The arrival of his youngest son had stirred Maslakhat away from his typical aloof tendencies. He had been more attentive of Sidika and her son than usual, keeping a close eye on them as they went about their business, ready to intervene and protect them if even so much as a stray leaf blew across their backs in a threatening way. He knew that Sidika was more than capable of raising their child in a manner he would approve of, teaching him her ways of herbs and healing. He regarded them with much pride and admiration, and did not want to impose unless it was welcome. Perhaps in time, when the colt was more than mere weeks old, he might gain Sidikas blessing to teach him a few lessons of his own. Still, he would not pressure her, nor would he rush either of them into anything for which they were not ready.
The day the his desert pearl cried out with the first pains of labor sent another rush up his back. Her call was not meant for him, but more reactionary, and for Sidika, who thankfully came to her aid in delivering the impending child that Merwerit would bear. He trotted toward them, keeping his distance with the knowledge that he would be absolutely no help during this process whatsoever. This task was better left to Sidika and even Geçersiz, who dutifully aided her with apt attention.
Maslakhat whickered, his tone low and deep from several feet away, if only to confirm that he was there as he shifted his weight as he waited, making sure that no one else would interfere. He felt unexpectedly helpless as he stood watching from afar, with about as little detail on what to expect as a stallion could have. As many children as he had fathered, he had never been present for the birth of one until now. There was little place for a man in this process, but at the very least, he felt he could offer protection, should a nosy Arabian or god forbid a very brazen predator linger with hope for an opportunistic kill. He snorted the thought awayno. He would not allow it.
MASLAKHAT
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