I am ashamed of my own outburst, even though I had attempted to temper the worst of it. My reactions had been that of a shocked filly, rather than of the mild student that they should have been. I knew much of what he would have to say about their way of life was different. In some ways, the barbarism that my people whispered about was fully of untruths and fear, but in every lie there was always a grain of truth. I wondered how much of their faith had been twisted by my people, and lament, not for the first time or the last, that I had not abandoned them in such a fashion. If only I had possessed the sense to trust in Allah, I might have been able to soothe my people and bring about the true union this match was supposed to provide.

Rigel breaks into my thoughts, and my heart softens to him as he yields the hardness of his countenance only moments before. Anger still trickles along my veins, the passion of my breeding not so easily swayed with pretty words, but I do not move from him or bid him to leave my presence. Even if we argued, my duty was to do as my husband bid and to learn from him. Even if I did not feel that I needed to follow Antares' guidance, I knew that I would need to learn these things sooner rather than later.

Heaven forbid if I had waited to learn about these Priestesses of Min until after my son was born.

Still, I do not fold back to the ground, but stay standing, my neck raised and gaze sharp as he seeks to fill in the holes that remain in my understanding of his people. Rigel goes on to explain that he found it distasteful for me to have believed them capable of bedding the same mare, which would have relieved me if I could only stop drawing the lines of similarity back to the Priestesses. How many princes and noble heirs found themselves atop their backs each season?

Rigel continues by backtracking to say that he had not meant to make them seem sex-mad. And in truth, despite what I had heard as a young filly in Mahgrib, I did not think them sex-mad in the way that was whispered about. I could not see my dear brother raising himself atop a mare by force, but I had come to believe in some ways that a Wife was there only to stem the fires of my husband's Min with all the tools available to me. Whether that was with my own charms or that of lesser wives that he found. I had combined the teachings I had received from both sides into something that I thought I could live with, even if I did not look upon the prospect of lesser wives with joy. At the very least, I no longer dreaded them as I might an abscess in my hoof.

Even though the painted stallion does not offer me an official apology, I can read it in his eyes and the clacking of teeth that he offers. It tempers the remainder of my ire, letting it subside into red hot coals that threaten flames if given fuel once more. I am stung by his opinion of royal children, for I am one, but I let the statement go. After all, he insults he and the rest of our family in the same breath with that comment.

It baffles me, this idea of raising a child without lineage as though such an idea were freeing. In Mahgrib, this meant their only choice was to be something less than. Colts would take no names to their wives, and girls would have no one to offer their hand. It was a hard existence, to be without name or family, and I would not wish it upon anyone. Even in my own home, where my own parents were distant, I had known that I was protected by their station, and beloved for my breeding.

The rest of his statements do not seem so dire, for they only mimic the fabric of Mahgrib. We had no temples to serve the functions of a healer, but we had them all the same. Mares who had birthed many children served as midwives to those who had not, and the priests of Allah were always there to expound upon his teachings. True, we did not have mares that would birth a child for you, nor did we give high station to the types of mares that allowed multiple men to crawl across her back, but they existed in Mahgrib as surely as the sun set each day.

I can tell from his teachings that the land of Mira is both more fierce and more gentle than my own people and it pains me to find further fault in Mahgrib while my heart also yearns for it so strongly. We are not perfect, but they are home, and security and safety. To draw them as the villains is to draw my own childhood into a dark tragedy and I cannot do so for the sake of my own sanity.

I shake my head at his assumption that his words have caused me to dislike his kingdom, a habit born of my upbringing, but I remain silent. My face gradually falls stiff as the rest of his tale is spilled to me, although my lips flutter as he stutters through the feeble joke of my Husband as an eunuch. I cannot think for the loss that Antares must have felt to know that his child existed forever behind a wall of mysticism and godly intervention. What I want in that moment, truly, is for him to be quiet. For him to respect the loss of my beloved's son, and by extension in a way, my own. To know that I might have looked upon him with love in my own heart pains me and I swallow harshly, ducking my lips back to the foliage at my feet.

It is confusing to be sad about this. For all that Rigel has said has led me to believe that the child that I might create with Antares would be the first one of legitimacy, the first that might be able to claim his name and heritage in the days to come. Moments ago this had been all that I had wanted. But I cannot wrap my head around the thought of his lost child never knowing the name of his father, doomed forever to be bereft of Antares' love and affection. I do not know why it saddens me, but it does, and mightily so. Perhaps it is the hormones of the season, or the fears of a mother-to-be, but the image of a pale child's blood marked face turned up in supplication is like a knife to my already tender heart.

Absently I can hear Rigel in the background, assuring me that Antares' coupling with Indira had been an extension of battle lust, rather than of love, but it seems distant to me. For how much it all mattered to me moments ago, it feels like very small knowledge to that which Rigel had burdened me with. My head tilts so that I may look upon the slender flanks of my own body, where I may one day swell with my love's child (as absurd of a thought as it was to my hormone-addled mind), and swear to myself that my children will know of their father. I will not deprive them of the wonderful stallion that I knew my beloved to be, or allow anyone to part them from my side before they are ready.

I turn back toward Rigel, a tired smile already placed carefully back onto my face as he finishes his speech with commentary of a noble taking him as a guest in Mahgrib, and I am instantly contrite at knowing that I have paid little attention to his personal anecdote. I know that I should defend the honor of Mahgrib as I had oft throughout our exchange, but I feel so impossibly distant that I can't possibly rise to the challenge.

"Mahgrib is not so without it's good points brother, but darkness lurks even where we think no shadow should exist." I sigh, and finally raise my gaze back to his. "I know that there is yet more I do not know, my dear brother, but might we come back to this on the morrow or when the sun begins it's descent? I find myself surprisingly tired and I do not wish to force you to repeat yourself more than I already have."

In supplication I extend my muzzle toward him, not wanting to hurt his feelings any more than I already have. Today has taught me much, not only of Mira and its people but of my Husband and his brother. There was much I needed to think about, and all I really wanted, truly, was to curl into the familiar embrace of Naz so that I might sort out my complicated thoughts on all of this. My body and heart still yearned for the touch of my Husband, but I knew that if I went to see him now, I would only shatter into tears for all that I had learned of his loss.

"Actually, Rigel. I think I may see my friend Naz in the Badlands this afternoon. You've given me much to think about and her familiar company would be a balm to my soul." It feels... strange, to issue such a proclamation for myself without checking to see if Antares would approve. "I have already caused my Soul Sewn and you," I offer with a small lilt of amusement, "enough trouble for one day. I will return to him before the sun sets, and then if you are welling, we may continue on the morrow?"

I know my face to have brightened at the thought of Naz's company and I hoped that it did not come across as eager to leave Rigel or Antares behind. I missed her company, for as much as I loved the Dunes, until just recently they had been a lonely place for me. I was not yet sure what she would make of this, or of my tender condition, but I would deal with such things when it came time to do so.