"No, he only left you temporarily bald," the mare said, and Hasan's pale lips could not help but quirk a little at that. Her breath passed over his skin, the momentary warmth an intimate balm on his aching flesh. And then she pulled away, leaving only the unseasonably cool, humid summer air in her wake. Hasan found himself wishing she would come near again, then felt a twinge of guilt for wanting such a thing. He should be finding solace in Shenzi and their new son, not this mare who was a near-stranger to him.

But perhaps this was what leading a herd was: strengthening relations with all, not just a chosen few.

The mare's unexpected question left him contemplative silence, and Hasan shifted his weight, one ear twisting back thoughtfully. His amber eyes, with their green centers and just a touch of scarring rippling the dark skin around them, roamed the foliage beyond the mare's shoulder. While forms and shapes were still illusive to him, he had been able to make out light and shadows for months. The way they swirled and flickered in the grey abyss of his vision was strangely hypnotizing, and he often stood for long moments like this watching them while deep in thought. Out in the open, where the lighting was brighter and more consistent, he felt strangely blinder. Here, at least, with the way the wan grey light of the overcast day slatted down through the trees, there was something to look at.

"What other option had I?" he finally answered solemnly. "I won't be known as a stallion who begs for aid at the first sign of trouble. I would rather try, and fail, than expect others to make up for my deficits."

His lips curled a little in a wry smile, and he stepped back to scratch his shoulder against the rough bark of the maple once more. "Do you think I'm a fool? For still having an iota of pride? Maybe I am."

Meanwhile, the rain pattered on.