e n c a n t a d o r
The heat of the sun on his face, the comfort of feeling El Aran leaning against him, the honesty of his sister’s smile: there is warmth and solace in all of it. Though his eyes are still heavily-lidded with exhaustion, in that moment, completely oblivious to the unusual exchange between the two mares just seconds before, Encantador is happy and proud of what he has. His smile brightens.
“I feel better,” he answers pleasantly, and wonders if El Aran will realize what they are talking about. She’s intelligent enough, and she saw me at my worst as well: she’ll know. Valencia’s next remark makes him chuckle. “This is El Aran, my lead mare.” It’s strange to think that he’s known the desert mare for longer even than his own half-sister, but he sees little point in pointing out such a triviality lest it be construed the wrong way. Shifting his weight, he clears his throat.
“It’s nice to see you again. I was beginning to think you’d forgotten about me,” he jests with a smirk.
six-year-old stallion of the desert; son of el barroco and writhe
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