Gabbar
stallion . arabian . bay . 14.3hh . 6
Now that he has a herd, however small it might be, Gabbar does not like to spend too much time away from Salem. Additionally, his recent discovery of Iftikhar and El Halin has spurred him back home at double-pace and he reaches the shore of the Dunes with his heart hammering from more than the physical exertion it takes to swim through the swelling waves. He does not know what he will do should he find either mare on his shores. Despite his success at following his heart, which goes entirely against his upbringing, Gabbar knows it will be nigh impossible to ignore a direct command from the High Seer.
The Arabian pulls himself from the ocean as the first light of day spreads itself across the sky. His bay coat is slicked almost to black, and water sluices off him as he pivots to survey the horizon he has just arrived from. He sees no horses bobbing in the waves. Still, the stallion strains his eyes against the rising sun just to be sure he has not been followed, and though it takes some convincing Gabbar is at last able to peel his eyes away and turn to face his home.
The black form on top of the nearest dune shocks his heart back to a gallop and he gasps at the sudden lurch in his chest. He moves forward without thinking, legs churning sand automatically as he pulls himself up the slope, name forming in his mind just as the stranger shakes their dished head. Irritation flashes at the sudden sink of his heart, but he has no time for that now and in truth will likely not revisit such unbecoming thoughts on his own time: for now, there’s a stranger to be met and—
Blood.
It’s faint but he still smells it as he crests the dune and jogs to a stop facing the newcomer. Sharp and coppery, and as his eyes flick across her compact body he sees it beading on her black coat. His ears twist, nostrils flaring to drink the wind, but all he smells is sand and salt and the tang of blood muted by the mare’s own unfamiliar scent. “Iyi misin, bayan?” he asks as soon as he confirms there is no immediate danger. He makes as if to step closer but stops. While he does not recognize the mare that does not mean she is not from the desert. There are any number of explanations as to why a warrior from his homeland would be standing in his home and all of them make his blood run cold to consider. His muscles tighten reflexively but his deep voice is devoid of any sign of his rising panic as he asks, “Whoever did this to you— do they have your scent? Are you followed?”
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