It should be frustrating, he realises, that he managed to lose track of her so easily. After all, he wasn’t long by the stream, slaking his thirst after the exertion of battle. Kahraman had already come across the General of the Peak and had yielded to her unwavering strength. But this exchanging of blows had been different – the energy he’d felt rolling from the well-formed figure of the red Akhal Teke mare had revived him in a sense. Kahraman was reminded of who he used to be, before he’d first come to these Isles, and had taking to slinking like a wraith through all manner of shadows, biding time. But before he had a chance to thank her, that burning flame whisked herself away.
Instead of disappointment weighing him down, Kahraman felt a thrill of excitement as he went off in search of his quarry. And he was determined to track the mare down. If he did not, the mystery of Her would yawn like a hungry chasm within him, and Kahraman couldn’t afford to be distracted by such a thing. Twice in the past such sentimentality had stayed his hand, and while the great wrong done to him had been amended, there was still work to be done here. Dwelling upon such things as he searched kept him focused, and only served to deepen his determination. And he found the red, she who was a firebrand to him, some distance north of where they had clashed magnificently. The falls lay to the west of them, and ahead, the tip of the mighty Peak was visible above the thin canopy of trees.
Kahraman watches her for a moment from concealment, and finds her maddeningly hard to read. Does she know he follows in her wake? Has she been lingering here, lying in wait. The stallion feels his pulse quicken as he considers whether he is if fact, not a hunter cornering his prey, but a predator unwittingly walking into a trap laid for him by one equal to him in many respects. It is not hesitation that keeps him in the dark for a few moments longer, but anticipation. He savours it, but as is the way, too much of a good thing…
Besides, he has faith that there is far more to come.
“Zaten ayrılıyor?” he murmurs with a voice like silk as he slips from the shadows. “I enjoyed sparring with you,” Kahraman says truthfully. “And I hoped to learn the name of such a fine creature as yourself.” The ghostly-pale Teke wastes no time being vague, but why can’t it be said that boldness is itself yet another kind of game, albeit one with different rules? Besides, just because one is quick to reveal their hand doesn’t mean they don’t intend to trick or deceive another way. That said, Kahraman’s intentions towards the fiery red mare, for the moment at least, not malicious, and are unlikely to become so towards one of his own blood – not without adequate provocation.
But that doesn’t mean he won’t be coy, or render his heart any less wicked.
“But, if you’ve somewhere you need to be…” Kahraman trails off, and he shakes his head in nonchalance, even as his stormy-blue gaze cuts back to the mare with a kind of sharpness he usually hides masterfully, but in this moment chooses not to. “Seni tutmak istemiyorum.” He grins; a roguish little smile that sparks something bright in his eyes, something that burns coldly, like ice and fire come together. (Perhaps she is the fire, and he the ice, and their running into one another the start of something the likes of which these Islands have never seen.) “Or perhaps I do, but only for so long as you’d permit,” he purrs, daring to sidle closer and choosing to risk the snap of her teeth.
The bruises blossoming across his ribs like storm clouds are testament to the fact that his body is acquainted with her wrath, though he is no fool, and knows his illumination of her is as scant as the light cast by the crescent moon at its thinnest. Not expecting something to be given in return for nothing, Kahraman offers her something that, in turn, sheds light upon him, in a manner of speaking. Not so much who he is, but rather who he was (or who he pretended to be) to those living in a distant land that had once been his, before he had forsaken it, and near all living souls within its borders. “Doğduğum topraklarda bana Kahraman dediler.” He takes the greatest care with his tone, as always, keeping it light and measured, and he tilts his head, his good ear and its more feeble, tattered twin training themselves on her, watching her from beneath half closed eyelids, expectant for anything that she gives away, intentional or not.
And yet even if little is forthcoming, Kahraman knows he’ll be beholden to her regardless.
|