Gabbar
stallion . arabian . bay . 14.3hh . 6
Valve’s response is as concise as Gabbar expects it to be. His brow furrows a bit at her words, ears turning outward as he processes the steady rhythm of her voice and the weight the sentence carried. The danger of Uzay is not fire, no, not at all like Iç, but the bone-shattering cold carried on His breath. There is no warmth in the God of the Dead.
But he understands the sentiment Valve shares— the dangers of such a God, and all He represents. If he is not mistaken, the sinuous mare has shared with him her own personal encounter with such a deity. Not his Uzay, of course— the ‘Tekes have their own set of Gods (and unlike most of his people, Gabbar does not condemn their slender neighbors for their difference in beliefs), their own lore and their own way of unpacking prophecies with their version of a seer. He has no right to tell anyone they are right or wrong in that respect, even if he believes in his heart that only one set of Gods is the right and true group of deities.
Gabbar realizes with that thought how different his values are from his people. He wonders if he has always had these opinions, or if leaving the violent herds has freed his mind to consider such topics at leisure. Perhaps it is a bit of both.
“Yes,” he says, and dips his head to acknowledge the import of what she has shared with him. He glances sidelong at her, then recalls he follows his own rules now and lifts his head to stare at her directly. Her face is as foreign and familiar to him as the ‘Tekes he grew up sparring and warring with and against, but unlike those catty and deceitful horses, Valve holds her power tightly against her skin— it is a second skin, one that settles so firmly and perfectly over her own that Gabbar cannot imagine ever seeing the mare without that innate confidence. It is heady. Alluring. He wants to step away from it, but cannot tell if it is that lingering belief of a taboo or if some part of him is warning she is dangerous.
He puts the thoughts away and remains where he stands beside Valve. There is no need to fill the air with speech; Gabbar does not waste breath on idle conversation, and he does not think the black mare will tolerate any direct effort of his to get to know her better. She shares what she chooses, when she chooses. He is content to stand in silence and survey their territory together: it is enough simply to be.
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