I am the razor in the hands of your heart;
And I am the razor in the hands of God.
The unforgiving arid climate of Salem did not disappoint, as the golden mare pulled her tired body from the depths of the surf and onto the hot sands at the mouth of the Dunes. She exhaled deeply, her lungs burning from the vigorous swim, but her chocolate eyes were bright and alert, perhaps almost rejuvenated by the fact that she was here again, a former home with tender memories that were still quite rich and vivid in her mind. Evaline did not linger on the shoreline. After giving her thin body a good shake from the sopping seawater, she set out on shaky limbs -- the muscles there burned too -- moving out across the loose sand, and deeper into the territory.
The unrelenting sun, even in winter, was quick to dry her yellow coat. The evaporating dampness of her fur gave way to the pink lashes that marred her golden pelt, scars from the torment she endured under her own son. Her mutilated ear, merely a "stump" atop her poll, swiveled forward and back just as the fully functioning one adorned next to it. But Evaline barely noticed her ailments anymore. While it took some time for her to feel comfortable in her skin again -- her beauty and conditioning had been what she'd built her life on as a younger mare -- she ignored whatever insults her marred frame garnered from others these days. Gawking may feel different from fawning, but Evaline relished in any attention given to her. She could manipulate it all the same.
Valve's scent had long gone stale among the shifting Dunes, which silently made Evaline's heart ache. It only solidified her reasoning to leave, and her suspicions that the black mare would never return. There was, however, the cologne of someone new hanging deftly in the dry, warm air. She spied him first, his brown frame standing in stark comparison to the landscape of vast beige and orange, atop a neighboring dune. She halted stiffly, briefly considering her own safety before deciding to wait and allow the foreign stallion to approach her. She was the one who was trespassing, after all. He did what she anticipated, and she watched with interest as the stallion moved to greet her atop an adjacent dune.
As he approached, she noticed the stiffness in his step and the weathered look in his eye. This stallion, like her, was no longer young and boastful. Instead he was even keeled and calm, the wisdom of years lived not influencing him to come at her with aggression or over exuberance. Evaline was at an age where she could appreciate the honesty in that. Despite this, his words were laced with compliments. He lowered his head to the ground in a grand and surprising gesture. Evaline was reminded of Gabbar then, and resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the foreign customs of the Desert-bred stallions.
Evaline allows a silence to span between them as she considers his words. A wavy, thick, blonde tail flicks idly over her haunches. But her expression is skeptical and almost, bored. "You can save your flattery for the next one that comes along," Evaline spat bluntly. "I'm merely passing through."
The palomino mare let her gaze drift over the terrain briefly, to the oasis in the distance and across the sand that seemed to never end. It was quiet here. Desolate. "Is it only you? No one else?" She asks, returning her gaze to the stallion before her.
17 | Arabian cross |14.2 | Palomino | Mother of Kasabian, Shamwari, Vita Nova, Paradiso, Ruxin & Talya | Vinyl |