As he swam with Avangeline, Al-Hattaal did his best not to let his mind wander too far, as he had a tendency lately to do. He prayed to Uzay that when the two of them reached the dunes there would be good news waiting for them. When his hooves landed upon the wet sands of the beach, his coal-black coat shining brightly in the hot sun, he sighed heavily but that did nothing to relieve the burden he felt. He suspected that this weighty feeling would not leave him until he found his son or daughter. Knowing the custom of his land, if he had a surviving child it would likely be a daughter. It did feel good to be back walking upon the sands that reminded him so much of home. It made sense that Gabbar would choose this place. If he had known it existed when he first found himself here he would have picked it in a heartbeat.

He followed Avangeline closely, letting her lead the way as she clearly had spent enough time in this place to learn where they would most likely find Gabbar. The hot sand under his hooves fell away with every step he took and he could not help but remember his home—or what was his home. It was a war torn land, but it was all he knew. He hoped that perhaps in addition to any information about where Iftikhar could have taken their child, that Gabbar might be able to offer him some insight and wisdom—after all, they had more in common than any other two horses on the islands.

Avangeline whinnied loudly and Al-Hattaal knew it would not be long before they had company. Until then, he could only hope and breathe.

A L - H A T T A A L
Zaman sana uymazsa sen zamana uy.