I am the razor in the hands of your heart;
And I am the razor in the hands of God.
Evaline swallowed hard in an attempt to forget her strong distaste for the dusty, red coated terrain. The sand had stained up her coat, a burnt orange covering her coronet band and creeping up the length of her slender limbs. She could feel the dust as it settled in her lungs, her throat sore from the raspy breathes that continued to coat her insides with the arid sand particles. The golden mare stalked through the loose sand in unbalanced steps, sweat beading along her jawline and across the pink skin of her muzzle. She could feel the moisture dampening her golden coat and beginning to froth through the dips in lean muscle around her chest, shoulders and neck.
To say Evaline was frustrated was an understatement. Rage bubbled underneath her blonde pelt, and with every step she took, she cursed Shamwari's name. She cursed having ever given birth to such an ungrateful little shit. What hurt the most was that this wasn't even the first time he disappointed her. Shame on me, she thought in her head. Never again. Why had she chosen him out of the lot to be her favorite?
She was tired. The mare was sick and tired of the get up, of the game she once loved to play with the stallions who drooled over her. This game wasn't so easy now that she wasn't a four-year-old. And ever since Valentine left, she delayed her re-entrance into it all by hovering over Shamwari and refusing to leave the Prairie. Evaline wasn't stupid. She knew stallions were more often interested in the those in their younger years. She didn't know if she could still give birth to healthy heirs. She didn't know that she wanted another one anyway. But Evaline would be limited in her ways to appease and woo Gabbar now that she was older.
Evaline said nothing to him her first night in the Dunes. Not on the heart wrenching swim from Luthien where she left Paradiso and Shamwari behind at the shore, and not once she arrived among the tall hills of sand, which she scaled ungracefully but quickly enough to fade of his view. But now that the sun was high overhead, she couldn't find the Arabian anywhere. She was miserable, thirsty and hungry. And everywhere she went she just found more sand.
15 | Arabian cross |14.2 | Palomino | Mother of Kasabian, Shamwari, Vita Nova, Paradiso | Vinyl |