Orhan

The day should have been worse. There should have been storm clouds on the horizon, brewing dark and ominous like a hellish mountain. At the very least the dunes should have been gripped by a drought, bare and dry to represent his loss of hope. But they were not. In fact, it was a perfect day. Desert flowers clustered in yellow bunches here and there, having been stirred to life by recent rains, and the sky was a deep cerulean blue as far as the eye could see. It was disappointing, to say the least.

This was the last stop on Orhan's months-long journey, and he had been dreading it. Now, half-starved and weary from exhaustion, the buckskin stallion wished he had gotten it out of the way sooner. Really, it should have been his first stop.

His limp had become worse too, and Orhan was a sorry sight as he slowly tread his way into the dunes. His coat was dull, his head hung low, and his brown eyes stared lifelessly out at the terrain. When a scent eventually reached him, he came to a stop and lifted his head only a couple inches to test the air. His brain was muddled with fatigue, and it took him longer than usual to process it, but soon enough he realized that it was a scent he recognized. It was not, however, Gabbar's scent. It was a mare's, and though he could not put a name to it, it made his heart begin to race with an odd sense of forboding.

Orhan took a moment to collect himself, then continued to limp further into his neighbor's territory.