Winter has shown itself to be a true treasure to Ak Burun. There is no unbearable heat, no stifling humidity drawing sweat from her skin when she’s done nothing more strenuous than breathe. The challenge this season represents is much more demanding, more active than the passive threat of a desert. Tinuvel in particular has struck her fancy, but for now she has returned to the Crossing in case her darling Shararat has come seeking her.
The sleek Akhal-Teke does not truly expect to find her here, but it is an excuse to find some reprieve from the grueling demands of the island she has just left without relenting entirely and seeking refuge from the cold on Salem’s hot shores. She does not yet miss the heat. Grass, however, and reliable shelter from the biting wind, is an attractive draw indeed. She wanders until the saltwater soaking her coat has dried, nosing snow aside to graze as she moves with purposeful aimlessness through the neutral territories under the moon’s bright eye.
Eventually thirst draws her toward the monstrous falls. She keeps away from the water pouring over the edge, disinterested in being misted with icy droplets and cloaked in cold for the remainder of the evening, though she is aware of another horse standing close to the falls. She dips her narrow face toward the water’s surface and drinks, slowly, of the frigid water flowing past, all the while keeping an ear and eye trained on the figure nearby.
Perhaps he has been frozen in place from his folly. Ak Burun lifts her head and snorts, amused, before picking her way across the bouldered bank to draw nearer. Her theory is disproven by the breath billowing steadily from the end of his muzzle. Her ears turn back, eyes narrowing against the uncomfortably cold spray, as she addresses him thoughtfully, almost rhetorically: "Either you are seeking to prove your endurance or you are a fool." How he stands there, apparently so undisturbed by the cold, mystifies the mare. Perhaps his bloodlines are better built for such discomfort, but she doesn’t think so. Her blood runs hot as sun-soaked sand and she can withstand the cold. It is not too difficult if one keeps dry and moving. Her voice is mild as she continues, "Or perhaps you seek an early death." |