The downpour obscured what should have been a relatively short line of sight. His attempt to look out for another revealed only the thin outline of a single figure—perhaps a lighter colored Arabian—blending seamlessly into the rain. She did not take cover from the storm; instead, she chose to challenge it from atop the dunes, front legs lashing out as though she were invincible against the unbiased wrath of the lightning. Maslakhat snorted, unimpressed with her foolhardy display. She must have been young, inexperienced with matters like the fury of winter squalls.
Thankfully for her, the storm rescinded its savagery, and he emerged from the shelter of the palm to wait beside the murky water of the oasis. His gaze drifted upward to the mare, clearly visible now as she stood proudly on the dunes across from him. Their eyes met and he returned her long, curious stare, flicking his dark tail over the black points of his hocks.
He didn’t know her name, but that wasn’t unusual. The numbers of the Dunes herd had grown quickly, largely due to the efforts of the sons of Mira to collect wives, and they had amassed quite a harem over the last few months. Of course, the golden bay ‘Teke didn’t mind as long as those who called this place home were the sort who belonged here—and not the heavy-footed cold-bloods who would certainly keel over at the first instance of real dry, summer heat.
The mare was undoubtedly Arabian, the concave slope to her nose and her fiery disposition were both obvious indications. Briefly, he thought of Kore and the deluge of emotion she unleashed upon him harder than the recent rain. Maslakhat did not doubt himself or his choices, but he could not understand why her outburst manifested toward him in the manner that it did. There was nowhere else it could have come from, other than within her fragile inner constitution, and the dark bay Arabian certainly had been keeping it firmly corked. Yet there had to have been something, however small, that served as the final tap against the glass that sent her bursting.
He huffed quietly, returning his wandering thoughts to the present, still looking on at the grey mare. At last he spoke, breaking the lingering silence as the falling water drops broke the surface of the puddles that dotted the divots in the sand.
“It appears your persistence has earned you victory this day,” he offered, his voice steady and cool.
MASLAKHAT
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