I am the razor in the hands of your heart;
And I am the razor in the hands of God.
The mare winces as the cool water begins to settle in her gut. Her stomach aches and cranes from the sudden fullness of it all, but the mare is grateful for the relief the water brings to her throat, her seemingly endless thirst and the coolness to her hot pelt and aching joints. Evaline doesn't move from relatively deep position in the cool water, but listens with golden lobes pricked forward as Gabbar speaks to her from a nearer position to the riverbank. She bobs her head in agreement, thankful for his hospitality in this moment. "That would be nice." She says quietly before deciding to slink through the pool's muddy bottom back toward the stallion and the shade of the trees within the oasis.
"I have, but it's been many years," is all she offers him in explanation. Evaline hadn't lived in a place this hot for some time. She had spent some time in the Hills with Twenty One, a stallion she knew from another lifetime, here on the islands before it was consumed by the sea. She visited him once or twice while he lived here in the Dunes briefly. But the mare had grown up in a badlands-like landscape. Her father was an arabian and he had been her biggest supporter. He was estranged from his own family and rarely spoke of them, but the rest of his herd marveled at his sculpted body, one that clearly came from a carefully planned out lineage. She was still just a child when she was traded away, per the normal customs of the territory in which she grew up. Luckily Evaline's worth was never devalued because of her mixed breeding, though she loathed the mother she never knew for many years because of it. Her father would never had instilled such a callous belief in her.
Life had taken her so many places since then. She'd bounced around from herd to herd, living with fair stallions and many that were not so fair. Evaline had been in a constant search for something better, for a better title, a better lover, more power and more land. The older she got, however, the more trivial these things seemed to become.
Gabbar actually reminded her a bit of her father. She'd done her best to avoid pure breeds, especially arabians, in her lifetime for fear of the judgement that came often from their heritage. But Gabbar seemed different. He watched her curiously, he seemed to take note of her mood, of every reaction to every inquiry he had. He was clearly more attentive than her sons or even Valentine had ever been.
"Am I the only other who lives here?" She asks bluntly. Evaline had never been known for her grace. But she sees no reason to be polite just to charm him. She's here though she'd rather be somewhere else. They both knew that. The mare hadn't found the scent of another horse here yet in her short stay. Perhaps this is what drove him after Nereid in the first place.
15 | Arabian cross |14.2 | Palomino | Mother of Kasabian, Shamwari, Vita Nova, Paradiso | Vinyl |