Gabbar
stallion . arabian . bay . 14.3hh . 8
She sounds a little whimsical, and not at all offended to be addressed by a stallion. Gabbar is confident that if she is and Arabian, she’s certainly not a mare from his culture. He drags in another shallow breath, wondering if this is the same flaxen chestnut mare he’d run away from so long ago. Again, her scent is unfamiliar. Gabbar is both relieved and a little disappointed— it would have been nice to reconnect.
He shakes his emotions away with a toss of his head. Her question elicits a dry laugh from him. “I’m reinventing myself,” he admits. “How better to do that than under cover of darkness? Tomorrow, when the sun rises and the light finally touches me, I’ll be a newer version of myself. A better version,” he amends, and wonders at his openness. Well. And hadn’t that been half his frustration in the Dunes? Everyone was so walled up, so wary of vulnerability.
Not Avangeline, though. He smiles wryly. The abuse his mother would lay on him to hear he admired that sweet Akhal-Teke, of all mares. With luck he’d never see Iftikhar again.
His heart skips a beat as he considers introducing himself. It’s possible she’s heard of him— but, no, he decides. It seems unlikely that anyone from the Dunes would make it a personal vendetta to slander his character. That had been a private matter, and he’d heard Valve had concluded it efficiently. He refuses to let his anxieties overwhelm him, and speaks confidently: “My name is Gabbar. I don’t know that we’ve ever met, before; are you from the islands, or have you come from another land?” |