It was always good for someone to have a little fight. Many a time had the stallion been dragged into something that felt like an ending for his relatively brief story, and yet, with teeth set and ears pressed against his mane, he had survived. Perhaps there are a few fine and small details about the flaxen maned stallion that had been ignored by the masses. In general, he is not entirely cruel or mean- despite the blank look on his face and his tendency to use words that are enticingly rude or all together offensive, he is just a man that was raised on incorrect morals. With that said, he is also a man that is easily bored and finds himself humored in dipping his fingers into everyone’s pie, only to swirl them around and to make sure that no one else was happy.

Such selfish behavior had brought the stallion into several different lifestyles, many of which he did not manage to settle into, and all of which he quickly grew bored of. His sandy throne in the dunes were not liable to last long, and so, he had decided to make the most of it.

He had moved swiftly at night, towards the grassy lowlands of the ridge where there was a herd nestled in for the night. Right under the nose of the other stallion, with his eyes closed to the midnight moon, Badr had swept away two woman. Both of which would be stepping foot onto his little corner of the island in due time.

“Brute!”

As the woman’s voice slit through the air of the desert, the stallion pulls his face away from some sparse grasses upon which he had been feeding, swallowing daintily before turning his head in the direction of where the voice had come from. She was not entirely too small or undeniably fine-boned, but she was lean enough, and perhaps she was born from the loins of a mother or father that had survived the desert- he knew that build well. Of course, he takes his time in greeting her, skimming hooves over the rolling hills of sand and reaching the soft white sand that made up the shore. It was liberally decorated with beach grasses and the occasional swaying palm- but overall, Badr’s home was modestly and scarcely decorated with vegetation.

Upon meeting her head on, he blows a sigh from his lips as he regards her folded back ears and outwardly hostile behavior. This does not make the stallion shirk back, for he has been in his fair share of scraps and perhaps he was due for another. “Badr.” He quietly corrects her. “Unless you’d like me to call you mare.” His voice is relatively soft and calm, not betraying a hint of shame or guilt for what he had done.