They are as free as the wind, unburdened by the lack of overseeing stallions and unaccomodating mares. Booted from a society that saw their mutt heritage beneath their notice, a scourge best left to be ignored or done away with. It suited the boys, though. It had never been too welcoming outside their mothers anyway. Both were quite a bit flashier than their homeland could stand -- for all that at least Augs had not inherited the shimmering nature of the coat that his high-born father had. A dalliance with a wandering mare had led to his birth, his upbringing had been to avoid any, even half, akhal teke being less than properly trained. Couldn’t let anyone see that akhal teke blood might not breed true, after all, when the sire was so very akhal teke.
And he had done his father proud, at least on a few counts -- but he was too timid to keep around once his age had crossed him over into breeding age, no matter that he could keep the pace and that he was colored so spectacularly. He was not true and so it was put upon his father to chase him out.
The feeling of fully stretched legs, though, is enough to dampen the sting of that unfortunate turn of events. He had so wanted to love, to be loved, had even almost convinced Tako of his worthiness of her… a fellow part-blood who happened to have about three fourths compared to his two thirds. She had been deemed worthy of remaining, the minor stain of her blood good enough with her talents to at least be worthy of a lesser, possibly similarly partblood or lower ranking, male of the greater horde.
They are salty from the swim, but neither is moving slowly enough to feel anything but wind their legs cut them through.
His fellow guffaws, boistrous and equally as freed as himself. It was Monty that had inspired his own frenzied galloping, his own tossing head, his own bellowing whinny - something he ought not have done, sounding so like a challenging call as it did. He has never been one to want anything, to think he deserved anything… certainly nothing enough to fight for-- except perhaps Tako. And Tako was gone.
Lesser men, not worth the loins they were born with, and yet freer and faster and farther flung than any of those too-thin, too high-headed, too snakebiting colts left behind. "We could have run their bones into dust! They will be sore without you to spirit the dances! And I should think the Patyşa will not be able to find even one so good at finding the quickest way to the other tribes as me!" He intends to make them feel better, if any feelings were still raw or hindquarters still smarting after a day or two or nine of traveling.
His voice is rich, but still tenor with youth. It promises to sound deeper with time, but not yet. For now it is bright, as bright as his coat.
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