Sidika kept her distance from the herd, having no desire to partake in idle socialization. The eastern side of their land bustled with the products of the Sons of Mira's effort, and she watched from afar as they began to mingle and pair off. Surprisingly, despite the number of handsome stallions, only two appeared to be pregnant. It was far more restraint than she was accustomed to affording to Arabians, but this strange land was full of surprises. Maslakhat, too, had not spent the fall season alone. Apart from her own gravid figure, the pale Merwerit's body suggested she would soon have a child as well.

Studiously the palomino prepared for the four births and the various complications that could ensue as best as she could. She'd gathered and marked the positions of Honeybush and Centella, and gathered as many pieces of Devil's Claw as she could find. There was a chance that all would be fine, that they would not need her or her remedies, but she had every intention of being prepared in case they did.

A movement across the dune summit nearest her small hideaway captured her interest, and she watched as the striking grey mare moved away from the herd. She'd seen Sakhmet alone often enough to understand that the girl was not quiet like the other Arabians that clustered together. Something about her far-off gaze and the hooded glance she sent back to the Eastern side of the territory implied to Sidika that something about the others pained her.

Sidika lacked any herb that might help with such intangible pain, but she knew that sometimes, just speaking to someone apart from the situation was reminder enough that the world was not so small as you thought.

The golden mare moved up the Dunes at a sedate pace, her heavy stomach swaying with each laborious step. Sid offered a soft whicker to the mare, but did not speak until her hooves were once more still in the soft sand of the dunes. "Beautiful night, no?"

Sidika turned her gaze outward, scanning the beautiful mounds of their arid homeland. In truth, it was a moment she included into every single conversation that she joined, a buffer for her companion to take in and get their initial gawping out of the way. The better mannered did not need it, but Sidika had long ago added it to save her the trouble of talking to shocked faces.

After a long moment, she turned her calm gaze back to the blood marked mare with a subtle inclination of her head. "I'm Sidika. Are you with the Sons?" Her voice was still gravelly, a permanent reminder of the scars that litter her entire body, but with the careful, constant administration of herbs, speaking no longer pained her as it once did.