His people had long detested the half-breeds, and they resented the Akhal-Tekes for their existence in part because of their proximity to where the Arabians roamed. If there had been no Akhal-Tekes, there would be no half-breeds roaming the deserts and causing quarrels over the limited resources the lands offered. He snorted loudly, the weight of history heavy on his sleek, narrow shoulders.
Before Avangeline he had never met another Akhal-Teke. He had only heard stories of their deviousness and untrustworthiness. Both of which where traits he had never seen in his former traveling companion. Perhaps it was an elaborate rouse and he had underestimated her entirely; such tricks were common from what he understood—though he hardly could imagine she was actually capable of such things.
It was all so terribly complicated when others did not behave as expected. He sighed heavily, standing by the falls and letting the sound of the rushing water dull his senses—until a familiar voice came splitting through the air. Avangeline.
His chest tightened and he turned to see her barreling toward him from the treeline. He froze and followed her approach with his eyes, too shocked to move or flee the situation. Al-Hattaal did not know what was best. He didn’t want to hurt her again, but fear gripped at his throat with the knowledge that the red mare might be close by as well.
When she admitted that she missed him he closed his eyes slowly and took a deep breath. With his voice barely above a whisper he admitted he felt the same.
“Me too…”
A L - H A T T A A L
Zaman sana uymazsa sen zamana uy.
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