Unlike modern people who often stay up past midnight, the Horse People slept at dusk and woke before dawn. By the time Daenerys had dressed and emerged from her tent, Drogo's *khalasar* was already a hive of activity.
Women shouted at children, warriors barked orders to strike the tents, and horses stamped and whinnied.
Gray-black smoke and steam rising from iron cauldrons blurred Daenerys's vision. The scent of horse meat rolling in hot water, fresh and warm manure outside the tents, and crushed green grass under hooves mingled into a peculiar yet vibrant aroma.
Judging by the yolk-red sun just peeking over the horizon, Daenerys guessed it was no later than five in the morning. She wasn't sure, though; she couldn't even tell what season it was here.
In the world of *Ice and Fire*, the seasons were not fixed. House Stark's motto, "Winter is Coming," was not a jest but a dire warning.
Here, a single season could last for years. If a frigid, crop-less winter persisted too long, humanity would perish, if not from the cold, then from starvation.
Every Long Winter, the North of Westeros lost more than half its population. If they were even unluckier and the Long Night came, it wouldn't be surprising if ninety percent of the continent's population perished.
Breakfast was mutton stew, made with barley, onions, carrots, turnips, and mutton, seasoned with pepper, saffron, and other spices. It had been simmering for over an hour—her maids had started cooking before Daenerys even woke up.
In a copper bowl as large as a mess hall lunchbox, Daenerys ate a full bowl, and even she was surprised by her pregnant appetite afterward.
*Could it be because of awakening the Mother of Dragons' constitution, or the soul resonance with the black dragon in my dream last night?*
She wasn't sure if her constitution had strengthened, but she woke up feeling refreshed and full of energy.
Following behind Drogo's black steed, Daenerys looked down at the black dragon egg in her arms, lost in thought.
Less than half an hour after breakfast, bathed in the golden-red morning light, the massive khalasar moved forward slowly like a dark cloud, leaving behind a trail of devastation. It looked like a brown stain smeared across a green curtain.
The direction the Khal's hooves pointed was the direction of the khalasar's advance.
Drogo was even more lethargic than the day before. When he woke up in the morning, he didn't even recognize Daenerys. He barely touched the mutton porridge, let alone the mare's milk. His once burly and muscular body was visibly wasting away, his frame so emaciated that it seemed held together by mere bones.
By noon, the lush green grasslands and farmlands had gradually disappeared, replaced by low hills and ochre-colored gravel.
The merciless sun, like a parvenu flaunting his wealth, blazed with unrestrained heat and light.
The air above the ground shimmered and distorted, and sweat trickled down Daenerys's chest like a series of tiny streams.
The only sounds in the vast expanse were the steady *clop-clop* of horse hooves, the rhythmic chime of the bells in Drogo's hair, and the hushed whispers of conversation behind them.
Delirious and disoriented, Drogo had strayed from the Lhazar River Basin, gradually venturing deeper into the red desert to the south.
But the direction the Khal's horse faced was the direction the Horse People advanced.
The Horse People only ate two meals a day: breakfast and dinner. At noon, they'd gnaw on dried meat from their saddles.
The reddish-brown horse jerky was light and thin, its muscle fibers clearly visible. It was completely natural, a delicacy that even the wealthy couldn't afford in her previous life, yet it was so tough it nearly cut Daenerys's mouth.
She took a mouthful of mare's milk, her cheeks puffed out, waiting for the meat strips soaking inside to soften. To her surprise, she detected a peculiar sweetness.
*Clip-clop, clip-clop.*
The sound of hooves grew louder. Daenerys looked up as Aggo's war horse kicked up a trail of reddish-brown dust, galloping from the distance toward Drogo.
"Khal... Khaleesi," Aggo said, hesitating as he glanced at Drogo before turning to Daenerys. "The land ahead is barren. No settlements, no immediate dangers, but I think we've taken a wrong turn."
The *khalasar* wasn't blindly following the Khal forward. At all times, scouts were scattered in all directions, both to survey the environment and to guard against ambushes from other *khalasars*.
Daenerys rode her horse to Drogo's side, about to suggest changing course, when her pupils suddenly contracted. She pulled on the reins, urging her small silver horse into a tight, prancing turn, during which she scanned her surroundings. The Horse People were struggling to advance across a dark red desert plain.
An idea immediately formed in her mind. "Don't ask questions. Keep moving. Hmm, find a suitable place to camp ahead."
After Aggo left, Daenerys looked at Khal Drogo beside her, worried. Their conversation had been loud enough, yet he hadn't reacted at all.
Swarming bloodflies circled Drogo slowly, their wings buzzing at the edge of Daenerys's hearing.
The bloodflies were as large as bees, their heavy, purplish bodies glistening with a wet, repulsive sheen. They inhabited swamps and stagnant pools, feeding on the blood of centaurs and laying their eggs in corpses or dying animals.
