Too long had she been outrunning danger. (Blessed, she’d been so blessed. With Shanti. With Sayyida. With Tarek and Naveen.) Wise as she was, Naz had known her luck would run out eventually. But she hadn’t expected it to run out so soon.

A great beast loomed on the horizon, and in the eyes of the marwari he was a hideous looking thing, so heavily built and unnaturally marked. And even across the distance between them (rapidly shrinking as he approached with malicious intent) she could sense something predatory about him, she could see it in the way he moved.

"Go, Shanti. To Tarek. Now."

If Shanti were not with her, there was no doubt that Naz could outrun him – make it back to the safety of the Dunes, where there would be many to protect her. But it would be too far for her daughter, and Naz would not, could not forsake her.

"Bhaago, pyaare bachche, aur peechhe mat dekho."

Sensing the urgency in her mother’s voice, Shanti ran. They were close to the winding chasm in which they dwelt for the moment, with Tarek and little Naveen. Naz could make it there in Shanti’s wake, but she could not risk the brute following her, would not lead such a danger upon her nearly matured daughter and yearling son. Even with Tarek there, she would not risk it.

It was her own foolishness, the stubborn heart inside her, that was to blame, and, just as she’d been raised to do from near infancy, she alone would bear the consequences of her actions.

She charged for the looming stallion, cutting into his path and blocking him from following after Shanti. "Ghinauna sankar jaati ka," she spat, and lunged for his throat. This much she knew about stallions – if one were to make themselves persistently troublesome, the great majority would quickly take their leave. She knew what he wanted – it had planted a dreadful kind of fear in her heart. Not fear for herself, but for her daughter. Because though Shanti was not yet matured, to a hard-hearted stallion driven by his hormones (and a rage she could not comprehend) such as the beast before her was, this was no matter. He would not take her beloved daughter beneath him – such an act of brutality would break that gentle spirit that had saved Naz.

So the white-faced marwari finally gave into him, hoping that he’d be satisfied, and maintained her course of aggression afterwards, until he was persuaded to leave. Weak from the attack, emotion rampant and ragged inside her, Naz stood her ground, trembling, until he’d vanished from her sight. Only then did she wearily make her way to the shore, and cleanse herself of his vile scent. When she returned to the canyon where her small family waited, Naz was quick to reassure. "Worry not, I saw him off. He did not follow, and we are safe for the moment. But truly, the mare was shaken, though she did not show it. Safety was an illusion out here. And her desire to remain apart had nearly cost her everything. No longer could she continue this way.

To Tarek, later, she explained her intentions, needing him to understand. But even if he did not, Naz would not waver. Her path was set before her now, and she had no choice but to walk it. This would be her blessing to them – this would keep them safer. That is what Naz truly believed. "I’ll be in the Dunes a while. Sayyida needs me. I know you still search for your mother, but... I would be glad to see you, Tarek, if you decide to rest awhile with me there. I trust you to look after our boy." As with everything the mare said, these little truths she spoke were oh so carefully shaped. (The deeper truth was that she needed Sayyida to need her, and she believed so strongly in this that it became a truth to her. The deeper truth was that she had grown to love Tarek, but she couldn’t say the words aloud, nor did she dare ask him to stay, not after Kahraman had left her the last time she’d made such an admission, asked such a request. The deeper truth was that Naz truly believed she was better off alone; perhaps her own mother had been right to abandon her at birth, claiming her cursed. She was so good at being alone.)

After parting ways with Tarek and Naveen, Naz trailed along the border between lands in silence, and though Shanti did not speak as she followed behind, Naz could sense her unease. Too soon, and it was time already. "Go, Shanti." Naz directed, gesturing towards the rocky flats of the Badlands stretching before them. But maata - "I said go. This is where your friend lives, isn’t it? Go to him." Though Naz had not met the one who Shanti had found, one half of a pair of younglings stranded together in the deep dark of the night, she knew from Shanti’s telling that he was a good soul, and she trusted that Shanti would be happy here. No. It was a rare feat for one to surprise Naz. The black mare eyed her daughter sharply, praying in her heart that Shanti would falter and acquiesce, so as to prevent what must come next. I won’t leave you. I want to go with you.

The deeper truth was that Shanti was strong in her own way, and far better a creature than either of her parents deserved. Naz thought her gentle and feared her easily broken.

She’d never have thought that it would be she herself that broke Shanti’s heart.

"But that’s not what I want. I don’t need you." The deeper truth was that Naz didn’t want Shanti to know, to see the results of her mother’s folly. And when she said ‘I don’t need you’, what she truly meant was ‘I don’t need you to blame yourself, or to see how low I may become.’ But you need Sayyida? You’d leave me, when you can’t leave her? Naz was silent, and turned her face away from the pleading eyes of her beloved daughter. If it’s because of my father, because you’re afraid -- With a snort of anger, Naz shot forward, setting her teeth to Shanti’s shoulder in swift reprimand and clear warning. Naz would not be denied. Shanti squealed in pain and back away with wide, wild eyes, the blue of them so much brighter for the unshed tears. "I made my choice, girl, and I told you to go." The snap of her words, the coldness of them, was enough to tip Shanti over the edge, and she turned and fled, running blindly ever deeper into the Badlands, skittering and stumbling as she went.

Naz did not linger to watch her daughter flee from her, she turned and headed for the Dunes, snarling in anguish even as she refused to let her tears fall. By the time she reached the hills of sand, she had regained herself, composure intact, and stood upon the dune near the eastern border that she often frequented whenever she came to visit Sayyida, knowing that if the Arab mare who had become Mira to her people was nearby, she’d not be long in coming to greet her, unless she had other business to attend to.

The deeper truth was that Naz needed Sayyida, because before Shanti had saved her by bringing her deadened heart peace, the greying Arab mare had served as a light in a time of great darkness, and Naz was lost without one to guide her home again.