Gabbar
stallion . arabian . bay . 14.3hh . 6
Gabbar heads for the shore and stops when he realizes Nereid is not beside him, but when he stops and looks over his shoulder for her, the pale mare is nearly to his side. He whickers low, and moves on. The ocean seems quiet as they approach, perhaps only because neither one of them is speaking, but Gabbar knows the power surging under the waves. He relishes each swim between islands— it is a challenge, and so little on these Isles of the Lost challenge him.
He does not miss living in a land ravaged by war, or being part of a herd where he holds no power save what the mares deign to reward him with for excellence in battle, but he does miss the sharp surveillance that carried him through the days and the heady rush of each battle. He flexes his neck as he strides into the water and stamps the surface of the waves with one hoof in challenge. This opponent is, in some ways, more difficult than another horse, but Gabbar knows he will not fail.
The swim seems longer than any other he has taken before, and he knows it is because Nereid is behind him. Gabbar is eager to share his home with her —their home— and the anticipation of her approval makes for a tedious journey. Finally, he feels the slope of the shore under his churning hooves and he pulls himself out of the water and up onto the beach, the sheen of saltwater coloring his coat mahogany under the afternoon sun. Gabbar turns, snorts moisture off the end of his nose, and flips his ears toward the pale mare.
She is sleek from the swim, hair slicked and clinging to her coat as she stands dripping in the shallows. Her breath is heavy, but she faces him with a dazzling smile as she poses a question. His tail flags, neck arching unconsciously in response to her attention. He reminds himself this is not like home, they are equals here, and weighs her question accordingly. “If you are not too tired from the swim, it is best to press on. We will need water soon and the afternoon is fading, and it can be a difficult trek even for those who are used to the shifting sand and steep slopes. Let us walk now. The sun dry our coats, and before nightfall we will reach the oasis.”
He turns to face the ocean of sand he calls his own. There are smaller sand dunes peppering the shore, and behind them larger hills. They will not see the heart of the Dunes until they climb those first tall slopes and, eager to see her reaction to the sprawling piles of sand that dominate the west end of Salem, Gabbar strides out of the ocean and flicks water from the end of his tail.
“Come, Nereid,” he says. “I want you to see it before the light fades. This whole land glows.” He grins at her over his damp shoulder and waits for her to join him.
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