Gabbar
stallion . arabian . bay . 14.3hh . 6
The heat of the sun is not unbearable, and Gabbar enjoys feeling his coat dry as they venture further into the territory. At some point sweat will darken his coat again, but so far each ascent and descent and casual stroll along the soft top of the dunes has not caused him to exert enough energy. He feels lively.
“I believe it,” he responds with a chuckle. “You walk in this heat with no discomfort. We desert-bred are built for the close scrutiny of the sun.” The Akhal-Tekes believe the sun is the eye of their God, and he relishes the imagery as he appropriates it to impress the prepossessing mare at his shoulder. He should not be surprised at the poetic nature of the ‘Tekes; they are infamous for their silver tongues, after all.
He shakes out his coat and pauses for a moment with all four hooves sunk into the sand. “Your people,” he begins, and regards her in solemn silence as he debates how to phrase his question. He settles on the the most open-ended version, loathe to give offense when they have not even reached the oasis yet. It is his favorite part of the Dunes, but still quite a ways off. He does not want Sekhmet to turn around and leave before they have even reached the tue heart of the territory. “What are they like?”
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