It is hard to imagine this mare as a filly. Did she emerge from the womb in a wash of blood, fighting from the start, or was it the acquisition of her first wound that woke her bloodlust? The scarred mare’s thirst for violence is unmistakable, as is her satisfaction for having retaliated tenfold upon her aggressors. Ak Burun recognizes desire easily, as her every heartbeat is full of a similarly aching need.
"I am Ak Burun. Do you mean you cannot feel pain?" she asks for clarification. Already the gears are turning within the Akhal-Teke’s narrow skull at such a powerful concept. An opponent undisturbed by such physical limitations must be formidable indeed, for why should their assault slow, or diminish? And if that same soul sings every time their body clashes with another, hooves and teeth battering and rending with no real concern for the aftermath of retaliation—
Maraigh is dangerous.
Beyond her serpentine demeanor and lightless eyes, she poses a more significant threat to Ak Burun than the slender mare’s bloodline ever could. The silver stallion and his silver tongue can’t hope to match the ferocity coursing through the grotesque mare’s blood, and the memory of his tempered steel fades rapidly and fails. He is reduced to dull and blunted iron, his words laughable caricatures now that she is confronted with the real thing. Maraigh is a blade with no handle, everywhere edged. Whosoever seeks to wield such a weapon must also expect to bleed.
Ak Burun smiles. "You are an impressive mare, Savaşçı. The fighters from my homeland would be shamed to stand before you, covered as you are with indisputable proof of your myriad victories. Your body is your boast." How formidable Maraigh would have been in that heat-ridden war— and how lucky for Ak Burun that she has come across her here, on these Isles. As of yet the gleaming Akhal-Teke belongs nowhere and to no one, leaving her free to pursue her own interests. Her ambitions, while grand, will take time to achieve, and blood will be spilled before she has accomplished all she desires. With a mare like Maraigh at her disposal, it need not be she who does each violent deed. She lays light fingers on that hilt-less steel. "I wonder, is there anything a mare so capable desires that she cannot acquire on her own?" |