Gabbar
stallion . arabian . bay . 14.3hh . 6
Under the wide-spread of Uzay’s honored soldiers, the stars, Gabbar looks forward to a skirmish with the stranger, but he is doomed to be disappointed by each horse he fights on these Isles. The stranger seems unconcerned when the bay Arabian strikes out at him with both forehooves, even though Gabbar could have sworn he was close enough to make the other horse at least flinch if his attack did not land. Instead the intruder smiles hugely. Gabbar wonders if he is not quite right in the head. Horses like that do not last in the desert: they are struck dead as soon as their mental capacity has been determined “useless” regardless of gender or lineage. There is no room for imperfection in the desert, and Gabbar will not allow it in his Dunes.
He gathers his weight on his hindquarters, prepared to lunge at the stallion again (with the intent to bring his body right up against the other male, so that this time his attack will be sure to hit), when movement out of the corner of his eye distracts him. He turns his head slightly and makes out the flagged tail and proud profile of the flaxen chestnut mare standing a little ways away. Gabbar wants nothing more than to beat the intruder into a bloody pulp for the mare’s benefit, but the stallion speaks before the bay can complete his action.
Gabbar shifts his weight to distribute it evenly between all four hooves and pins his ears at the intruder. “Your strength is nothing compared to mine,” Gabbar states. “I’ll not have a mutt taking sustenance from my herd. Turn around and leave now.” His deep voice is full of warning: should the stranger refuse to go, or hesitate, Gabbar will personally escort the mutt out of the Dunes by way of tooth and hoof. The Arabian is not willing to discuss a compromise with anyone of impure bloodlines. He stamps his socked front hoof in the loose sand at his feet to emphasize his sincerity.
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