They lead and flank the two women because neither of them are unaware of the season and neither of them would have forgiven themselves for any difficulty or harm that would have befallen the women in their presence. As it was, moving towards the Dunes of Maslakhat, they were going to cross enough no-mans-land to be of some concern as to finding ways that left them unmolested by the eyes of whatever the Lagoon had left of men.

They are not giants, but they are warriors in their own right and they behave as such up until they reach the yawning chasm of water betwixt the central island and Home. Antares is the first to step foot to the waves, wading out until the water laps at the pinnacle of his throat, feet leaving the sandy ground beneath. When the last of his People had gone in after Atair, that is when Antares takes up the rear.

Atair defends them at the back, keeps watch for disruption in the cooling waters, thinks on the girls who swim ahead and what they mean to Antares for him. Their agreement is almost no agreement at all, but Antares would see them as part of their number nonetheless… and they would needs find their favor in a brother sooner rather than later. What, then, would be so wrong if they were to choose him?

Antares does not need to see his brother to know the thoughts in his head. It had been intentional, luring him across the strait to the central island -- though he had indeed thought to find Lesser Wives and not two worthy women to be even First Wives. He struggles little with the waves, but he keeps a pace others might have half a hope of keeping themselves. His nostrils flare and suck in as much air as the waters will allow until his first hoof makes landfall and he lunges onto the beach in the no-mans-land between the Desert and the Badlands, hiding behind them the towering reddish tan of the Dunes.

Atair brings up the rear, last ashore, shaking himself twice through and still drying with glittering sparks of dried salt on his hide. Their manes dread a little as they walk, the sea water making them look more wild than royal - and as they approach their own side of the Dunes, Antares gives a shrill whistle towards a distant vague mirage of an oasis. “I call my wife from her Sanctuary - but no doubt our brothers will hear the call and come to meet us. We are a tightly woven four and rarely miss a chance to meet.”

“The painted one is my twin, the windbag, Rigel. The red imbecile is our youngest brother Aldebaran.” Antares chuckles good-naturedly as Sayyida makes her way near enough for him to meet her with a greeting of touched noses and exchanged breaths, “And this is my Beautiful One, my First Wife, Sayyida.”,