Shenzi is livid.
She stalks through the trees like a creature on the hunt. The frustrating thing is, the barb mare has no quarry. She snarls her frustration, and it is a savage sound against the distant hiss of the falls. Her dark coat still glistens with seawater and as she moves, head held low to protect her throat with its scars not-yet-faded, her eyes burn like embers. The mare burns with anger, and the worst part is that nothing can temper the flames. In time, once her rage consumes itself, she will finally know some semblance of peace again. But, caught up as she is in her scorn, time crawls at an agonisingly slow pace for the fierce woman.
Perhaps it is unwarranted – all the contempt she stokes within her heart itself. Maslakhat had provided her a home, ensured her safety while she dwelt within its borders (running afoul of the lioness was her own mistake, but that is another matter entirely). Shenzi wasn’t some needy, dependent thing incapable of fending for herself. She had survived far worse than abandonment, and she was stronger than even Maslakhat knew. And yet, his disappearance tilted the very ground beneath her, and here she was, prowling, claws out and teeth bared as she scrabbled for purchase. Not even the presence of those she’d come to regard with fondness or respect could quell her ferocity. That was why she had left them, for she had sense enough to know that she’d regret anything said or done in anger to those who remained of the golden-bay Teke’s herd.
She was not owed anything, but she had been promised all but the deepest desires of her heart.
With a squeal, the barb charges across the stream into which she’d fallen all that time ago, when a boy from the Lagoon had the gall to claim mastery over her, and trade her to another as if she had been his to give. As if Shenzi would ever belong to anyone. And hiding in the shadow of this fundamental truth was a darker reflection of it. Shenzi felt as if she would never truly belong with anyone, the way she’d once belonged with her band of brothers. She was no fool, she understood that often like called to like. It was the way of the world, and there was an aspect of survival to it that resonated within the barb mare’s heart. Shenzi had grown familiar of the sight of Maslakhat’s Teke mares, with their leggy Teke offspring. And there was no missing the harem of Arabians dwelling within the borders of the Dunes. The eldest among them had risen up to fill the emptiness Maslakhat had left behind.
There was no filling the emptiness within Shenzi.
It had been easy to ignore, caught up as she had been in the games she’d played with the Teke king, her coy quips. But now she feels every ragged edge, and realises that she’d never healed after all. There was no chance of finding comfort, not in this state. And perhaps it was for the best. Nothing for it, then, but to harden her heart and survive, just as she always had. Shenzi was a scatterling, and she’d forever stand alone. There were no others like her. Those fierce eyes scrutinise strangers as she passes them, and still restless (but with nowhere in particular to go, she eventually pauses in her skulking to tear at the new grasses springing up near her hooves, but it is a farce, really. Ravenous as she is, it is not sustenance she hungers for, and so, ears tilting back in dissatisfaction, she rumbles her discontent and allows her attention to wander, though the lines of her strong, sturdy body do not soften at all.
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