Gabbar
stallion . arabian . bay . 14.3hh . 8
He jerks his chin away from Shamwari’s snapping teeth and halts, giving the other stallion the space he demands. For a time there is only the sound of the ocean’s rough song behind them and the shifting of sand as either horse adjusts their stance on the beach. Gabbar watches the other stallion consider his half-articulated questions, and when Evaline’s son finally lifts his eyes to meet the Arabian’s gaze, Gabbar turns his head aside to hide a sympathetic wince. There’s another stare threatening to haunt him. If he’s not careful he’ll start holding himself accountable for all the world’s woes, whether he’s to blame or not.
Gabbar’s eyes dart back to Shamwari as he speaks, and the words hang heavy in the air between them. See, a small part of him says. Valve is more than capable. Perhaps if he had stayed, the other stallion would be dead, too. He wonders if Evaline was raped. He does not voice such a question.
The silence stretches. When Shamwari stirs again and moves forward, Gabbar does not follow him. He resists the urge to snort a laugh at the chestnut’s suggestion. Arabians make it a point not to forget. Why else would they be waging another generation’s war back home? But there’s no point in trying to explain.
Perhaps his failures are unforgivable. If that is the case, there is no reason to seek the impossible. A knot inside him loosens a little. It will take time for the guilt to dissipate, and he may never attempt to step into a position of authority again, but it is done now, and over. All he can change is how he conducts himself at present, and be better going forward. |