Kildeer Rest vòlkan [m]

It worked.

The red woman, red mare, odd red goddess given the form of a mortal he could not identify, bid him rise in no words, but in the shape of those eyes.

He rose, but kept his head down, his tail low. It wasn’t the forced submission of his youth, nor was it entirely willful, in some way. Akhtar wanted this, wanted her in a way he couldn’t place in his own head, the same way he had once wanted Belen but knew he could not have her.

She belonged to the mesa, this woman belonged outside of his reach. Akhtar knew this in the way he knew the voices of conquerors and how to simper so they would allow you life.

He came closer, after a time, gently pressing his shoulder to her own, never letting his eyes leave her.