The desert was all too familiar territory for Booker. The heat of the desert had been his companion since his days as a foal. He wondered about other lands, with trees and lush pastures. What would they be like?
He supposed he would find out.
He saw the mare first. She was talking to someone, swishing her tail. Irritation? Or concern?
The other didn't look like much. Some hot-to-trot stallion who didn't carry himself like a Day. More like a soft-footed foal pretending to be a stallion, dancing on sand hot enough to melt glass because his feet weren't hard enough yet.
"I am here because I choose to be.” A smirk. ”Who are you to question that? You are as much a stranger in this encounter as I am.”
Booker crested a dune behind Bexley, glaring at the stranger.
"She's a Day, boy. And this is the Day's territory. Maybe you haven't heard of the torrents of blood our warriors swam through just for the chance to rip out more throats in the war? Because you either haven't, and I'll be happy to show you, or you have, and come in here bragging like your mama shit in your skull to give you better brains."
Ears pinned, he locked eyes with Silas.
"If the next words out of your mouth aren't 'sorry, miss, my name is ...', I'm gonna spatter some shit across the sand by kicking you in the head."
@Silas
@
