“Here is not a place where any time is spent by those of any substantial worth,” Maslakhat affirmed, referring to the immediate here in which they stood. The more time he spent away from the Dunes, the more his skin prickled with discontent—this place was not for him, and the more the reality of his Salem neighbor’s muddled heritage weighed on him. Something would need to be done, and soon.
She continued, her senses not failing her with respect to the why of his presence. After all, the golden bay Akhal-Teke’s journey beyond the reaches of Salem were only done for very specific purposes—it was as though she had been waiting here for him to find and deliver this word of a better place, one made expressly for her and him.
“Indeed I have come to offer you a gift of a more promised land—a place of sand and sea and befitting of our kind,” Maslakhat does not mince words—there was no reason to deceive, to play the games so often indulged in by women and men—he laid the choice out simply, because it should have been a simple choice.
“The Dunes, of Salem,” the golden bay Akhal-Teke finished, pointing his nose to the south from which the warm winds blew. “Follow me there, or come in your own time—though haste will surely dissuade any further disappointment.”
MASLAKHAT
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