The days of summer were long, and as much as the golden bay Akhal-Teke thrived in the heat of the desert’s embrace, each night was a welcome respite. With every cycle between sun and moon, Maslakhat spent most of his time keeping watch along the taller dunes, his lithe form leaving nothing more than a small trail of hoof prints quickly swallowed by the sand. He was fortunate to know this land so well—the bones of lesser mares and stallions who came before him had surely turned to dust beneath his feet.

As the sun began its daily descent across the horizon, he spotted the familiar shape of Ak Burun and the Arabian he had met in his recent trek to the Badlands lingering together within the shaded offering of the oasis. He kept his distance for now, watching from the crest of a nearby dune. It pleased him to know that he had piqued the rose gray mare’s curiosity enough for her to come by for a visit. After all, there was little doubt in his mind she would be happier here among her own kind, rather than among the assortment of misfits that dotted the other lands of Salem.

He hoped that he might remedy this issue, but the proper time had not yet come. Soon enough, he thought silently. There was still work to be done.

Maslakhat knew that Ak Burun would have likely seen him by now and he does not fret to keep himself concealed. He stood watching, waiting, for the both of them to come to him if they so chose.


MASLAKHAT

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