<font color=#e4e0d7><i>�Beware she who suckles from the Walking Mare.�</i></font>

Your King Asmodeus
Your Queen ~~Nyimara~~
The Second None
The Herd Name, Name, Name		The Sub-Herd Name, Name, Name
Allies Name (Land)		Enemies Solomon (Cove)
The Rules There will be no fraternizing with enemies. If you put yourself knowingly in danger, don't expect a rescue. We are only as strong as our weakest link. See to it that you are getting stronger in some skill that is useful, whether it is battling, recruiting, charming, etc. The King and Queen have final say in all matters.

�Beware she who suckles from the Walking Mare.�
Posted on April 1, 2015 at 01:01:40 AM by el halin

El Halin

�I do not care for the cold, no,� El Halin admits. She cannot relate to his interest in traveling: the High Seer did not care for the long months in unfamiliar territory during her transition between the desert and these Isles. She does not see the point in leaving one�s home to see a different place. There is enough adventure in the stories told in her herd to satisfy even the most restless heart, but besides that El Halin has never felt compelled to venture beyond the borders of her home. She would not be here now if it were not at the behest of her Goddess and for the good of her herd.

She flicks her gray tail and tips an ear toward her companion before she realizes the breeder has stopped. El Halin turns, the tip of one forehoof resting in the sand on the edge of the oasis, and flares her nostrils appreciatively at the scent of water. No doubt the pool lies just beyond the small wall of shrubbery, and at this distance El Halin realizes she is thirsty. She swallows dryly and rests her dark eyes on the pale stallion as he warns her against romanticizing his home.

El Halin bristles inwardly, but she is not like Iftikhar� she does not respond with acid in her voice or display her displeasure with pinned ears or a lashing tail. The High Seer suppresses her indignation to nurture in her own time, so that when the opportunity arises to put this k�stah breeder in his place, the slight against her will have magnified to a white-hot rage. She draws in a deep, slow breath, and when the freckled Arabian does reply, there is no hint of her planned revenge in her smooth voice: �You worry unnecessarily. A year away from the desert has not erased seven years of my respect for both its beauty and its hazards. I do appreciate your concern, however: it is kind of you. Many would have let a stranger walk to their doom instead.�

Many horses she knows personally, in fact. If an adult doesn�t have enough sense to give snakes with singing tails a wide berth, or fails to hydrate sufficiently and is desperate for water, no Arabian will ever feel beholden to help such an unfortunate creature. The mistakes of children are more easily forgiven in certain cases, but in El Halin�s desert there is little tolerance for ignorance about the land. It does not do to allow idiots to procreate; better Uzay reclaim them from the sand. El Halin offers the breeder a shallow nod before she enters the oasis. The shade from the trees cools the air around the pool and offers a reprieve from the sun�s relentless glare. The grass has been cropped short in some places but it does not appear that many horses share this little paradise with the breeder. She does smell others, but the scents are faint and none are familiar to her. The breeder who led her here appears to be the only male, and thus must be the head breeder of the herd �or whatever the rank is referred to in this barbaric land.

The water gleams in the sunlight. It reminds El Halin of the Akhal-Tekes and the unique sheen of their coats as she steps up to the edge of the pool and drops her fine head to drink. The touch of liquid against her parched throat is a pleasure unparalleled by any other experience and she closes her eyes to savor it. Her thirst slaked, El Halin lifts her head and cranes her neck to look at the breeder from over one red shoulder. Water drips from her whiskers and darkens the bloodmark in some places to a deep red. �I have only ever called the desert home,� she says. �I am not interested in snow. I am a mare born from fire and sand whose first impression of this earth was the coarse grit against my coat in the heart of a desert. This territory is different from my homeland only in that it is smaller in size: I don�t doubt it carries the same predators and natural disasters as where I am from, so you need not fear for my safety.� The High Seer is competent and confident. She flicks her tail across her hips and adds more explicitly, �If it will not stretch the resources too thin, I would like to join this herd.�

mare // arabian // fleabitten gray // fourteen.three hh // eight // uforia

�Beware she who suckles from the Walking Mare�

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