Dany understood that as the leader of her people, she had to project confidence and strength.
She could not show fear or weakness.
Just like an attending surgeon who must never show doubt or worry to a patient before entering the operating room.
“Are the horses refusing to drink from the watering hole?” Dany asked.
“Yes, they won’t even go near it,” Effendi replied, his face pale with fear.
His voice trembled.
“It is poisoned water.
Water that beasts refuse to drink is cursed by demons.
Everyone knows this.” “Everyone knows this.” A voice came from behind Dany.
It was Aggo.
Dany’s bloodrider had finished his tryst, emerging bare-chested and wearing only silk trousers.
Though the horse people were uneducated, their survival instincts were undeniable.
“I will show you a little trick to solve this problem,” Dany said.
Dany quickly got to work.
She ordered her men to carry her large red copper bathtub out of her tent.
It was larger than a modern household bathtub, a massive vessel weighing over a hundred pounds, originally meant for the two-meter-tall Drogo to bathe in.
She had them dig a trench next to the watering hole and place the copper tub inside—it was too tall, making it difficult to pour water into if left on the ground.
Next, she covered the tub with a sheepskin blanket, cutting a hole the size of a bowl in the center.
The sheepskin would prevent the water from evaporating in the extreme heat.
For the next step, she had a two-meter-tall wooden tripod erected over the tub.
The frame was divided into four tiers, with a cotton bag hanging from each level.
From top to bottom, the first bag contained a thick layer of coarse gravel, the second held fine sand, the third was half-filled with cotton wadding, and the fourth was packed full of charcoal.
Finally, because the weather was unbearably hot, Dany had a tent set up over the wooden tripod to provide shade.
“Now, fetch water from that stagnant pool and pour it into the top bag.
Do it slowly.
Don’t spill any.” Before long, the water seeped through the layers.
*Drip, drop, plink, plonk.* At first, it was just a slow trickle, but as the materials inside the bags became saturated, the clear water dripping from the final bag formed a nearly continuous silver thread flowing into the bathtub.
Aggo crouched at the base of the wooden frame, crying out in amazement, “The water is so clean!
It’s even cleaner than what we drew from the river of the Lamb Men.” “This…” Even the well-traveled Ser Jorah was left speechless.
He had never seen such a crude yet ingenious method of purifying water.
‘Is the princess truly a once-in-a-lifetime genius?’ He knew that this brilliant idea had been sparked by a single passing comment from her handmaid.
The Red Waste was not a vast desert of sand; it had plenty of shallow, muddy pools of stagnant water.
What it lacked was a clean water source.
If this filtration technique could truly remove the “demon’s curse,” they might actually be able to lead the majority of the khalasar across the wasteland.
At this thought, Jorah grew increasingly excited.
“Princess, we should melt down the bathtub and forge it into large canteens.
The wasteland is dotted with numerous shallow pools and wet mudflats, but a single puddle isn’t enough to fill such a massive tub.
The pools are too far apart.
It would be a pity to abandon them, but gathering water from each one individually wastes too much time and manpower.
Instead, we should select dozens of elite riders and form groups of three.
Each man would take two horses, and each group would carry one large canteen and several empty waterskins.
They could scatter in all directions as scouts, exploring the terrain while gathering water from across the wasteland.” Dany looked at the burly, balding, bear-like middle-aged man in surprise.
For the first time, she realized just how sharp his tactical mind was.
“We can do that,” she said, nodding in approval.
“Khaleesi, the water isn’t flowing down anymore!
What’s happening?” Rakharo, who had been pouring water into the top bag, called out in panic.
Dany stepped forward, approached the wooden frame, and pulled back a corner of the bag.
“It stinks!” Caught off guard, the foul stench forced her to stumble back three steps.
The once bright red gravel was now covered in a layer of filthy, sludgy muck.
The filtration system was clogged.
“The sand, soil, and charcoal inside must be replaced regularly.
Our supply of cotton is limited, so if we run out, we can use weeds instead.” Thinking of the tough devil’s grass that even the horses struggled to chew, Dany added, “First, roll the grass into a ball and mash it until it’s fibrous.
Or, shove it into a horse’s mouth, let it chew for a bit, and then pull it back out.” “Can you pull it back out, Effendi?” she asked, looking at the little old man.
“Yes, the horses won’t swallow the grass until it’s chewed to pieces.
It’s just…” Effendi hesitated for a moment, his face turning bitter.
“The gentle mares are obedient, but some of the stallions have fiery tempers.
They’d even bite a lion.” “You’ll have to figure that out yourselves.” Even after the charcoal filtration, Dany still insisted that the water be boiled before it was distributed.
