Gabbar
stallion . arabian . bay . 14.3hh . 6
Sekhmet’s response to his invitiation is as steady and self-assured as he expects, and he responds to it with a wide grin before he turns and motions in the direction they should head with his nose. He does not take the lead until they reach the ocean, preferring to walk shoulder to shoulder with his companion— something he reprimands himself for later, his internal voice lightly chastising as he savors the improper experience of walking directly beside a mare who did not direct him to do so, instead of keeping pace half a step behind Sekhmet’s left shoulder as he should have done. It was not a gesture made out of disrespect, but it is one that would be frowned upon by any of the mares from his homeland. Gabbar is filled with a deep satisfaction that none of the mares he’s met on these Isles, save Iftikhar, has been like the Arabian mares at home, and as he swims toward Salem he reflects that perhaps his culture is a touch unfair to the males within it. He has certainly had more success and enjoyment keeping company with the mares here than back home. They seem to like his company, rather than actively disdaining it.
He sheds thoughts of home like water off his back as he finally climbs out of the ocean and strides up the low incline of the beach that borders the west edge of his territory, his black tail flagged and dripping behind him. Ahead, soft sand lies flat for several horselengths before it rises into the first small pile, and behind those initial small dunes rise several more of various heights. The rest of his territory is hidden behind the larger piles of sand, though once they crest one of the taller mounds Gabbar knows his land will sprawl out before them. He smiles in anticipation of Sekhmet’s reaction, wondering if she will find the deep pockets of shadow on the far sides of each hill or the deep orange glow of the sands under the light of a sunset as appealing as he does. Truly, he can not have landed himself a better home, and he sends a prayer of thanks to Uzay for allowing such a thing to be possible.
Now he turns his finely dished head, chin tucked and neck arched, to gauge Sekhmet’s initial reaction to his home. He hopes, in his own survey of his land, that he has not missed her first impression of the Dunes.
“Shall we climb?” he offers, and tips his head toward the highest dune. The sun here is warm on his back, but he knows at that height the winds will be stronger and the heat even more intense— much more similar to the climate of his own home and, he suspects, of Sekhmet’s.
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