Sidika's days had taken on a rhythm that she found pleasant. They were perhaps not as productive as they might have been before, but more fulfilling for it. With her little panther, each task often took twice or thrice the time, if it was to be completed at all. Sometimes the bright colt was far too interested in play to take the tasks she gave him seriously, and while it tried her patience sometimes, it also brought her a joy so immense that it eclipsed any anger she might have otherwise entertained.

Never in her wildest dreams would she have imagined that she would have her own child, much less one as perfect and beautiful as her little Geçersiz. Even now, as they wander together beneath the bright gaze of the midday sun her mind lingers on the perfect storm of events that had led her here. The deaths, of the kind she could neither prevent nor protect from. Ones that came from hooves and teeth of marauding stallions, who had no use for the elder, scarred mare. Then those few, extraordinarily unpleasant hours spent in Solomon's presence as he escorted her from the Crossing here.

And then those brief interludes of time with Maslakhat, which continued to titillate and fluster her. His reactions were never what she expected and he had a way of reawakening the hope of a young filly in her chest in a way that led her to hoping for things far beyond her station as a healer.

Only the coppery tang of blood breaks her from her reverie, and her head pops up in alarm. Alerted by her reaction, the dark colt lifts his own muzzle to scent the air and then issues matter of factly to the air, "blood." It is only the subtle side eye that Sid can see that alerts her to his need for confirmation, and she nods with a suppressed smile. "Yes. Good. From?"

Raising her own muzzle, she traces the source and then casts her gaze downward to the sand. It is quick to swallow most traces of those that pass through, but she can see the faint signs of a scuffle and the even more subtle scent of a lioness. Fear grips her, and she hardly waits for her son's proud little gesture before she is hastening him faster toward the source.

It did not appear to be enough to kill the ghost-like mare that haunted the edges of the Dunes, but Sidika knew far too well what a puncture wound from a lioness could do if left untreated. Sid had seen far too many equines weaken and die from poison that spread beneath the skin, concealed by the smallish wound often left behind, and she was in no hurry to see it happen again.

Together they crest a dune and come upon the pair. It is immediately evident to Sid that this is not Shenzi's first wound. Not only for the scars that litter her coat, but for her presence in the water. Nodding to herself, Sid slows her frantic pace and approaches at a walk. She recognizes the grey mare by appearance alone, although she's never had reason to speak with her. She, like most of the other Arabians, is almost always found in the general vicinity of the brothers and the palomino has never possessed enough social grace to find their company comforting.

"I'm Sidika," she offers by way of greeting, her plain head nodding toward them both before her eyes fixate and sharpen on Shenzi. It does occur to her that she should be gentler, or kinder, or more something, but she cannot be bothered. Her presence here is predicated on her ability to heal. Such was the bargain that she had struck with Maslakhat when she had arrived, and while he may be willing to make substitutions in her case (a fact that still made her stomach do flips), she would not let him down.

"Lion?" She can smell it upon her skin - an acrid predator's smell that makes the hairs on the back of her neck prickle uncomfortably, but she might as well give the mare space to elaborate. Stepping forward to dip her own toes into the water, Sid offers her muzzle toward the wraith that has remained largely unseen, but not unnoticed. "May I?"

Behind her, Geçersiz hovers between wanting to inundate the pretty grey mare with questions, and a strong desire to do his momma proud. She might ask him to get herbs, or to take something to his dad, like he did for Mer and Sisi. Opting for the first (just until she ask something of him, to be sure), he thrusts his muzzle toward the grey mare with a wag of his tail. "I'm Geçersiz," he offers brightly, echoing his mother's syntax and abruptness with none of her gruffness in his tone. "What's your name?"