The Lost Islands
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family, duty, honor
Posted on July 25, 2012 at 08:27:13 PM by r h a e l l a


rhaella

The further inland they venture, the more Rhaella regrets her decision.

She had once thought there was nothing more dangerous beneath the feet than ice, but the sea of sand here – while on the surface it seems solid – is an enemy to those who aren’t used to it, and Rhaella finds herself struggling to keep her balance as they trek across the shifting dunes. Shael, conversely, still has a small amount of energy to spare. Having perked up once Badr had arrived to greet them – for she recognized him, she was sure of it – the smoky black filly is picking her legs up like a little show-pony and lowering her muzzle to the ground to feel the silkiness of the sand as they move.

Eventually, of course, the heat begins to get the better of both of them. Rhaella’s mahogany coat is flick with sweat, her white nostrils flared as she draws in haggard breaths. Everything is irritating her, from the bleak blue sky she would have otherwise found beautiful, to the pests that insistently nip her flanks, and the sheer openness of Badr’s home. Where are all the trees? This place looks as if it’s deep in Malachite’s clutches. We shouldn’t be here. Casting a sideways glance to check on her daughter and seeing that the poor girl is finally tiring only serves to back-up her thoughts.

But somehow she cannot find it within herself to abandon the stallion and go back the way they’d come to the deliciously cool, salty sea. And when she finally spots the oasis, the mare whinnies with relief.

She rushes past the stallion with Shael hot at her heels (though stumbling in her efforts) to take the longest drink she’s quite possibly ever had. Though her knees are trembling and her skin is still hot despite the shade, Rhaella can feel her irritation begin to melt away as her eyelids fall half-closed. The filly, meanwhile, has collapsed to roll appreciatively in the water and creates a great storm of splashing in her wake. Rhaella watches her as she drinks, and thinks to chide her, but the water dappled on her pelt is too refreshing to condemn.

Finally she lifts her head to meet Badr’s gaze. For a long time she considers his question thoughtfully while her daughter continues to frolic in the water. “To see what you have to offer,” she finally replies, her head held high and her green eyes stern.

six-year-old mare of nowhere;
widowed karvieg of aleksei



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