There was something particularly oppressive about the summer heat off the island of Salem; there was too much water in the air, heavy and thick with the heat of the sun sitting solo in the cloudless sky, burning relentlessly above him. Maslakhat moved at a reasonable pace, feeling more like he was swimming than walking as he approached the edge of the river, dipping his nose down to the cool water for a quick drink. He flicked his dark tail over his narrow haunches, shifting his weight from one hind hoof to the other, keeping his ears swiveling atop his head, tuning to whatever noise needed a moment of his attention.
The sound of splashing reached him, coming from further down the river. He lifted his head, pointing his nose toward the source, his nostrils flaring with interest as the familiar scent of a mare mixed with the freshness of the river’s spray came tantalizingly. He ambled casually along the bank until he saw her, wading in the shallows expectantly, almost as though she waited precisely for him.
He stopped and watched her, his eyes glittering with approval as she traced her muzzle about the surface of the water, following the line of her stark-white blaze down to her velvet nose. Maslakhat enjoyed her show of pride, understanding that such a mare knew precisely how desirable she was. His gaze drifted down to her legs, long and all four dripped in white—a mark of abundance, and trouble.
However, the golden bay Akhal-Teke was not averse to trouble. He had spent most of his life charming cobras, from the veritable forces of El Halin and Iftikhar to the subversive Ak Burun, he knew how to dance in step with them and keep his hide unscathed by their poisonous fangs. And it was always infinitely interesting.
“Perfection,” he said simply, standing tall before her, inviting her gaze to pour over him and assess his worth. Maslakhat’s own coat glimmered under the high sun, flecked with darker dapples and stretched taught over the svelte muscles of his dark legs. He arched his neck, flexing slowly as he touched his nose neatly to his chest in measured greeting, before regaining his posture once more.
MASLAKHAT
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