Maslakhat was accustomed to the constant comings and goings of those who lived among these sands, as well as others who ventured from lands both distant and close by. He felt no need to personally greet every stranger who appeared over the horizon, but today restlessness consumed him. The golden bay stallion was typically content to watch one of the sons of Mira gallivant over first to investigate a new scent, but they had calmed with the advent of the winter season. With fall behind them, it was naturally more vigilant of all of them to stay close to those who were growing with children, lest their legacy become endangered.

The slender mare who appeared on the precipice of the territory, nearest the desert, had caught Maslakhat’s eye. She seemed comfortable with the uniquely soft sands of the dunes under her feet, despite her strange markings indicating that her origins were not entirely of pure desert blood. Perhaps she had been born here on Salem.

She looked to him as he slowly approached, her brown eyes fixed upon him as he looked back, making no secret of his intent to draw closer to her. His ears pricked forward as she called to him—shrill, indicative of her youth—and he snorted, tossing his dark tail over his slender haunches with intrigue that someone so young would be bold enough to beckon a stallion closer when she knew absolutely nothing about what he was capable of.

Fortunately for her, Maslakhat was not the type to instigate ill will upon the bold or the curious. Surely, he would learn her reasons for coming here before doling out any judgements or orchestrating a fate befitting of her intentions.

“You seem familiar with this place,” he began when he was finally within earshot. “If that’s the case, welcome back.”


MASLAKHAT

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