The girl has all the tools. Even unpracticed she can make an impact with that coquettish turn of head, each coy smile. She would be formidable if she were deliberate with all her body language. Ak Burun has observed that there is nothing headier to males than the pursuit of a woman, and the damage that can be done with a feminine weapon is marvelous. Certainly more far-reaching than simple violence. Hasn’t love been the trigger for many wars? Her satisfied exhale plumes white and long before her pale nose, and the Akhal-Teke smiles.
"That is not always true," Ak Burun corrects her gently. "If you keep company with fools you can be in more danger in a group than if you were on your own. No," she continues with a shake of her head. "I prefer to rely on myself. I am fleet of foot, and cleverer than a lion." Soporific beasts, lions are. Easy to avoid, easy to navigate if one keeps a keen eye always. And if one must travel with a companion, easy to distract simply by outpacing the other horse.
In a land this cold, however, it’s possible the big cats of her homeland would present more of a problem. The thought makes her glance around them, but nothing has changed. The wind still smells cold and of the sea where it rolls over Neferyt on its way to her. There is no iron in the air, no feline musk. No bleating cries of the already-dead still being devoured, wailing the last of their life away as teeth—
Ak Burun snorts, pushing the memory away.
"I have no home. Only a companion, wandering elsewhere at this time. Perhaps I shall join her. Perhaps I shall see this Tinuvel you speak of." The island’s name feels foreign on her tongue, and though she laughs the sound is sharp. "Perhaps I shall do neither. But you, what of you, Neferyt de Warsaw?" The black mare’s ears aim at her, intently curious. "Will you winter in the shade or seek your own sun?" |