Unlike modern humans, who often stayed awake past midnight, the Ma People rose with the sun and rested after dusk. By the time Daenerys awoke, dressed, and stepped from her tent, Drogo's Khalasar was already in full motion.
Women shouted at their children, warriors barked orders for tents to be dismantled, and horses stamped and neighed impatiently. Gray-black smoke and the rising steam from iron cooking pots blurred Daenerys' vision. The aroma of horse meat boiling in water mingled with warm, fresh manure from the nearby stables and the crushed green grass beneath the horses' hooves, forming a strange, vivid scent unique to the plains of the Dothraki.
Based on the egg-yolk-red sun peeking above the horizon, Daenerys guessed it was around five in the morning. She couldn't be certain; the seasons in this part of the world were irregular and unpredictable. In Westeros, House Stark's motto, "Winter is coming," was no jest—it was a grave warning. Here, a single season could last several years. Extended winters could starve or freeze entire populations. In the North, the Long Winter often claimed over half the population, and if the mythical Long Night arrived, ninety percent of Westeros might perish.
Breakfast had been prepared even before Daenerys awoke: mutton soup simmered with barley, carrots, turnips, and seasoned with black pepper, saffron, and a variety of spices. The smell alone was enough to wake the hungriest of travelers. She ate from a red copper bowl roughly the size of a cafeteria lunchbox, marveling at her own appetite. Perhaps it was due to awakening her Dragon Mother physique last night and entering a spiritual resonance with the black dragon in her Dragon Dream.
Though she could not yet tell if her appearance had improved, Daenerys felt invigorated, her body full of energy. Clutching the black dragon egg in her arms, she followed Drogo's massive black stallion with a contemplative gaze.
Half an hour after breakfast, the Khalasar, bathed in golden-red morning light, began moving forward like a living shadow across the plains. Horseshoes dug into the earth, leaving trails of dirt, broken grass, and churned soil. Drogo, confused and disoriented, barely recognized Daenerys at first. He refused even mutton gruel or mare's milk. His once-powerful frame now looked thin and frail, almost skeletal, struggling to maintain balance.
By midday, the green grass and distant wheat fields gave way to low, rolling hills and yellow-brown sand. The sun blazed down like a reckless, wealthy merchant showing off his treasures, relentless and oppressive. Sweat trickled down Daenerys' chest in thin streams, the heat rippling the air in waves before her.
The only sounds across the vast plains were the rhythmic drumming of horseshoes, the jingling of Drogo's hair rattles, and the occasional murmur of warriors behind them. The Khal had strayed from the Lhazar River basin, wandering deeper into the southern Red Waste, yet the Khalasar followed obediently.
Ma People typically ate only breakfast and dinner. For midday hunger, they gnawed on dried horse meat while riding. The reddish-brown strips were tough, fibrous, and extremely resilient, impossible to swallow raw, but soaking them in mare's milk softened the fibers, revealing a subtle, natural sweetness. Daenerys chewed patiently, marveling at the flavors and textures.
Suddenly, the rhythmic pounding of hooves announced Aggo's arrival. His warhorse kicked up a thin streak of reddish dust, galloping to a halt in front of Drogo.
"Khal… Khaleesi, the field ahead is barren, devoid of people, and seems safe, but the direction feels wrong," Aggo reported, glancing hesitantly at Drogo.
A Khalasar never blindly followed a Khal. Scouts constantly spread in all directions to survey the area and prevent ambushes. Daenerys rode beside Drogo, ready to advise, but her pupils suddenly constricted. She pulled on the reins, guiding Little Silver Horse to make precise, careful steps. Surveying the surrounding desert, an idea struck her: "Don't ask. Go ahead… find a suitable place to camp up ahead."
After Aggo left, Daenerys glanced at Khal Drogo. Despite their recent loud conversation, he remained expressionless, focused solely on the distant hills. Around him, a swarm of bloodflies buzzed, circling, landing, and crawling over him without provocation.
Bloodflies, large and heavy-bodied, with a slightly purple tint and sticky sheen, fed on fresh blood, laying eggs on corpses or dying animals. Drogo, once a merciless killer of bloodflies, now allowed them to crawl on his bare shoulders, arms, and even his face. One audacious fly landed near his mouth; another settled on his long beard, inching toward his cheek and nose.
Daenerys acted swiftly. She reached out with her left hand, snatching him backward in one nimble motion, startling the swarm momentarily. Yet, the bloodflies soon returned, landing once more. Behind them, whispers among the Ma People erupted into shocked exclamations.
"The Khal nearly fell from his horse!"
"A Khal who falls… is no Khal at all!"
The Khal was the center of attention. His every movement was scrutinized; a Ma People who could not ride was neither a true Ma People nor a tribal leader.
Daenerys released Drogo once he regained control, shouting, "The Khal remains on his horse!"
Drogo's eyes finally met hers, and for the first time in days, he acknowledged her presence.
"My Sun and Stars…"
Daenerys searched her memory before replying with calm authority, "Would you like to stop and rest?"
Drogo's face momentarily contorted with fatigue and surprise. Behind them, Bloodriders had already moved into formation.
"My Blood of My Blood…"
"Your Blood of My Blood, how do you fare?"
Before Drogo could answer, Daenerys announced loudly, "The Khal has commanded us to camp here, as the day is late."
Haggo looked up at the sun, likely two or three in the afternoon, then surveyed the barren, brown-yellow landscape. "We can't camp here," he said sternly.
"Women have no right to command a halt," Quotho added.
Daenerys straightened her neck, quoting a command with imperial authority: "Khal Drogo has given the order."
The veteran Bloodrider Ko Moro studied the group. "Find the nearest water source and set up an oval camp between the Khal's palace and the lake."
Quotho hesitated, then followed Haggo. Ko Moro supervised the assembly of Drogo's wicker palace in the hill's shade. Soon, scouts reported a nearby stream, and the Khalasar moved toward it.
A faint, desperate cry reached Daenerys' ears. "Save me… water… I need water…"
Silver-haired Lilis!
Daenerys recalled asking Doreah about her. Lilis had been purchased from Lys, like Doreah, and assigned to Jhogo upon Drogo's marriage. Now, approaching thirty, she could only claim the title of "former number one" among the pleasure women.
Lilis lay alone in a creaking wooden cart, blood soaking her dress, one gold sandal lost, pale calves swaying with the carriage's motion.
Daenerys halted the driver, covering her nose to block the scent of blood. "What happened? Why is no one helping her? Where is her maid?"
"She fell from her horse," the black woman replied cautiously.
Daenerys realized the implications. Even the bravest Dothraki women cannot ride long distances near labor. Pregnant women in carriages were traditionally exempt from hardship. Dragon Dream had given her extraordinary resilience, but others were not so fortunate.
"She was punished for speaking out," the black woman continued. "Jhogo stripped her of her rank. Now she is a slave, like me. No one attends to her…"
"What did he say?" Daenerys asked, though she had her suspicions.
Lilis, in her stupor, whispered weakly, "My child… son of Jako Kao… save him… I am Khaleesi, save me…"
The slave woman trembled. "Mercy, Khaleesi! I will drag him out and feed him to the dogs…"
"Feed the dogs?" Daenerys asked incredulously.
"Jhogo… he insisted," the woman explained, pointing to Lilis' swollen abdomen. "She fell this morning. He sent the Hairless Men, but the bleeding wouldn't stop. The healers said she couldn't survive, yet she persisted with… treacherous words…"
Daenerys clenched her jaw. The cruelty and indifference of some Dothraki never ceased to shock her, but her resolve hardened.
----