It is almost as if the air itself seeks to repulse her. Ak Burun wrinkles her pink nostrils and snorts lightly, her breath a rapidly-dissipating plume, before drawing in a deliberately deep inhale. She collects the cold and holds it in her lungs, feels the frost within her. It burns so strangely for something so unlike fire and heat. The water at her hooves is as sharp and shocking to her belly, and Ak Burun is learning to get used to such a strange sensation. She had to crack the crisp layer on this edge of the pond to even slake her thirst and is utterly fascinated by the ice, something she has never before seen.
Ak Burun lips at the cracked layer and pulls a piece off the surface. The heat of her breath melts it rapidly, leaving her with a scant swallow of water by the time she’s lifted her head. "Garip," she mutters with a laugh. Movement across the pond draws her attention with a quick flick of her dark eyes as the rest of her grows still, deer-like. A yearling grazes across the way. She’s white-gold, sturdy— and alone.
The slender mare flicks her thin tail and follows the edge of the pond toward the girl, her steps evenly paced and deliberate, her dark gaze intent upon the young mare’s mismatched ears. "Güzel," she breathes as she stops near the pale creature. Ak Burun tilts her head with a growing smile and asks, "Where have you come from, little hale?" |