Valve saw the cream-colored new visitor from atop her favorite dune, standing as still as jaggedly cut, black stone while her dark eyes tracked her movements from the coast toward the oasis. The strangers who are unaccustomed to the harsh climate of Salem always headed straight for the stagnant pool of fresh water and silently prayed to it with their velvet lips. How fortunate for them that Valve was gracious enough to share this precious resource with mostly anyone who happened upon her shores.

Yet graciousness was not a primary quality of the Akhal-Teke mare. For each sip that this visitor took to satisfy her thirst, Valve expected something in return, however small. This was the delicate balance of her world and it was always best not to upset it.

In a sweeping, fluid motion Valve descended down the dune as she had done so many times before, making no secret of her approach. The purple hues of the evening sunset were masquerade enough against the jet-black shine of her coat. For a weary traveler, she may as well have been a mirage.

“Who are you,” she stated evenly and with enough directness to suggest that a response without the answer was not an acceptable option.

VALVE
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