Maslakhat mused to himself that perhaps the lack of Shararat could be explained by something as simple as her unwillingness to return to Salem. Ak Burun does not exactly make for pleasant company, despite her pithy way of overcompensating for her coldness. He could see that quality clearly in their initial meeting with Kore, which had ultimately led to her continued absence from the Dunes—a land that should have been paradise for her. Maybe he should have tried harder to settle the white-tailed girl, or maybe that was a futile effort, dead before it even began to bud. Maslakhat huffed, flaring his nostrils at Ak Burun’s lack of explanation. It only took one snake in the garden to corrupt its purity.
And the white-nosed ‘Teke had done little to aid in it’s growth; quite the opposite, in fact. He flicked her a sideways glance from under hooded eyes of his own in response to her comment. “It seems that some of us are more interested in tending the flowers than others.”
Ak Burun had been absent during the season of her heat, along with Kore, and did not bear the fruit of his loins. Whether that had been intentional for Ak Burun could be argued one way or the other, but he suspected that if it were not for the black Akhal-Teke’s influence, Kore would have gladly received him—whether or not her blood was to his liking. The mere fact that it had not even been an option and still she spewed her jealous rage at his lack of affection toward her, led him to believe she had been manipulated to her own detriment. And so a resentment grew within him, as Ak Burun clearly did not share similar goals as he.
Maslakhat would need to correct this, if it were even possible, but he was not entirely sure how to take the venom from the serpent. If Shararat were anything but a fable, he returned to his initial idea that perhaps she was the key—why else would Ak Burun covet her soul so preciously? In his initial search, he had not left the island of Salem, but it seemed that now the situation merited such measures.
He chewed on this thought as she went on to mention the tepid smell that drifted from one of the far corners of Salem—a scent that was familiar to him, and undoubtedly the weeds she so flippantly referenced.
“Such encroachment must be stamped out,” he retorted evenly, flicking an ear in her direction. If she could not grow their numbers, then perhaps she could direct her ire outward toward the sort that actually deserved it.
MASLAKHAT
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