| orhan
In the desert, time is a funny thing. One moment it seems to be lingering on and on and on, with no change in the arid, undulating beige landscape around them, and with no end to the shimmering waves of heat in the distance that give the illusion of water, or the sharp sting of sunburn on his back. Then, in the seeming blink of an eye, months have passed, and Orhan can remember little of what has happened. Every day has seemed to run together like a great sand-colored blur, with him and his dam coexisting in mostly relaxed silence, peppered only by the occasional question about his father that he has not already asked five times.
It is finally the rainy season in the desert, however, and he is already starting to notice the extra humidity in the air which promises a great storm to come. It seems as though the land has decided to change at the same time he is.
Orhan is a year old now, and he is beginning to fill out in every direction. His once stiff, zebra-like mane has grown out enough to drape gracefully across his neck, highlighted with pale frosting hairs, his hindquarters have begun to ripple with lean muscle, and he easily reaches El Aran's chin in height. Occasionally he still suckles, when it is too hot to search for food and his mother is feeling tolerant, but in order to do so he must bow down onto his front limbs, which is sore on his developing joints. Still his legs seem too long for his body, and his pale gold baby fur is as soft as it will ever be, but he most certainly no longer thinks of himself as a child, and is beginning to feel the first twinges of desire to stray from his dam's side.
So when a strange stallion appears suddenly over the crest of a dune and heads straight for them, the young colt's legs lock in shock. He has never been so close to someone who isn't his mother before; always strangers have remained on the horizon, far away, and his mother has always seen to them, as if they are mere pests that require a slap of derision. This... this is brand new. And it is terrifying.
When the boldly-marked male reaches out for him, Orhan gnashes his teeth in a submissive grimace and backs away as fast as his lanky legs can carry him until he is standing knee-deep in the tepid waters of the oasis. Dark nostrils flared wide and eyes rolling to show the whites, he dances nervously in place, splashing water all over himself, and spits out in his awkward adolescent tenor, "I'm not a child!"
yearling; mutt; buckskin; 15'1hh wfg; desert; shiva |