He was sighted, as indicated by the stallion’s pressed ears and the sharp curve of his body around the red mare defensively. Zahhāk snorted loudly, his dark eyes glittering in the shadows behind his sun-bleached, red-tipped forelock. She seemed unimpressed by such possessiveness, leaping away from him in an instant, goading and taunting him like a proper Akhal-Teke woman might. A smirk tugged at the corner of Zahhāk’s grey lips, and as she bounded away from her suitor and toward the tree line where he lingered, the smoky black stallion slithered from between the slim trunks adorned with rust-brown leaves fluttering down to the earth at the slightest breeze.
He was not deserving of such a mare any more than this stranger was, but he had practiced pressing down his doubts and letting a false sense of confidence flicker through instead. Zahhāk fueled his hatred outward, teeming with desire to oppress this girl and make a mockery of her dotting companion. He cannot deny his nature, and with an arched neck and tail lashing with presumptuousness, the dark stallion presented himself. As his ribs protruded under his faded black coat with each step, he paused and pawed at the dirt beneath him—taunting both of them with his gall.
Zahhāk begged for more scars with such a pompous display. He dared the mare to punish him for his spying, and provoked the larger stallion with his haughty gesturing. The smoky black Akhal-Teke could care less about either of them, nor how they might respond to his presence here. He had crossed some kind of line in his mind where only punishment felt proper, and it was these masochistic tendencies that drove him forward now.
He spoke finally, his voice low and gravelly as he sized up the girl and the grullo.
“Try me.”
Zahhāk
There was madness in any direction, at any hour.
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