His first friend? Avangeline blinked, looking more closely at Gabbar as if trying to read through a lie or jest. When it appeared he was being honest, her smile softened and she felt a warmth blossoming inside. It felt good to be friends, to have friends again, especially with someone like Gabbar. Avangeline rather liked him and quickly felt her initial worry as to his breed was foolish. Guilt shadowed the pleasant feelings and she worked to quietly, internally push them away. If she was to begin judging based on breed how did that make it any better than the red mare – Iftikhar – who’d attacked her? Or those who wouldn’t allow Al-Hattaal to be her friend?
Avangeline’s dark-tipped ear twitched and she looked with curious eyes as Gabbar looked away. She listened when he began to speak but, just a sentence in, found her heartbeat was increasing in her chest. Her eyes widened. A desert? A stallion called a breeder, who has no worth? Avangeline was looking at Gabbar but she was seeing Al-Hattaal. She remembered when he’d rushed to her and asked if she was okay, when he’d told her how the Arabians of his desert hated her kind. She remembered when Iftikhar had called him a breeder.
Could Gabbar and Al-Hattaal hail from the same desert? Did he know Al-Hattaal? Could he tell her where he was?
Questions concerning mainly her care for Al-Hattaal were quickly diminished.
Her name’s Iftikhar, by the way.
Avangeline’s eyes widened in a mix of shock and slight fear. Her lips fell apart and though she’d wanted to speak initially, she found she didn’t have a voice. “Your… mother?” When she found her words they were hoarse, almost a gasp.
You are lacking in every possible way.
She remembered the way Iftikhar had spoken down to her. She remembered how Al-Hattaal had told her to go, to run, as Iftikhar embraced him (in a way). She remembered crying as she stumbled away, trying to go as quickly as she could… and she remembered seeing Al-Hattaal months later and telling him she’d missed him… and him telling her he’d missed her, too.
“I…” Avangeline’s distress was clear to see. She shook her head and took a breath, willing no tears to prick at her eyelids. She’d cried enough and it was so long ago she shouldn’t have tears to spend anymore. She glanced to Gabbar, looking to him like he were a lifeboat, but only saw the white stockings, dished face, and couldn’t think of bay in exchange for chestnut. She took another breath and glanced to his hooves. “I know your mother.” She admitted quietly. “I met her once.” Once had been enough.
She knew she was going to have to explain things more clearly and forced herself to look up at Gabbar. “When I first came to the Commons I met a stallion – an Arabian stallion whose name was Al-Hattaal. He offered to protect me as he searched for his sister and we became… well I…” Avangeline fumbled over her words. “I became more attached to him as time went on. I saw your mother – Iftikhar – running through the meadows and feared she was being pursued, so I ran after her to make certain she was okay. She turned on me and attacked me. Al-Hattaal put himself between us and allowed himself to take the brunt of her beating, but not before he told me about the desert he came from and how Arabians hate Akhal-Teke’s.”
Avangeline’s voice tightened. What Iftikhar told her was nothing she needed to repeat to Gabbar. She swallowed back a lump which had crawled into her throat and gave her head another small shake. The black threads of her tail cracked at her haunches. “He told me to go and I did… I didn’t see him for a few months after that.”
“Al-Hattaal! I’ve… I’ve missed you so much.”
“Me too…”
Avangeline exhaled slowly and her eyes reached for Gabbar. “I told him I didn’t want to bring more trouble for him and we… we parted ways.” Was that the story Avangeline wanted? No. Not at all. There was little she could do about it now, though. She hadn’t once spotted Al-Hattaal since that fateful day.
She looked at Gabbar. Would she treat him differently, knowing who his mother was? Would she not look at him as a friend, knowing whose blood he shared?
No, that would not be in Avangeline’s nature. She’d named Gabbar her friend and she meant it. Somehow, someway, he’d changed from the traditions taught to him at home and Avangeline only wished to encourage those changes. He’d offered her, an Akhal-Teke, home without hesitation. He’d agreed immediately they were friends. He denounced his blood-ties with his mother.
“If Iftikhar tries to come into the Dunes, I will not let her.”
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