We all leave something of ourselves behind when we leave a place. We stay there, even though we go far away. And there are things in us that we can find again only by going back there.

Temur felt many things as his beautiful pitch black large horse carried him forward to the Horse Gates of Vaes Dothrak. The ancient Khal felt intense nostalgia from having made this journey every ten years of his life. A sense of dread lingered behind that nostalgia. Dread that, just perhaps, this will be his last visit to the place of his birth.

He did not so much miss home he mused, as his horse carried his way forward under the towering statues of two battling horses, because to a dothraki like him home was always beneath his saddle. He thought the dread more came from him realizing that he was not as fast as he once once.

A snort from his mouth drew the attention of his younger brother Silumur, who queerly eyed him, but did not say anything. Temur quieted himself and continued his private reflection. While he did feel nostalgia and dread, they both paled to how old he felt. It wasn't just that last battle that warned him of his slowed vigor - though it was true that he would have been hurt had his bloodriders not been handy - but it was the constant ache of his fingers and joints and legs.

Temur's khalasar traveled lengthily through the godsway through the massive city of Vaes Dothrak, passing countless stolen statues and smaller grass and dirt buildings. The massive form of the Mother of Mountains towered over the gigantic city, and its very presence comforted Temur. The aged horselord made his way finally to his destination; the second-largest building in all of Vaes Dothrak.

The dosh khaleen claimed the largest palace according to their station, of course, but long ago Khal Temur had claimed the large manse of woven grass that he called his home every ten years for his tenure in Vaes Dothrak. Giving the order to his kos, the four riders depart into the khalasar and, at Temur's orders, the twenty-five thousand followers begin to disperse around the manse, claiming open ground and smaller buildings.

Temur eased himself out of his saddle and, despite the intense flaring pain from his ancient joints, did his best to ensure that it seemed effortless. He stood at the entrance to the building, long braid and beard fluttering in the wind as he looked over the sprawling massiveness of the city of horsemen with his slanted brown eyes.

This may be my last time here. I will enjoy it while I can.