I am the razor in the hands of your heart;
And I am the razor in the hands of God.
The Dunes rolled out before her like an angry orange sea, pebble-like fixtures of sand stabbing at her cannon bones with each passing gust of a breeze. Her thick mane lapped gently against her thin golden neck as it came and went, but still, the mare stood frozen. Immovable. Unflappable. The soft pink skin around her nostrils flared as she took in the dry desert air, and she urged her dainty frame forward. She scaled the soft slope of a dune with ease, as if she'd been conditioned all her life for this climate. Orange sand dusted her yellow legs but still she ambled on, freely and alone. For the first time in many years, the golden mare was not flanked by an adolescent at her side. Her appearance was hardened, however. It was impossible to decipher how she was feeling. Perhaps she'd picked up the stony exterior from a a tall and lean black Akhal-Teke she knew. Or perhaps Evaline had it in her all along.
The mare strode forward in long, lax strides until the green haze of the territory's refuge grew crisp in the distance. She followed it without wavering, the strands of her long, wavy blonde tail dragging behind her with every step.
Evaline hardly appeared to be the same mare she was just months ago. While pink scars still marred her otherwise pristine palomino coat, her mane and tail had grown back in fully and just as before. She still dawned a misshapen ear, but the mare did not hide behind her deformity. She accepted it as part of her, a war story, part of her history, a reminder of where she came from, and instead cast her big brown eyes toward the future.
When the golden mare reached the bank of the Dunes' only water source, she dropped her head to greet it eagerly with her lips. And there stood, silently drinking her fill.
17 | Arabian cross |14.2 | Palomino | Mother of Kasabian, Shamwari, Vita Nova, Paradiso | Vinyl |