Let there be fire. - " />
The Lost Islands
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Let there be fire.


Beschea

He had become an evening wanderer. With the moon shining silver down the edges of the sweet sandy dunes of his home, he felt more alive. Sweat did not cling to his skin and his hair was free to fly from the nape of his neck, rushing back from his face and away from his neck and the base of his tail near his buttocks at the slightest breeze. Winter was coming, and all that the dunes had to show of the change of seasons was milder weather.

Even in the night, the sands still held the heat from the sun. When he walked at night, he felt the warmth from the ground rising up against his belly, soaked with sunrays and flicking specks of heat against his hooves, ankles, and shins. It was a glorious feeling, like the desert was clinging to him and he was trying to disappear into the sky. At night, he ran, leaving crescent shaped hoof prints in his wake and propelling his body almost gracefully up waves in the ocean of sand. Sometimes, it felt like he was swimming, the way the sand rose to his knees and slowed him, still running, pulling him slowly down as he fought against the pull of the sand with the smallest smile on his lips.

With the coming of morning came the rise of temperature, leaving Badr to fall back to the oasis of his choice, out of breath and with his ears hanging lazily to the side. It didn’t take long for the sun to draw forth from his skin a smooth lather of sweat, beading delicately across his dark skin. Ah, but he loved the desert, in the heat and the cold. Somewhere in the distance, as the wind blows, the morning brought with it the far away beckoning of rainfall- a cloud that had escaped the confines of the colder islands and somehow found its way here to replenish the springs of the oases and to bring more greenery about the edges of the watering holes.

This is enough to bring a true smile to his face. It had been a long time since he had felt the warm rain of the desert, but for now he must be patient and wait for the great dark cloud to find its way over the desert and into the clutches of the dunes.

When people moved through the sands, there was barely any sound to their movements, but Badr can hear and, he would swear to it, feel the movements in the sands. Flicking his eyes to the east, he sees the sorrel mare making her way towards the beach, perhaps to roll in the waters and cool herself, when she had been told that going out in the day was a bad idea. Pushing back his dark ears, the stallion moves after her, matching her slow pace and making for the beach parallel to her path, keeping one eye on her location and the other towards the crests of the dunes that stood between him and the whiter-sands of the beach. Eventually, the girl breaches a hill, moving down it and towards something that has caught her eye- something that drags the stallion’s attention away from the chestnut herself, and instead to the spotted bay figure of the familiar face he had, almost, stalked in the commons.

Finally.

Closing the gap between them, Badr finds himself once more casting glances towards Vesti, ears still pulled back against his golden mane in warning, threatening that she should behave herself on behalf of the mare that the desert king had found himself so fascinated in. Of course, once he’s close enough, his dark eyes swing back to Jezibelle, admiring how she had adapted so quickly to keeping the sand out of her fine orifices. The sand did not bother Badr anymore; he assumed that this was something that many grew accustomed to. “The sea did not swallow you, Jezibelle?” He speaks out across the dead silence of the sand, throwing a glance in greeting to the chestnut mare. The straw maned stallion was not one for familiarities, and so the look he had thrown Vesti had been one of the more welcoming of gestures he had in his repertoire.

badr
The unmoral vigilante.
stallion. flaxen liver chestnut. unknown crossbreed.
ee aa ff. fifteen & three hands. eight years. russell.
html & character by Russell
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