Ak Burun has been busy.

This afternoon, she idles finally near the primary oasis of the Dunes, having been more or less away and out of sight for the better part of the season. She has been slinking all over Salem, traveling comfortably in darkness as she follows the stale signs of the other herds occupying the southernmost island, seeking further evidence of Shararat's presence among the neighbors of the Dunes. Ak Burun has even been so bold as to creep closer during some dawns to see if she might spot her black Arabian among the hides of strangers, but it has been, overall, a fruitless expedition.

It has become clear to her that Shararat is no longer on Salem, thus her plan of action must be accordingly adjusted.

During her investigation, wherein she all but abandoned sweet Kore to her own devices, the Akhal-Teke was not prone to linger anywhere popular in this territory, preferring instead to slip through the shadows cast by the dunes and find her nourishment away from the all-seeing eyes of Maslakhat. Her eyes flick over the horses gathered near the watering hole in search of the stallion she has so assiduously avoided this last season, then fly up the side of a large dune to see if he maintains his preferred perch lording over everyone below.

It rankles that he possesses these Dunes, and its inhabitants, over her.

Her sparse tail lashes at her flanks as she turns away from the water and strides resolutely to the edge of the oasis. She forsakes the shade offered by the lone tree on this edge and stands in the full light of the sun before she turns and directs her gaze to wherever it is Maslakhat stands: near or far, she sights and holds him fast with her stare. They have not had a proper chat together, just the two of them, since the day they both arrived in these Dunes with herself being a tick too late to properly lay her own claim over the territory. She had thought that would be workable, given the malleable nature of stallions, but almost immediately had learned otherwise.

Maslakhat is a statue, carved to completion before she even had a chance to lay her hands upon him, and he has proven time and again to remain unyielding beneath every pressure of her palms. Indeed, he repulses her sinuous advances; she recalls the hard, shrewd look he delivered her beside Sayyida and one corner of her pale mouth quirks upward in a slight smile. He is no youth, susceptible to feminine games or the manipulation of another. A new tactic, then, must be implemented here just as she has had to adjust her pursuit of Shararat, and what better time to start than now, when she is undistracted by the thought that maybe, just maybe, her missing Arabian might linger somewhere under Salem's stars?

In case the golden stallion has misunderstood her stare or, as she would be wont to do, chosen to ignore it altogether, Ak Burun lifts her head a bit higher and summons him explicitly with a short, neutral neigh.