Horses were counted, and then many dots of sheep flocks crowding the horizon. If only they were more like the herd, lesser than the hundreds or thousands of individual souls.

Like the shamshir, a raise of brows, grinning to akin a mare and weapon with jest. One of the many blades in which had caught her interest when running the silk road walk. Craftsmen of iranian wolves used aggressive taming of imported wilderness to trade with distant bands. Elephants to stampede land ore, and yaks to march crumbled remnants to their homeland for processing. She heard of their macaques, how they used nimble fingers to maintain a forge and sharpen stone or iron blades. Tsetseg was a defensive knife around foals.

I imagine she would cut a sad stud. Perhaps Batu would consider Tsetseg a perfect mare to ween a foal from for a future child of his own or a loved one. It would be a welcoming introductory to begin a bond early with their lifeblood.

You good at anything now?
Focus on your movement. Your swiftness.

A hunter's stalk down a self-made trail, disappearing below the green blanket. Hillside grasses stood longer than the flat field. And as though from nothingness, a body flew over top of his own, tackling the khan and rolling them fast to the bed evening out below until a dust cloud of pollen sprang from their soft landing.

Laughing, I believe I am good at most things, Tu! You will tell me what you believe I am good at when you feel it in your chest. Because only eyes not your own truly saw your potential and perfections. Sayana did not judge herself, in truth. Only continued to improve and try again, and would continue to do so until the world felt dark. On her back, dusted with yellow sweet from low wildflowers.
What has the new great khan learned?