Shararat grins. This girl, so undaunted by the physical challenge of the cliff and unconcerned by her bloodied knees, reminds her very much of herself. Exploring difficult places has always been something the black mare relishes. And Evren’s unself-conscious attitude echoes Shararat’s confidence in herself— her mane and tail are rough and tattered from the salt water she’s so often submerged in and the wind that whips it dry, and her coat is equally coarse. Iftikhar would have fits to see her in such a state but it’s something the black mare hardly notices; she’s never been one to worry about something as shallow as her appearance.
"That?" Shararat turns her head to follow the girl’s gaze. "Where do you come from that you think that’s a hill?" she laughs without malice. "Have you never seen a mountain before?" Her eyes are warm as she looks back at Evren. Shararat grew up in Paradise, a balmy land bordered by the high, treacherous cliffs of the Ridge. She spent a lot of time as a filly trying to find a path that led all the way to the top, often running into dead ends halfway or three quarters of the way to the top, but eventually she made it. And oh, the view from the top...
So it did not surprise her to see something like the Peak towering over the Crossing isle when she first left Atlantis, but in all the years she’s been wandering this common land she still hasn’t felt compelled to climb it. This flatland above the waterfall is satisfying enough for the time being; she’d much rather be down on the beach near the ocean. "I’ve never been up there," she admits. "So I’ve no idea if it’s populated, but I wouldn’t be surprised to find that it is. We islanders are a hardy race of horses and find homes in the unlikeliest of places, don’t you think? I grew up in a land beset by massive ocean storms— who would stay in such a place after one monsoon?" she laughs again. "Think you’ll head up there to see what’s to be seen?" |