These days he is never still for long. Even when he sleeps, it is fleetingly. His black-rimmed ears are constantly twitching to and fro atop his head like little satellite dishes, and his legs are almost always dancing rhythmically beneath him like pistons, itching to keep him moving. For the first time in his life, he understands why his mother has always seemed on edge, forgoing sleep and even hunger in order to maintain a watchful eye at all times on the horizon.
A few days ago, he had been nibbling at the greens that lined the huge, shimmering body of the main oasis, when a dry desert wind had reached him. Alone, he had lifted his head and snuffed at it nervously, as he had witnessed his dam do all too many times before, and blinked rapidly at the acompanying air-lifted grains of sand that prickled against his face. The moment he had realized there was a strange stallion in the territory - and very near - he had not stopped to look for El Aran. He had turned tail and fled with the wind over the dusty hills, and just in time too, for the self-proclaimed new 'leader' of the desert had arrived at that oasis moments later to call it his own.
Since then, by day he has wandered along the outskirts of his own home, lost for purpose, and at night returning to the smaller, less well-known oasis situated near the western border to sleep: or attempt to, that is. He has seen little of his mother, fixated as she must be with the invasive presence of the new stallion. It is a lonely, anxiety-riddled existence, and Orhan is growing tired of it: just as tired as he knows El Aran is of trying to see off these persistent, big-headed pests. Yet he knows he is not yet ready to deal with them himself.
It's a hot and lazy afternoon when he realizes that the desert is being invaded yet again. Perched atop a high dune near the boundary, the colt can see the hazy figure of a horse off to his left approaching from the outlands beyond. In the sunlight, the stranger's coat seems almost blindingly white, and Orhan has to squint to get a better look at him. Even from here, he can see the horse is larger than average, and for a moment he thinks Renaissance has returned. Just as his heart rate has begun to skyrocket, and just as he has tensed to flee again before he is seen, the stallion stops abruptly.
Curious, the colt watches long enough to realize that the stranger is deliberately waiting on the boundary line. How strange. Possessed by sudden courage, he decides to investigate.
"You're too late," he calls out when he has trotted to within a few strides of the hairy, white-splotched stallion. "There's already another here." Despite the relative calmness of his voice, Orhan is nervous being so close to such a huge, impressive male, and paces feverishly back and forth atop the hot, sparkling sand, ready to spin out of striking range if need be. His golden coat is damp with sweat and his dark eyes are rolled to show the whites as he waits to see if his new acquaintance will turn out to be yet another threat. Were she here, El Aran might have attacked this stallion without warning as she always did, but Orhan knows he is no match for this giant.
-ORHAN
yearling; mutt; buckskin; 15'1hh wfg; shiva |
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