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He could not deny that an entire day already had been spent scouting, seeking, hunting her down. Hector was no skilled tracker, no cunning thief whose talents wrapped to exclusion around the arts of concealment and trickery; he was a Spartan, a soldier, forged by the courage of the Throat of old to stand firm and salute the violent face of death. He was also a stallion first and foremost, and she held over him a wily attraction that he could not forsake.
Iron-tough hooves, well practiced in the warm slippery sands of the desert, carried the liver-chestnut at a brisk, motivated canter in a southerly direction from the beach stretching adjacent to the rocky overpass that bound their territory from the mainland. It was an opportunity at the same time, to stretch his long burly legs and push his heart again to the brink. Two entire seasons had been spent confined beneath the ground- a lifestyle quite unsuitable for any blessed to soar and peel through the highways of the atmosphere, and though he had travelled with W.A.R to recover lost souls (and to the Threshold as well), his mind had grown lax and body lethargic, wasted.
Wings sat low and ajar by each flank, with long glossy flight feathers rippling like shining satin in the wind as it gushed by; long strong leonine tail snapped aggressively to the pound of his enormous stride. Already sweat was lathered between the rubbing flesh of his buttocks, the switch of his elbows and his neck, where the thin silky tendrils of mane lashed like an angry sea of vivid red-gold. His nostrils were flared; sucking the familiar sourness of the salty warm air deeply before swollen lungs again purged the stale from their midst. The sunburnt land washed rapidly by, and bright tangerine eyes drank eagerly all that was passed- searching always for that sleek, painted seductress with entrancing blue eyes who had astonished him entirely, by presenting at the meeting the morning before.
No vision of her passed before his gaze, nor did whispering cloud his mind; Veci strayed not from the side of his bonded this time. They moved together, warriors, training in perfect unison- as one.
The oasis, which seemed only a sparkling apparition of pea-green from the narrowed northern border, now grew before them into a rather lush garden shaded by vast emerald fronds, and carpeted by a thin sleek sea of wind-stroked grass. The thin track, worn into the rubble-sand beneath by the countless natives who called the oasis home, materialised between ferociously prickled cacti and their bed-friend palms as Hector neared, but the stallion swung towards the descending sun to patrol the towering cliffs in the distance instead. He was not ready to settle. The humid glory of the bright afternoon sun had not quite been washed from the sky by the cold hues of twilight; and he continued on his way, skirting those mulling down by the Throat itself.
@[Morana] & anyone else
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