The ocean releases her with the reluctance of a lover parting too soon from his beloved when Ak Burun steps nimbly out of the water’s possessive grasp and up the wide, white beach of the Dunes. The black mare does not pause to shake herself out nor to look around: she has been here before, and her trot inland is purposeful. Her communion with the sea has left her obsidian coat polished to its highest gloss and she knows herself to be a beacon under the bright eye of Shararat’s Iç.
Up the side of the first dune she goes, slender legs stepping high to carry her up and over the crest of it before she descends and moves on to the next in line. Ak Burun paces herself. These soft, golden slopes are mountains without demands, only consequences for those who lack respect. Up, over, and down she goes, until finally she walks herself up the last steep ridge of one of the tallest and stops.
Her body is a flag for all to see as her head turns, slowly, to survey the treasure sprawling before her on the opposite side of the dune she’s just scaled, and Ak Burun smiles. Yes, she has been here before, and stood in much the same fashion beside a lady in black. She will again. Her dark eyes linger on a generous band of horses mingling on the banks of the land’s lake, and her smile broadens. This is better than either of them had dared to imagine. |