When in doubt, use nettles.

Already Sidika has decided that this golden male will do. Unlike the tall painted stallion, his touch does not linger on her hide, nor does he fill the quiet with idle chatter. It helped, too, that he was as handsome as he was, and she couldn't help but cast sideways glances at him as they walked.

It wouldn't have mattered if he was, in truth. Looks mattered little to her, having lost hers as a young child after the attack, but there was a certain pleasure in looking upon something beautiful, even if it wasn't hers to have. His kindness was of more importance to her, and while she chafed at the thought that he found her weak on account of the strain in her voice, it was gentle of him to encourage her to save her strength. Sidika was no fading flower. She could race across the Dunes with the best of them and would not easily succumb to the harsh desert climate... so long as no one asked her for conversation.

As they paced side by side she allowed her attention to waver toward the plant life that surrounded them, when she wasn't surreptitiously stealing glances at her new stallion. Many of it she recognized, although there was a fair amount of it that seemed new or slightly different that would require testing. There were plenty of ephedra bushes and thyme patches that she was certain she could make use of to soothe her throat. She need only find a protected place to work and a flat stone upon which to scrape together the mixture.

She scents the water before they reach it, and it is with clear pleasure that she looks down upon the still blue-green of the water, and eagerly descended to its edge so that she could rinse the sand from her mouth. The burn of the dry desert air, exacerbated by the excess of salt, fades and she heaves a sigh of relief before turning back to the desert bred stallion she had all but ignored. Silently, with a smile lurking around her charcoal lips, she watched as he reached for the branch of fruit above to pull it down and moved forward to take her spot at his side.

"Thanks, she offers with a half-smile, allowing her gaze to meet his before she dips her head. There is a marked improvement in the tone of her voice, although it is still far more gravelly than any delicate flower of a mare. It is as coarse as her own appearance, and just as strong. Wordlessly she peels the fruit and tastes of the sweetness within, chewing thoughtfully in the quiet that stretched between them.

"Do you," she swallowed to release the tension in her throat. "Have other mares?"

She raises her gaze to him, the fruit now finished, and offers a modest smile. It is likely, considering the way that the lean tobiano had all but dumped her here, that she did not need to bargain for her place among the handsome stallion's herd. However, she did not want him to think her as useless as Solomon had. "I will heal your herd, with plants."

She gestures towards the dates and the reeds that grew around the still water edge and the bundles of thyme that lingered beyond. Years of apprenticeship at the hands of the one that had healed her had done much to teach her the basics of mending wounds and tending bodies. It had not always been an enjoyable job, but it had been enough to secure her shelter in a herd before she had decided to settle down. Sidika had passed enough years among her own kind who knew her as a poor victim to know that no one would take her on truly, as a mare to a stallion.

Even now, with the tantalizing thought of a child that she could raise to do the same work that she did, without the handicap of pain and age, seemed far out of reach. She did not want to give her secrets to just anyone, but Maslakhat was not just anyone. He was of her people, and if he continued to show his mettle, she might ask of him what other mares did so freely and without a doubt of their own herd stallions.