Twisting her ears to catch Razvan’s answering cry, the mare’s dark eyes zeroed in on movement off the edge of the oasis. She watched the stallion walk away from the stunted tree he’d been resting under. Resting one hind hoof on its tip she settled herself to wait. In the desert on the Islands, there was rarely any cause to rush, and she did not begrudge Razvan the time he took in reaching her.
"So," El Aran said, the word full and round and cut even shorter by her accent. "You are Razvan." She recognized his musky scent as the one that accompanied Encantador’s. It was different from Mellow’s and like most individual’s scents, it was not unpleasant. To the black mare, Razvan was as part of the desert as the wind. He was no longer as intangible, however. Bumping muzzles with him briefly, El Aran exchanged breath in greeting before drawing her head back and observing the stallion in a brief period of silence on her part.
He looked like smoke, blue-ish gray and blotched with white beneath the day-to-day grit of sand. It was a combination of colors she’d never seen on a horse before. "Does it mean anything? Your name?" Back home names were often associated with colors and markings, but it was not a pattern she had seen on the Islands.
Aşk's eighth eye
♥ Uforia
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