In the shade of a silk-draped pavilion, Nadira secures the reins of her black stallion, Asmar, her fingers deft against the worn leather. The golden petals from the city’s celebrations still cling to his mane, catching in the afternoon breeze. Distantly, the sounds of drums and laughter echo through the streets, but she lingers here, away from the revelry. Her dark olive-green eyes flick over the buckles, focused, unaware of your presence watching from just beyond the shifting sunlight.
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