Gabbar
stallion . arabian . bay . 14.3hh . 6
She is gone.
Gabbar stands hock-deep in the ocean and stares after the fading silhouettes of Nereid and the stranger who stole her. He is unworthy. This decision of his, this conscious choice he made to step above his station in life and call a land his has been shattered swiftly. How can he claim to be a leader of anything if he cannot even protect one member of his herd?
Rage swells his chest, curls his neck to an arch. No. He will not allow this kind of thinking to cripple him. Gabbar knows if he gives up now on this dream, he will turn, tail tucked, and run home to a land and a culture festering from within. This is his opportunity to change. To make a difference.
The fact that Nereid was taken from his own land hollows out his gut, tenderizes his pride. The bay stallion pivots away from the water —he has memorized the direction in which they went, and he will follow. In time. For now, he goes to secure his borders.
Gabbar follows the line of his territory at a swift trot, pausing periodically to leave his scent, and plots. The wind seems to react to the conflict roiling within him and lifts sand in strong gusts. He slits his eyes and closes his nostrils against each prickly barrage automatically, and literally stumbles against another horse during one such windstorm.
His shoulder catches on the warm body of another creature and his hoof slips, knocking against the hock of the other and tripping him so that he stumbles to catch himself as he jerks away and out of biting range. “Uzay!” he curses, spitting sand and giving an abrupt toss of his head to clear his vision as the wind settles. There’s a pale spotted child near him, gold and cream, a female.
He squares his shoulders and averts his gaze to the horizon over her shoulder. “I beg forgiveness, bayan,” he says. before he catches himself falling back into old habits. He shakes his head, loosens his posture and looks at her directly. There is no hostility in his deep voice as he asks, “Where did you come from?”
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