e n c a n t a d o r
It was a strange feeling, being here and knowing that everything he saw was his. Not that there was much to see, granted: the desert was largely uninhabitable, with even the earth along the shoreline of the ocean having been baked beneath the relentless sun for so long that it had cracked, exposing the fresh, cool brown dirt beneath in crannies that together created vast, irregular geometrical shapes across the land's surface. For a while, Encantador had made a game of exploring these cracks, peering down into them to see how far down they went (though he would never know, for the deepest ones ended only in darkness), and when he strolled, attempting to let his mind wander while still dodging each crevice that criss-crossed the earth like a broken eggshell.
Being alone in such a vast, empty place, he had to make do and entertain himself lest he grew insane. It was in the second week or so after he had claimed this place for his home, however, that the stallion began to feel the toll the harsh climate was taking on him. Already he was thin and malnourished, his coat a mess of tangles and brambles, and he was perpetually tired-looking, but under the wide blue sky that seemed to never end or be marred by a single cloud, his pelt had been bleached to a near-white and he had grown thirstier and hungrier with each passing day. El Aran once lived here, he had reminded himself, after trying and failing to find little more than the occasional dried-up shrub or puddle of muddy water hidden beneath a rock. There must be something of value in this place. He now understood, at least, why the desert-bred mare had such a naturally thin, leggy build.
He had eventually, after venturing further inland where the dry earth began to undulate upwards and outwards in pale, sandy hills, discovered a hidden oasis sheltered by not just a handful of hardy trees with waxy leaves but by a large outcropping ledge of rock that cast enough shade across the water's surface during the day to prevent it all from being baked dry. It was here that Encantador spent most of his time, lazing beneath the trees and gazing plaintively at his forlorn reflection, resting as long as he desired in order to save his precious energy reserves for when he really need them. He was still thin - his ribs were still countable, like the bars of a cage draped beneath a taut canvas hide - and it was likely he would never return to his original weight, what with the lack of luxuries in his new home, but he was eating and drinking at least, and with his newfound hope that he might one day return to a semi-normal herd life, things were looking up for the youth.
And it was here, within the shelter of the oasis, that Encantador lay reclined in the sand, gazing absently out across the vastness of his territory, where heat waves danced and shimmered with a hypnotizing, ethereal beauty, when the call reached his ears. At first, he was slow to react; he had not seen another soul, of the equine kind at least, in the entire time he'd been here, and he was half-tempted to brush it off as a figment of his frayed mind. But when he turned his head to gaze out across the landscape, he saw it: a shimmering blue-black figure marred with white, half-hidden by the crest of a dune. Encantador stared at that haunting silhouette for a few long moments, dumbfounded, but when eventually his rationality returned, a distinctly irrational dose of excitement flooded his veins. He all but leapt to his feet and quickly shook of the crusty coat of sand which clung to his pale gold side, before venturing towards the mysterious stranger at an easy trot.
As the space closed between them and the stranger's features came into view, Encantador slowed, grateful for the rest as a fine sheen of sweet had lathered up along his sides. He peered curiously at the male, but nothing about him was familiar; thankfully, nothing about him was threatening either, and Encantador could not help but notice with a pang of sympathy that he looked a little worse for the wear, almost as much if not more so than himself. And his coat was bone-dry. That meant - unless he had been waiting here for some time - that he had not swum here, which meant that Encantador was standing face-to-face with one of his neighbors. Pleased with his logical conclusion, he nodded respectfully to the stranger and shifted his weight, evidently at ease, though he offered no smile. "I heard your call... and I presume it was for me, seeing as my home's hardly bustling with life. Name's Encantador. What brings you here, friend?"
el barroco x writhe | four | dunskin | 15.1 | mustang | shiva |