<font color=#e4e0d7><i>�Beware she who suckles from the Walking Mare.�</i></font>

Your King Asmodeus
Your Queen ~~Nyimara~~
The Second None
The Herd Name, Name, Name		The Sub-Herd Name, Name, Name
Allies Name (Land)		Enemies Solomon (Cove)
The Rules There will be no fraternizing with enemies. If you put yourself knowingly in danger, don't expect a rescue. We are only as strong as our weakest link. See to it that you are getting stronger in some skill that is useful, whether it is battling, recruiting, charming, etc. The King and Queen have final say in all matters.

�Beware she who suckles from the Walking Mare.�
Posted on April 22, 2015 at 02:05:01 PM by el halin

El Halin

There is much to be done.

El Halin crosses the sands of the Desert quickly, lifting her petite hooves high to avoid kicking up sand as she trots toward the first oasis in the territory. There may be others �if this territory is anything like the sprawling sands of her home, there will be more than one oasis� but she has not had time to scout the land and discover its geographical secrets just yet. Her eyes dart upwards to gauge the path of the sun behind the fat, dark clouds that hand overhead; she hadn�t meant to be gone all night and then for most of the morning, too. It wasn�t as if the High Seer had planned to run into anyone but Iftikhar last night.

The heat today is oppressive, and the mare�s red-freckled coat is patched with sweat along her withers, neck, and hips by the time she reached the little patch of shaded paradise. The breeder is there, along with a mare of some indeterminate breed and a stallion El Halin does not expect to see. She had been under the impression that Orhan was the only breeder in the Desert. The other stallion is an odd shade of chestnut or brown or something� she hasn�t ever seen anything quite like it. He�s slender but not lean, and as she rounds the group she notices his eyes are a repulsively opaque whitish-blue. The High Seer recoils from the blind stallion, jerking her head up and away as if his condition is contagious as her ears pin. In the desert, defective horses, no matter how impressive their lineage, are put to death as soon as the disability is evident. There is no room in their sands for the weak.

El Halin turns her head to point her ears at Orhan. Her nostrils quiver and she is tense� the mare with the bloody shoulders has not often encountered the sick or deformed, but each time sets her nerves on edge, like her skin is crawling with fire. �Orhan,� she greets him. She shakes out her mane and snorts, and by the time she resettles her body appears to be more or less relaxed. Still, she keeps an eye on the dark stallion, just in case he dares to venture too close.

mare // arabian // fleabitten gray // fourteen.three hh // eight // uforia

�Beware she who suckles from the Walking Mare�

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