’Hello desertblood sister.’ The sound of his heavily accented words draw her attention away from the sated thirst and hunger that had only moments ago driven her beyond her own comforts and into the shadow dappled meadows. Twin flutes bend backwards in warning, not disappearing beneath the folds of her charcoal mane but a warning all the same. Keep your distance.
She turns to fix him within her glass colored eyes, brows narrowed in suspicion. Whether from a well-mannered upbringing or simply because he hoped space might allow him the upper hand if she were to flee, she is not sure. Her moon dappled body remains taunt in suspicion despite the auburn haired stallion’s calm demeanor. He is a stranger. Despite the familiarity that his desert blood draws from her, she still does not know him or what dangers his presence might offer. Despite her rigid appearance, he seemed to take no offense and subsequently offered his name and an explanation. Her suspicion it would seem does not go completely unnoticed. ’desert island….’ the mention of a desert’s arid heat draws her ears forward as the suspicion in her gaze is quickly replaced with a mixture of curiosity and hunger. As if summoned by the mere mention, she feels the warmth of the scorching sun prickle at her dark skin; the dry winds swirling around her body like the gentle embrace of a lover. ”Desert….island?” she asks, taking a cautious step towards him.
Though it has only been hours or days, maybe even weeks, of which she is not sure, since last she felt the comfort of the god Seth’s lands, the longing replaces the parched thirst. All she can feel now is the sticky sweet scents of this land’s humid autumn, the scratchiness of the drying ocean salt on her skin. How she longs for nothing more than to feel the hot grains of sand beneath her coat and the tender caress of the dry wind as it twists the ends of her mane away from the curve of her throat. ’May I have a name?….’ Suddenly she is reminded again that she is not alone. The visions of the seas of sand disappear and she blinks away the remnants. Pale, silver eyes stare at the stranger for the first time, seeing beyond sudden and unexpected company. The finely dished profile of his head is handsome, despite the scars and freshly healing wounds that litter his face and body. Kindness stares back at her from the depths of his chocolate brown eyes and a warmth that reminds her of the comforts of family that have long fled from her mind. Again the ache tugs at her soul, why could she not picture their faces? Why had she fled with such vehemence, such urgency. Had she even had a family? That last question she feels sure she knows the answer but still, the blackness envelopes the lingering emotions and leaves her with more questions than she truly knows what to do with. Paper thin nostrils flare as she inhales his testosterone filled scent. Desert. ”Desertblood.” the word comes almost unbidden to her tongue as she savors the familiar layers of olive, date palm and thyme. Home.
With a considerable amount of control he remains silent as she gathers her thoughts, sifting through the layers of memory that are not shrouded by shadows until a name rings clear. ”Guinevere.” she murmurs, tilting her head downward as her long neck arches in a sort of informal greeting. Emboldened by his polite demeanor, she takes one cautious step after another until she is left standing just before him. A hard snort quivers her nostrils as she exhales her own breath and uncoils her neck just a bit to offer him her own pressed lips in exchange of formal greetings. ”You…You speak of the desert? On an Island?” the words are hopeful and longing despite her best attempt to remain aloof and nonchalant. He owes her nothing and yet he holds the key to her desire. To feel the hot sun on her back, to roll in a fragrant patch of thyme or even hide from the worst of the midday heat beneath the comfortingly familiar aroma of an old cypress tree, is almost more desirable than a drink of fresh water on a parched tongue.
