"Zaman sana uymazsa sen zamana uy."
The choice to abandon his home had not been easy for Al-Hattaal. Walking away from everything he had known since the day his hooves first touched the sand was something he never expected he would do. Yet when his sister fell from favor and turned both her back on him and their homeland, he felt he had no choice but to pursue her. It was a compulsion that came from deep within his heart to right the wrong that had been committed against her. And to think that he had somehow played a role in her dismantling, however unintentional, hurt him in a way he had not thought possible.
Yet the black stallion knew impossible and unlikely were two very different scenarios and he had already proved that he could overcome both. Al-Hattaal, the precipitator, had earned his name for his incredible speed. He should not have survived that first night and yet here he was, standing with all four hooves planted squarely upon the cool, firm earth. Uzay had willed it.
He stared across the new expanse of land with critical eyes, his gaze darting from equine shape to shape sprinkled across the horizon, assessing whether or not that individual was someone of consequence. When he spotted the grey by the falls, he inhaled sharply. Another Akhal-Teke. It surprised him how numerous they apparently were here despite the great distance he had travelled from the desert. He needed to get closer, but he knew better than to approach her directly—both her and his gods would surely punish such brazen boldness.
Al-Hattaal glided closer with careful poise in every step, his ears pointed toward her and his eyes searching her coat for the bloodmark he hoped he would not find. And yet there it was.
“Bok…” he whispered under his breath. An Akhal-Teke that wore the same mark as the High Seer? How could that be? Standing and staring in disbelief, Al-Hattaal questioned the motives of the gods that let such an omen walk the earth.
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