The red’s response makes her exhale in an amused huff. The gods were not like to forget one such as he, she thinks. Those with power often disliked it when their subordinates attempted to exercise free will and defy what plans have been set in stone for them. No doubt their glorified eyes are trained intently on the the red stallion, whether he chooses to be aware of their scrutiny or no. There is a reason the immortals are all powerful, and these measly beasts walking the earth are not.
Take, for example, the emaciated ‘Teke glowering in their direction. Blessed with an agile bloodline, bred to be hardy in the harshest conditions, and this one has barely any skin over his bones. The flesh stretches, grotesque, over ribs as he inhales. The simple act of breathing has become monstrous. Her ears tip back to a sharper angle as he speaks again, this time to answer her question rather than translate. What a waste, she thinks, and knows the gods must feel the same when they peer down at this pathetic creature. What deified ire does he seek to invite by allowing himself to decay to such a state? The gods have granted him a beautiful gift in his breeding. His behavior seems to beg them to take it away.
Ak Burun’s ears pin and her dark eyes flash. "Not a step closer," she snaps. Each sleek line of her body is drawn tight as a bowstring. She rises in a half-rear and strikes at the space separating them in warning. When her hooves touch earth again, she speaks to the red stallion without taking her eyes off the smoky black. "He carries disease. Don’t let him touch you." Her hindquarters flex as she prepares herself to spring away from both of them, should the starved creature make good on his word to “prove it.” |