She tried not to hide her concern, not hoovering too close or for too long. Like his venerated horses, Jhasato had the natural inclination to spook when pressed too hard outside of his comfort zone. He would not say it but she knew he was afraid of losing himself in this new world, of forgetting his people and his home. That was why he was so stubborn, why he clung doggedly to the ways of his tribesmen.
Nothing about the man was fragile, except perhaps his pride, so she did her best not to worry or nag or fret over him but on nights when his skin was black with bruises and the iron smell of blood turned her stomach she wanted to make it better. He refused, as always, and her patience was thin enough that lost control for a moment.
“So there are no healers in your people? The wives of your Khal did not tend his wounds after battle?”
The mountain of a man looked tired as he leaned back further against the wall, his expression shifting sheepishly.
“Anha vos Khal.”
Nova frowned a little before leaning forward and pressing a kiss against his cheek.
“You’re my Khal.”
Nothing about the man was fragile, except perhaps his pride, so she did her best not to worry or nag or fret over him but on nights when his skin was black with bruises and the iron smell of blood turned her stomach she wanted to make it better. He refused, as always, and her patience was thin enough that lost control for a moment.
“So there are no healers in your people? The wives of your Khal did not tend his wounds after battle?”
The mountain of a man looked tired as he leaned back further against the wall, his expression shifting sheepishly.
“Anha vos Khal.”
Nova frowned a little before leaning forward and pressing a kiss against his cheek.
“You’re my Khal.”