"I want to live a life like that,
live the life of the faithful one."
Very well, my lady. I go, so that I may return to you with news that will bear you up. I will find a home for us, and then the waters will carry us hereafter. Look after yourself, Corazón de Fuego, until we meet again.
Since departing from the mare he had travelled to the islands with, one whose coat was as red as fire, the lone stallion had not gone far. He’d felt the wind coming off the sea, and sensed that a storm would not be far behind. It worried him, and this was why he paced along the shoreline, his dark, convex muzzle pointed slightly to the left, so that his gaze roamed the horizon where the ocean met the sky. He saw no figures bobbing in the waves, and as of yet, had not crossed paths with any of the natives.
In all his long years, he had travelled many places, but this was his first time on these Isles. Delgado did not expect to meet another of his own kind – since being separated from his herd when he was still naught but a gangly legged colt, he had been a foreigner, and had found himself alone wherever he went. Time had taught him not to hold out hope for meeting one like him – one who was a survivor like he himself, as dark and ancient as the stone of the great mountains on the mainland. But a certain red mare had shown him that even sparks could be powerful, and so he carried embers in his heart, embers of hope, and sheltered them from all the storms that life sent his way.
Voices ahead, and movement, pulled his attention from the expanse of saltwater. Dark eyes surveyed the scene, and inwardly he felt a spike of glee. The grey strutted like those from the desert, a great many of whom where enemies to those who had become like family to him. Oh, how he loved to tease – they were so highly strung, so quick to defend their so called honour, and driven to what he considered madness in the name of pride.
As he neared, he wondered about the interaction he had witnessed from but a short distance away. The male was wondering about these islands? Well, Delgado snorted, surely there was no harm in wondering. In fact, he admired those who wondered. Better a wonderer than one who believed they knew all there was to know, and made sure others knew it. It had taken him a long time to come to terms with certain points of view that the herd who had taken him in clung to. Still, to this day some parts of their culture, ingrained so deeply into them that Delgado believed they must be written on the bones, made him sick to his stomach.
“They…” he hesitated, upon drawing close to the male, and seeing up close what had not been clear at first. There were signs of Arabian blood in the stallion’s face. There was a subtle grace to him that Delgado appreciated deeply – but if the mare was like the greater number of her purebred kind that the sorraia had met during his explorations, she would not see the beauty in him, for it was difficult to look beyond what many in this world viewed as taint.
Delgado would try his best not to judge the girl too harshly, considering he was only guessing. But he had experienced this far too often in his past. It had been one of the only things that would forever sit at odds between him and the red akhal-teke mare he had grown to care for, and had sworn to protect. She had argued once that it was different for him.
There are none like you, Nehir, and so you shall have to make do. But the strength of my herd, and my kind, it comes from keeping the bloodlines pure. He had almost left her then, because she refused to reason. She had been right, though, in saying that it was different for him.
Secretly, he often dreamed of what his life would be like, had he been reunited with his herd, or stumbled across others of his kind. What would he be like? It was a worry for him, that he might unknowingly be of the same mindset. After all, he had never settled down, had never desired to sire offspring with even the most appealing of mares. Was he not, too, driven by some deeply buried instinct to keep his bloodline pure, to pass on to another generation all that was good about his kind?
“As our companion over there said,” he continued, taking a moment to glance at the mare, so as not to exclude her from the conversation,
“They are known as the Lost Islands. If they ever had any other names, as many things do, they have been swallowed by time.”. His tone was even, composure relaxed, for he was not the sort to rise to anger or excitement quickly.
“In my wanderings, I have heard that these isles rose out of the sea long, long before our time, and that recently, the sea has claimed parts of them back.” The grullo male lapsed into silence, his eyes pulled again to the saltwater. After a few seconds, he glanced back at the male.
“I am Delgado, and I’m afraid I cannot tell you much more. I have only recently arrived myself, not even a day ago.” Shifting his weight, he turned slightly to face the mare, and then continued, his voice running deep and smooth like a river, calm, and slightly accented.
“I greet you both,” said he, and then flicked an ear, his gaze returning to the other male’s face.
“I intend to visit several of the smaller islands, where it is said that herds have settled. If you are interested in doing the same, I’d welcome the company.” Perhaps it was a bit soon to make such an offer, considering that they had only just met. But Delgado was not fazed by things such as this. The world was a dangerous place for a lone horse, he had learned that several times over the hard way.
And, of course, it all came down to the fact that Delgado preferred not to be alone when he could help it. For a lone wanderer who had no home, no land, no herd or culture… It was an empty existence, and he had tired of that kind of life long ago.