Avangeline wore a soft frown as she listened to Gabbar explain more in-depth the politics from which sprung Iftikhar as well as himself and Al-Hattaal. Where she was born there was also a constant war, but it was nothing like the war which seemed to affect the deserts of his birth home. Resources were not fought over, but loyalties to particular deities. Though Avangeline’s father had once told her the war of the land she was born into was nothing like real war, and she knew he hailed as a general from something terrible, she never knew such hatred could exist as it seemed to do where Gabbar was born. Perhaps she’d been too young or too sheltered to understand. Perhaps her father had talked down the battles he fought and the way her mother snuck across enemy lines to steal followers from underneath their deity’s nose. Perhaps it hadn’t been as carefree as she’d thought and there was ugliness they simply shielded her from.
Gabbar moved before she could think of something to say, knowing she wanted to apologize for the life he had to grow up in, though she had no play in it. Avangeline watched him, pulling herself from her confused muddling as to a past she wasn’t completely certain was real and instead focused on the present. She tilted her long, angular face as he began to speak again, her worried eyes watching him as anger affected his voice. Avangeline was torn between feeling relieved and supported by a friend who, though he hailed from the same place (AND was son of Iftikhar), was willing to cast it all aside and remain her friend… and feeling bad to have caused him to suffer through rage like this (as if it was actually her fault).
Her heart raced as his anger increased, though Avangeline never expressed any sort of fear. She was not afraid of Gabbar’s rage as she knew it was not directed at her in the slightest. While she feared Iftikhar and the strength and resilience the red mare possessed, Avangeline could only admire what passion rose so swiftly into Gabbar. Even as he pulled away from her and seemed to be attempting to calm himself, Avangeline felt her heart hitting hard against her ribs and her eyes were wide and glued to him, never once leaving his figure.
She wondered how it was possible to feel so deeply and care so greatly for someone she’d barely met. Already, Avangeline felt pulled toward Gabbar. Attached to him. Wasn’t it wrong of her to feel this way toward a stallion she’d just met? Wasn’t it wrong of her to feel bonded to someone when she knew, without a doubt, her feelings for Al-Hattaal had not diminished, just as her feelings for Bjorn hadn’t either? Regardless of how connected she felt toward Gabbar and how he had surprised her by denouncing the practices taught to him since he was a foal, Avangeline knew she was better to not rush forth with her emotions.
Once he had finished speaking, Avangeline moved forward, her legs pushing through sand with grace born into her blood. She stopped once she was near him and extended her muzzle to gently rub it against his wither in an affectionate notion before she pulled back. “You amaze me, Gabbar,” she said honestly, the awe like honey in her voice and her eyes bright. “To come from what you’ve come from and to be raised by who raised you and to be able to stand on your own and decide it isn’t right and you want to fight against it…” Avangeline exhaled as if his behavior took her breath away which, in a way, it did. “You’re so brave and so strong. I hope I can learn that from you.” A small smile turned the corners of her mouth. “Your compassion and your belief in righting the wrongs makes you a great leader.”
|