This time, considering the minerals lost through sweating, she added salt and dried figs to the water.
Faintly sweet, slightly salty, and refreshingly cool—Doreah absolutely loved it.
By the second evening, Dany’s khalasar had only traveled eighty kilometers, stopping around midnight.
Aside from the fact that they had stumbled upon a slightly larger pool of stagnant water, Dany wanted to conserve the horses’ strength.
Everyone in her party had at least one horse.
Traveling at a speed of ten kilometers per hour, this level of exertion was not too heavy a burden for either the horses or the riders.
The key was supplies.
Even a strong horse could not sustain a high-intensity march without adequate food and water.
This time, Dany also made adjustments to how they pitched their tents.
During the latter half of the night, while filtering the drinking water, she directed a group of strong warriors to build a wall out of rocks and mud.
It was a low, curved wall, not sturdy in the slightest, but when the sun rose the next day, it blocked seventy percent of the direct sunlight.
When they departed on the third day, Dany made a change to the horse people’s hairstyles.
The horse people only cut their braids in defeat.
The longer the braid, the more respect they commanded.
Because of this, even the old horse-herder Effendi wove his sparse, balding hair into a braid.
Though they had no philosophical teachings about preserving the hair given by their parents, the horse people simply never cut their hair.
The weather was sweltering, and they had no way to bathe.
Not only did it make them susceptible to bacterial infections and illness, but the feeling of a greasy head of hair…
Even if the horse people were used to it, Dany couldn’t stand the smell.
If she didn’t possess a heat-resistant constitution, she would have considered cutting off her own silver-gold hair.
So, she suggested that Aggo shave his head bald.
Well, the balding Jorah didn’t need a haircut; he barely had any hair left to manage anyway.
“If I cut my braid, everyone will look down on me.” Aggo shook his head vigorously.
“Then I’ll have everyone shave their heads,” Dany said.
“Everyone knows what a braid means to a Dothraki.
When we leave the wasteland, how will others see us?
As defeated cowards?
As slaves from Slaver’s Bay?” Jhogo also firmly objected.
“I’ve heard that Dothraki slaves would rather be killed by their masters than have their hair shaved, unless they were raised as slaves from infancy.
A long braid and its bells are a more distinct symbol of the Dothraki than even the arakh,” Jorah advised from the side.
Dany hesitated for a moment before gritting her teeth.
“Then we’ll only leave the patch of hair around the braid!” It was a bit ugly, but it was undeniably more hygienic and much cooler.
The dagger pushed with difficulty through Jorah’s fingers, like shoveling filth from a clogged latrine.
The blade scraped against the scalp, peeling off a thick layer of black grime.
It was a bizarre concoction of hair oil, sweat, dandruff, dirt, and flea eggs that had been fermenting for months.
With the hair shaved from the top and sides of his head, Aggo looked like a turtle shedding its shell—it truly was a hardened, caked-on crust!
“How does it feel?” Rakharo asked curiously from the side.
“How does it feel?” Aggo wore an expression of pure relief, like someone finally freed after half a month of severe constipation.
He murmured, “I feel like I just took off a sweltering sheepskin mattress in the middle of summer.
I have this illusion that my whole body is much lighter.” “It’s not an illusion.
You just lost at least three pounds of dead weight from your head,” Dany quipped exaggeratedly.
“The braid is completely untouched!” Kovarro pointed at the patch of hair remaining on the back of Aggo’s head, shouting in excitement.
“Look, it doesn’t affect the length of the braid at all.
This hairstyle is amazing!
It is a gift from the Horse God, given to us through our Khaleesi.
It should be spread across the entire Dothraki Sea!” “Khaleesi, can we shave our heads like this too?” the Dothraki handmaid Jhiqui asked enviously.
Dany nearly choked on her own spit.
“You should just cut your hair short.” In the end, everyone in her khalasar, male and female alike, cut off the majority of their hair.
The men, including the boys, all adopted the new hairstyle.
The women had planned to follow suit, until they saw the ear-length bob Dany had cut for Doreah…
Dany herself did not cut her hair.
She didn’t need to.
First, she was highly resistant to the heat.
Second, cleaning her hair was simple—she only needed to step into a fire and roast herself for a bit.
No dandruff, grease, lice, or bacteria could survive the searing heat of a thousand-degree flame.
Every time she bathed in the flames, her three hatchling dragons would flap their wings and follow her in, like toddlers following their mother into the bathhouse.
And every time her handmaids saw Dany playing with the three dragons in the fire, they wore expressions of absolute awe, as if gazing upon a god.
It was also through these fiery baths with her baby dragons that Dany finally learned how to feed them.