Tuff Luck’s name did not register with El Aran. Her focus had been very oriented on the landscape of the Crossing and the horses directly involved with her own life since coming to the Islands, and whoever the individual named by the mare was had in all likelihood not crossed paths with the black mare. It was probable that he was the mare’s stallion, according to the patriarchal customs of these lands, and so the seer did not question her companion any further. She was interested in why Soraya was in the Desert, however— as far as El Aran was aware, mares did not typically travel to herd lands not their own, preferring to socialize on the Crossing or within their own herd.
Her dark eyes shifted away from the mare, following the buckskin’s gaze with a casual turn of her slightly dished head. The moment her own name left Soraya’s black lips brought her focus zeroing back in on the mustang, eyes narrowed against a sudden gust of wind. Her ears cupped forward and her left haunch twitched as she repressed an involuntary kick.
Your name travels swiftly on the winds of Salem.
There was thunder in her chest. "What else does the wind say, Soraya?" she asked, and though her voice was calm her lean body was taut with tension. The smallest misinterpreted movement could send the seer leaping at an imagined aggressor or springing away to safety.
Notoriety in the desert was never a good thing.
Aşk's eighth eye
♥ Uforia
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