Maslakhat was not in the habit of making trips to the common lands, as he much preferred the rolling sands and dry heat of Salem. Yet he knew there was value in getting away, even for a short time, to see just exactly who else might have accidentally (or purposefully) found themselves wandering here. After all, no mountains were summited nor nations conquered from the comfort of one’s home.
Today, the golden bay Akhal-Teke enjoyed the springtime sun on his back as he strolled, keeping a careful watch on the horizon for any sort of shape or familiar figure. The path was well-worn despite the ample greenery that blanketed the flat plain, and Maslakhat occasionally found the bunches of fresh grass all too tempting and would swing his long neck down to the side for a mouthful. In between occasional chewing, he noticed the familiar dished head of an Arabian lingering all by her lonesome. It was really her uniquely colored tail that caught his eye, long and splashed with white like the crest of a wave.
He grinned and lifted his narrow frame into a lofty trot, making no secret of his approach. In his experience with Arabians, they often preferred directness and compliance, yet not every Arabian mare he had met was as formidable as Iftikhar and El Halin. Still, best not to take any chances—he was not the sort of stallion to force a mare to do anything she didn’t think was her idea, especially one with a strong constitution. He preferred more subtlety.
“Quite the deluge of vegetation, is it not?” He remarked, motioning towards the abundance of grass that lay as far as they both could see. “My Dunes have no such issue, and I must say I prefer it that way.”
He flicked his dark tail back and forth as he returned his amber eyed gaze to her delicate face. “Something tells me you might as well.”
MASLAKHAT
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