Prologue
A day without sun is no day at all. So, how do you describe something so dark, but so rich, the gamma rays from earth’s morning star glisten over such a surface. Illuminating muscle tone, highlighting it with shades of blues and sometimes reds too, reflecting the yellows from the sandy floor. And how would you define the exquisite detail that one would have? Every curvature outline and individual strand of tuft woven together, fabricating a being inferior to everything else around it.
Time travel is useless without a way to measure it. A fleeting moment when the feeling of being suspended in a time capsule, floating effortlessly over the land on which you are bound to by gravity, was the only thing you knew. Free flowing, graceful rhythm, combined with strength and control, producing a magnificent aura that leaves you trapped in the moment.
Physical touch cannot be concrete without tangibility. One must run their hand over the fur coat to enjoy its velvety fibers, conforming to each individual passage of the finger, reestablishing its place among the rest of the strands. Locks of lustrous silk, resting on the wind’s wings, lazily swaying against the nape, or fervently brushing one’s etched listeners against their poll.
Dark as a moonless and starless night, formed by the gods above, delicate in appearance, but built with the strength of titanium. Pure adrenaline fueling the steam engine powered machine. Always traveling forward, with swift, blistering speed. Flag poised on top of the hill, whipping violently in the wind’s whisper. There was nothing he couldn’t touch, nothing he couldn’t have. Arrogance permeated his core, seeped through his veins, and consumed him like a fire.
Desert heat and sandy dunes were his home. Nose hairs filtered the inhaled oxygen of particles that threatened to enter. Tufts protected his petite receptors from the granules of the sahara. His jibbah allowed for more nasal capacity, helping him to endure the desert climate, and a clean throatlatch to allow for ease of airflow. Limbs were formed of soundness and great density of bone, to withstand endurance travels. Orbs, set far apart, gave way to broader peripheral sight.
The Cardia
Home. Rolling dunes that stretched for miles in every direction. A golden shade was cast on the granules that softened his hoof falls. Heat seemed to be trapped amidst the ceiling and floor. Not that the devil cared. He lived for the uncomfortable temperatures that the sahara brought. There were a lot of equines who could not last long in this climate. What with the sand clogging your nasal passageway, needing a way for ease of airflow to the lungs. Consequently, the only reason why no other breed could last here as long as the Arabian could. And just the way it should be.
Ebony darkness had clothed the spirit in a four-legged mortal’s body. What a disgrace. He could feel time age him with each passing day, and his spirit itched to be free again. So this is what happened when you blasphemed the gods. They threw your spirit to earth, in a mortal’s body. Though he wouldn’t have had it as any other animal. If he had to choose, which he didn’t get to, but if he had been able to, he would have chosen this exact form, as a last resort.
He was accustomed to the fiery heat, having literally lived in it all his life and in his life prior to this. What? Do you not believe in reincarnation? What a pity. Well, it would only be a matter of short-lived years before the realization came to you, that there are other lives lived prior to the one you lived now. You will see.
He casually scouted his land for a potential intruder. Who and why would encroach on his territory baffled him, but none-the-less, it was possible. Holding his flag in pride, it streaked his hind end in thick layers of ebony silk strands. Lacerations laced his titanium muscled torso. His pelt was taunt and rippled as he moved with lithe precision. Only very few of the world had been created to perfection like he had. And it would take just as long for him to find anyone worthy of a mistress’ position to be filled properly.
His depthless pools bore holes into the distance, piercing the sandy dust that was all too common around these lands. Locks of silk fibers lay quietly against his nape. His visage was held nobly, cheekbones wide enough to lightly hug his throatlatch, while his nape sat top his broad shoulders with distinguished pride. The story of Arabian nights, and the black stallion that was typically always described, well he lived…
His name was El Shetan. And the stories that always persisted were only to adhere to the human’s imagination. He was nothing like the gentle mannered stallion referred to. He was wild, unmanageable, untamable, and not safe to be around. Since his first breathe on this wretched place called earth, he had born scares with every inhale and exhale of life he took. Each laceration had melted into his blackened epidermis, hiding among the tufts of fur that remained intact.
Half rearing and pawing mid air, he arched his dial and tilted it slightly as he gave an earth shattering scream that rang with little hesitation. It left the screeching of nails on a chalkboard resounding uncontrollably within anyone’s cranium within a good twenty-mile radius. Coming down on all fours, shaking his forelock and tresses, he decided what he should do next. Quenching his thirst was not on his priority list, but all the same, looking for the oasis he knew to be within these desolate and beautiful lands, would at least give him something to do. For now, anyway.
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