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The ambush of horses she had recently met, each with their own strange viewpoints and values left Nekharat feeling slightly unsettled. She had been alone so long with only her own morals, dealing with the competing interests of all these others was suddenly very complicated. She needed time to think everything over before she departed to these three other lands to explore the potential of each of them and their leaders—the Peak, the Cove, the Dunes.
The constant cold that hung in the air was becoming more intolerable by the day. The desert winters she was used to were not nearly this relentless. The nights were chilly, but they lacked this unending dampness. Perhaps the Dunes would be her first stop—they would certainly be a more tolerable climate this time of year, and she was interested to investigate the worthiness of each Bahadir and the baroque buckskin mare. Although the mare with the usually shaped ears from the Peak—Amduat—had intrigued her as much or more.
As she mulled over her next move, she noticed the shapes of a few others lingering nearby—one a most usual blue color drinking near another mare, and another of a very familiar shape, one of her kind. Nekharat kept her distance, deciding it best not to blindly barge into a conversation between two unknown stallions who were both larger than she was. Still, she wanted to know how another Akhal-Teke ended up here as well.
Flagging her sparse red tail, she lifted her head and whinied in their direction, inviting one or both of them to come closer.
NEKHARAT
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