Gabbar
stallion . arabian . bay . 14.3hh . 6
He smiles at her confirmation, unable to help the satisfaction that suffuses him to hear the black mare’s validation of their relationship. Even if they are simply two horses who have worked together to achieve a common goal it is an acknowledgment Gabbar has craved, and perhaps always will crave, having never truly achieved it back home. He was no one, there. Only a soldier among many other soldiers. Rakkas had merit. Leil, too, for a time. But Gabbar? The repudiated son of Iftikhar was no one. He had been nothing,
Here, his life has meaning.
His dark eyes focus on Valve. “They are still here,” he quips with a big grin, then sobers. “There is little to report. For a long time I was alone. Now, I am not.” His gaze shifts away from her at this last remark and he considers leaving it at that, to let the statement remain vague enough where the most obvious inference would be that he means Valve’s return has changed his solitary state.
But, she will find out sooner or later if she stays. He would rather she know it now, from him, and not discover it and brand him suddenly a traitor. If she were to vilify him for this, let her do it now. Gabbar flicks his tail. He was never any good at acting, not like El Halin and her endless capacity for deception and charades, but neither is he as compulsive as his mother, prone to expressing every last bit of her current mood for all to see. He attempts to sound casual as he informs the Akhal-Teke, “I’ve a herd now. Two mares, both carrying desert blood.” Gabbar waits to reveal that only one of them is full-blooded— to him, it no longer matters, but he is certain such a fact will incite only wrath from Valve.
He would like to pretend, for a moment longer, that the two of them will remain steadfast in their partnership in the days to come.
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