Posted on September 5, 2015 at 06:55:54 AM by STRACK
STRACKStrack had taken to exploring the soft contours that made up the Dunes before he sets across the Isle to find Maslakhat. He finds there is no need to rush — should the opposing stallion truly wish to acquire the Dunes, he would wait patiently for Strack's arrival. The mottled Nez Perce would not place himself at another's beck and call, and so he kept to his quiet roaming, at least for the day. The season had turned to winter but the island of Salem had remained hot and dry. The beast, while not yet used to the climate within which he found himself, was quite enjoying the lack of humidity. Even at the coast line of his territory, where the Dunes turned to an immediate and foreboding cliff that offered them view of tumultuous waters and Luthien in the distance, it was only the salty scent of the water that plagued the air.
With grace, the stallion roams through the rolling sands. He keeps his head raised in curiosity but finds nothing that he has not yet happened across — there is a small oasis to the north of his abode, the cliff to the west, and nothing but warm sands and the occasional hardy tree or desert foliage in every other direction. The scents of Gabbar and Valve still cling to the air, though they are fading with each passing day. Strack thinks every so often about his welcoming party, about the inherent disdain that Valve had refused to hide upon her inspection of him, and his lips turn skyward with a twinge of subconscious amusement. She would be an interesting one to pick at, to learn about, to study... but Strack supposes he will not be granted such a chance with the volatile mare.
The scent of a stallion who is neither himself, Gabbar or Maslakhat finds the speckled dun's flared nostrils, forcing him to immediately pivot on muscled hinds. He sets forth at a trot towards the source of the scent, ears thrown forward at the resounding whinny that soon fills the Dunes' sky. Thankfully, Strack had been venturing rather close to the eastern border, and so it does not take him long to find the intruding stallion. The steel gray beast appears lost, which is not something the black-pointed stallion had been expecting. The recent aggression towards him, whether from the previous residents of the Dunes or from those who wished to live within it, has swiftly embedded within him the instinct to expect hostility.
He snorts his greeting and halts a comfortable distance from the grey, ears flicking to and fro almost lazily. "If you've come to stake your claim upon the Dunes, I'm afraid you must wait for me to dispose of Maslakhat first," he pauses briefly, dark brown eyes roving the face of the other stallion, "but if you've come for a home or just a brief rest, you are more than welcome to make yourself comfortable. I am Strack."
THE SUN SAID, "IT HURTS TO BECOME,"
With grace, the stallion roams through the rolling sands. He keeps his head raised in curiosity but finds nothing that he has not yet happened across — there is a small oasis to the north of his abode, the cliff to the west, and nothing but warm sands and the occasional hardy tree or desert foliage in every other direction. The scents of Gabbar and Valve still cling to the air, though they are fading with each passing day. Strack thinks every so often about his welcoming party, about the inherent disdain that Valve had refused to hide upon her inspection of him, and his lips turn skyward with a twinge of subconscious amusement. She would be an interesting one to pick at, to learn about, to study... but Strack supposes he will not be granted such a chance with the volatile mare.
The scent of a stallion who is neither himself, Gabbar or Maslakhat finds the speckled dun's flared nostrils, forcing him to immediately pivot on muscled hinds. He sets forth at a trot towards the source of the scent, ears thrown forward at the resounding whinny that soon fills the Dunes' sky. Thankfully, Strack had been venturing rather close to the eastern border, and so it does not take him long to find the intruding stallion. The steel gray beast appears lost, which is not something the black-pointed stallion had been expecting. The recent aggression towards him, whether from the previous residents of the Dunes or from those who wished to live within it, has swiftly embedded within him the instinct to expect hostility.
He snorts his greeting and halts a comfortable distance from the grey, ears flicking to and fro almost lazily. "If you've come to stake your claim upon the Dunes, I'm afraid you must wait for me to dispose of Maslakhat first," he pauses briefly, dark brown eyes roving the face of the other stallion, "but if you've come for a home or just a brief rest, you are more than welcome to make yourself comfortable. I am Strack."
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