Her smile grows as Nekharat teases her, and Shararat dances away from her nip, laughing. "It was romantic!" she says, only mildly embarrassed. Romance has to start somewhere, she knows. It doesn’t develop overnight, and certainly not between two horses who can’t communicate with one another, and it takes effort. Right? Shararat is not ashamed to be vulnerable: it is freeing. Her flirtation with the band stallion was a risk she took willingly, and only time will tell if he is interested in reciprocating. It may not be love, but... Shararat is keenly interested to see where such a relationship might lead, having never before engaged with a stallion in such a way.
She follows the nimble Akhal-Teke eagerly, flowing over the sands as she chases her, jubilant. "My gut says you may be fleet of foot, but—" and here she lunges at the red mare to deliver a retaliatory nip before launching herself in the other direction. "—I am fleeter!" Shararat races across the sands and up the low slope of one of the dunes before pausing at the top and prancing triumphantly in place. Come get me, is the challenge in her body language, her dark eyes dancing as she looks upon Nekharat.
It is so like and unlike her play with Ak Burun that for a moment she feels an unsettling moment of vertigo when she sees not the sleek obsidian figure of her friend but the brilliant copper hide of another. Her stomach flutters, and she is surprised at the thought that slips through the back of her mind: Shararat is glad that Ak Burun is not here. They had been in near constant company before their return to these Isles, and the Akhal-Teke jealous of her attention whenever they happened upon others during their travels— it is refreshing to be alone and meeting someone new for what feels like the first time in years.
Or perhaps it simply feels good to run, to play without the pressure of winning or showing superiority: to just be. |