Maslakhat stood with his head lifted, his nose tipped forward and with his sparse, deep-black mane lightly resting upon his lengthy, dappled neck. His eyes, hooded and narrow with expectations met Solomon’s gaze as he bore into him, pleased that the painted stallion performed precisely as he expected. It is no surprise, the Akhal-Teke set the stage perfectly for him. The way he danced upon it, manipulating this yellow mare with his carefully chosen words rife with undertones of family values and commitment, garnered him a modicum of Maslakhat’s respect.

Similarly, every word the Akhal-Teke said, every move he made, both to him and Illusion was measured and calculated for this precise outcome. Maslakhat did not deign to endear himself to Illusion and her child, only to ensure that she would decide herself to leave. Solomon proved to be the perfect opportunity for him to gain something in return for her departure and better yet, as a willing party. This great gift he granted the opportunistic stallion surely was not lost on him, and Maslakhat could tell he was perceptive enough to corroborate. This was an unspoken contract, that if not upheld willingly, would undoubtedly be enforced another way.

When Illusion turned to him confirm her decision, he closed his eyes and nodded softly, assuring her with an unspoken gentleness that this was indeed the best way. She started off in the direction of the ocean’s edge with Raptor at her side; when they were safely out of earshot, he returned his gaze to Solomon.

“I trust you’ll ensure she won’t get lost along the way,” he finished, hardly referring to the golden mare.


MASLAKHAT

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