Sunrise finds Shararat once more on the Crossing, though this time she is alone. A storm has passed over the land in the night and left marks of its passage in tree-litter and grass everywhere heavy with rain more than dew. The ground is squishy beneath her hooves and Shararat adopts a lolling stride as she enjoys the springy give underfoot— so unlike Salem, but reminiscent indeed of Paradise after its uniquely torrential rains. Through the distant trees she can see the waterfall glinting in the early sunlight, but she moves away from it, choosing instead to wander further through this verdant grassland so unlike the island from whence she’s come.
Shararat has been lonely and restless of late and, tired of wondering day after day whether or not Ak Burun will return (if she has not been waylaid somewhere, which is a concept Shararat has often grappled with for she knows her friend to be extremely capable and not likely to be trapped anywhere for too long), has taken it upon herself to go searching for her black companion. She is hoping, too, to hear word of Illusion along the way: what luck would that be, to learn the whereabouts of both her missing Akhal-Teke and the golden mare who befriended her in the Dunes? Her dark eyes flit between the horses congregating loosely in the field, keen also to see the liquid-copper grace of Nekharat.
The day is cool by her standards, and the warming beat of the sun upon her back more than tolerable as she wanders further into the Falls. Occasionally she drops her head to pull up a mouthful of grass here and there, relishing the lush meal so readily available everywhere she looks. Soon enough, though, the Arabian is not so much walking forward as she is grazing, her motivated momentum slowed to a pause as she takes full advantage of the riches at her hooves. It has been too long since grass has tasted this good. |