felt no compulsion to sip as the wind did. His only purpose for looking in that direction was the streak of pink and gray and white that captured his attention.

She is beautiful, just as she had been in her homeland - though wilder now and somehow taking the essence of womanhood and creating a image worthy of covetousness and envy. He is only too schooled in his place to entertain any notions beyond her teaching - rendering him the only brother welcome to visit this sacred place. It was not far from here, in fact, where Antares claimed to have (after her initial retreat for her shame) given her a taste of what his endurance meant for her without others to stand between her and being utterly used up beneath him.

It had not been a point of pride, but a spurring moment to bid Rigel help her understand, help her realize, all those things that had been mere figments of an alien Prince in an alien society. It had made his brother afraid, the cosmos painted stallion knew. The hunger for her had threatened to steal his sense, so driven as he was by being Soul Sewn and feeling her want of him, so that he thought he might have injured her or used her up without their having such a hard thing to speak of prior to her welcoming his body atop her.

Rigel was not so well versed as a Priest of Qetesh, but he had seen the agonizingly perpetual endurance of his eldest brother enough to understand the origin of Antares’ concern. ‘Do not frighten her with the curse of my Gift, or I shall know,’ he had said - as close to a threat as the other stallion had ever issued against him. “I am here, ⲧⲁϭⲟⲓⲥ.” He calls her ‘my lady’, for he does not know if she persisted in use of her Mahgrib given naming ritual or had forsaken it for the translation into the words of her Husband.