<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 July 14, 2015 at 10:48:46 PM by el halin

El Halin

Partners, the breeder had said at the closure of the herd meeting. As if, the High Seer thinks, her thoughts heavy with sarcasm.

She has just been to the edge of the Desert, to the familiar place where the hard packed ground of the territory she now calls home softens to the shifting sands of the Dunes. It was there, at the border, that she met with Iftikhar and heard the red mare�s report, and it was there that the two parted once more.

Now El Halin surveys the land she is supposed to call home as she strides through the territory. If anyone asks where she has been, she aims to tell them she was getting familiar with the Desert, and let that simple fabrication protect her from any suspicion. No one will blame the newly elected lead mare for familiarizing herself with the territory she is supposed to keep her herd safe within, and this is exactly the sort of justification she will use with ears forward and voice carrying mild surprise should she be questioned.

El Halin is here to help, after all.

When she returns to the main oasis (she has discovered another one on her trek to and from the Dunes, and she will use it to solidify her lie should the need arise) is more or less empty. This concerns her. This herd is willy-nilly and reclusive, each individual seeming to prefer to keep company with themselves. El Halin was glad of this in the beginning, for she felt it was easier for her to slip away every so often without arising undue suspicion from the mutts, but now she sighs in exasperation. How is she to lead this herd when it cannot consistently band together?

The breeder�s scent is still fresh on the air and, recalling how often he seems to seek out company from the mares that he lives with, she decides to track him and see if the group has for some reason moved away from the oasis in her absence. It does not take long for the fleabitten gray to cross the sands and come across Orhan. He keeps company with Ava� and El Halin frowns at the sight of her. In the months following the small mare�s assault, evidence of a foal growing within her had become apparent. El Halin is of the opinion that such a creature should be eliminated as soon as it falls from the mother�s body, lest the inclination to rape is passed on to the offspring, or some other taint is carried in its blood.

She joins the pair of horses, mulling over how to soften such a suggestion so as not to offend the pitiful creatures she has taken up residence with, when she sees the foal.

El Halin betrays her surprise with a swiftly indrawn breath, air hissing through her teeth as her ears tilt to the sides. The foal is white all over, a brilliant and pure color the likes of which she has never seen before� and heard of only once, in a prophecy voiced before her time. �The White Foal,� she mutters to herself, and makes as if to take a step forward. But she holds the pose, front leg raised and brow furrowed, as she stares at the pale, gangly creature, barely aware of the mother�s distress or how the breeder is handling it.

�How is this possible?� she asks, then her eyes snap to Ava and she strikes the earth firmly with her raised hoof. �You. Ava.� She says the mare�s name in an attempt to soften the hard edge to her voice, and the relentless question that follows: �The breeder who assaulted you� what does he look like?�

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

�Beware she who suckles from the Walking Mare�

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