Drogo had once hated them fiercely. Whenever a fly approached, he would strike like lightning, snatching it in his hand without ever missing. Then he would hold the buzzing insect in his massive palm, letting it thrash wildly before finally crushing it. When he opened his hand, only a red stain remained.
Now, one bloodfly crawled across the rump of his mount, the horse swishing its tail in agitation. Other flies darted around Drogo, closing in, yet the Khal remained motionless.
His gaze was fixed on the distant brown hills, the reins hanging loosely in his hands.
Later, a bloodfly landed on Khal Drogo's bare shoulder, while another circled briefly before settling on his neck and crawling toward his mouth. The Khal swayed slightly in the saddle, the bells in his hair tinkling softly, and his mount continued forward at a steady pace.
Finally, a bold bloodfly crawled up his long beard, onto his cheek, and settled in the creases beside his nose.
Khal Drogo swayed in the saddle. Daenerys, who had been watching him closely, leaned forward and swiftly pulled him back with a hand that moved like a serpent.
The swarm of bloodflies was startled, scattering for a heartbeat before returning to hover and settle on his body.
In the next moment, the murmurs in the crowd behind them erupted into a clamorous wave of shock. The Horse People were aghast.
"The Khal almost fell off his horse!"
"The Khal, falling from his own horse!"
As the leader of the khalasar and the focus of all eyes, every action of the Khal was magnified under the scrutiny of the crowd.
For a Dothraki who couldn't ride a horse, the very qualification of being a normal Horse Person was out of reach, let alone becoming the leader of a tribe?
"Silence! The Khal is still on his horse!" Daenerys shouted back, her voice sharp. As she spoke, she released her right hand, which had been steadying Drogo.
The near-fall had startled Drogo awake, and now he could control the reins.
"Moon of my life..."
For the first time in days, he looked at Daenerys consciously and called her by her title of 'lover'.
Daenerys hesitated awkwardly for a moment, then searched her memory and asked, "My sun and stars, shall we rest here?"
Her face must have twisted in that moment.
But no one paid attention to her expression. Drogo's Bloodriders were already galloping toward them.
"Blood of my blood."
"Blood of my blood, how are you?"
Before Drogo could speak, Daenerys loudly declared, "The Khal commands that we make camp here for the night, as the day is late."
"Here?" Haggo looked up at the sun, estimating it was around two or three in the afternoon. He scanned the surroundings—dry, brown vegetation stretched out in all directions, a desolate, uninhabitable landscape.
His triangular eyes narrowed menacingly. "We cannot camp here."
"A woman has no right to command us to stop," Koso added, "not even the Khaleesi."
"Khal Drogo gave the order," Daenerys insisted, her neck stiff as she dared to counterfeit imperial decree.
Cohollo, the old Bloodrider, gave her a long, piercing look. Then he turned to his companions and said, "Find the nearest water source. Set up an oval camp between the Khal's palace and the lake."
Koso paused, then bowed to Haggo and departed.
Cohollo then began directing his men to construct Drogo's reed palace in the shadows behind a hill.
Soon, news arrived of a stream ahead. The large group of people moved past Daenerys, continuing toward the water source.
"Help me... I need water... help me..."
A faint cry for help came from a wooden cart passing by. The voice was weak, yet it struck Daenerys as familiar.
Silver-haired Lilith!
After returning last night, she had learned about Lilith from Doreah.
Like Doreah, Lilith was a prostitute purchased by Illyrio from Lys and given to Jhaqo as a wedding gift for Drogo.
However, while Doreah was the current top courtesan, Lilith, nearing thirty, was only a former "first-class beauty."
Now she lay alone on the creaking wooden cart, her dress soaked with blood from her bleeding lower body. One golden sandal had fallen off, and her pale legs swung aimlessly with the jolting of the cart.
"What did she say?" Daenerys asked, though she already had a few suspicions.
Before the gaunt black woman could answer, Lilith, lying dazed on the wooden cart, moaned, "My child, Jhaqo's son... save him. He's the future Khal of the Jhakoka Tribe. I am the Khaleesi... save me."
*Ugh, this woman is really from the court? How can she be so naive?*
The black slave woman immediately collapsed to her knees, her face contorted with terror. "Spare me, Khaleesi! I... I'll drag her out and feed her to the dogs right now!"
"Feed her to the dogs?" Daenerys asked incredulously.
"Jhaqo ordered me to take her to the outskirts of the khalasar and feed her to the wild dogs," the slave woman explained.
"Is Jhaqo insane? She's carrying his child!"
"She won't survive," the black slave woman said, pointing to Lilith's swollen, misshapen belly. "She fell from her horse this morning. Jhaqo initially sent the Hairless Men to care for her, but she kept bleeding. The healers said she wouldn't recover, yet she refused to die and kept spouting treasonous words."
(End of Chapter)