Nearly a year had passed since he had left Salem, and it was high time he stretch his legs. With his foals safely on the ground and under the watchful eyes of their perfect, attentive mothers, Maslakhat felt justified to once more explore beyond the reaches of his arid home. He hoped that he might find a wayward soul or two in his travels; someone akin to himself, perhaps looking for their place among these islands—how then could he not guide them? After all, not every hot blooded type was so lucky to stumble across the dunes and discover the wondrous world that awaited them.
The morning sun rose like a velvet curtain, soft and pink as it faded into orange light, and the golden bay Akhal-Teke took to the surf. He swam casually, in no particular hurry, the buoyant salty sea lifting his lithe frame over the waves that rolled almost as gently as the sands he knew so well. Not before long, his hooves regained their purchase on the shores of the Common and as he strode from the waters as they broke and shushed behind him, he noticed a towering abomination of a stallion just down the beach.
His nose curled in disgust as he stared him down, wondering how such a creature could come to exist—it was as though he was cobbled together by an indecisive child, and what was worse, was that he was accosting a lady of his own blood. Maslakhat recognized the familiar slope of her neck as it flowed into her withers, her long legs and lean physique complementary to her gorgeous red coat. If he didn’t know better, he could have sworn she was none other than Nekharat, whom he recently learned was somewhere among these islands. Her brief visit to Salem had left him thinking of her, and he even though he knew better than to seek her out directly, he certainly would have enjoyed a clandestine crossing of paths.
This mare was not Nekharat, but he was drawn to her nonetheless. He could not stand idly by while someone so pristine stood under the shadow of an unfit suitor. He trotted down the beach, his coat gleaming like copper in the early sun of the day, floating effortlessly over the damp, reflective sand.
“Günaydın,” he offered cooly in his native tongue, his eyes drifting first to the mare and then to the stallion who he regarded with subtle wariness.
MASLAKHAT
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