from p. 328, MY NAME IS RED:

"You see it, don't you?"

"Only very little," he said. "Describe the picture."

"If you ask me, this is a melancholy bride," I said, mournfully. "She's mounted on a gray horse with its nostrils cut open, she's on her way to be wed, with her companions and an escort of guards who are strangers to her. The faces of the guards, their harsh expressions, intimidating black beards, furrowed eyebrows, long thick mustaches, heavy frames, robes of simple thin cloth, thin shoes, headdresses of bear fur, their battle-axes and scimitars indicate that they belong to the White sheep Terkmen of Transoxiana. Perhaps the pretty bride--who appears to be on a long journey to judge by the fact she's traveling with her bridesmaid at night by the light of oil lamps and torches--is a melancholy Christian princess."

"Or perhaps we only think the bride is Chinese now, because the miniaturist, to emphasize her flawless beauty, whitened her face as the Chinese do and painted her with slanted eyes," said Master Osman.

"Whoever she might be, my heart aches for this sad beauty, traveling the steppe in the middle of the night accompanied by grim-faced foreign guards, heading to a strange land and a husband she's never seen," I said. Then I immediately added, "How shall we determine who our miniaturist is from the clipped nostrils of the horse she rides?"

"Turn the pages of the album and tell me what you see," said Master Osman.