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Description
Name: Anadil
Breed: Arabian
Color: Grey, 2 white socks
Height: 14.3 hh
Age: 10 years
Gender: Mare
Lineage: Aasifat x Al-Ahmar (the Bay)
Temperament: Anadil is extremely social, and sweet if not a bit high-strung. She know's she's beautiful, but she's more interested in getting lovings than prancing around like a starstruck filly.
Favored Disciplines: Halter, Jumping
Owner: Zafir Al-Traikhr

He was a young nuisance when he met the tribe's leader, hardly past the age where he could leave his mother's skirts as far as the tribe was considered. Their meeting was completely unorthodox, with the young Zafir racing with a group of older children across the sandy pathway around the tents. He had been in the lead of them despite being the youngest in the entire group, and when he glance behind him just for a few seconds to see how close they were to him he slammed face first into the legs of a tall aged man. The boys behind him skidded to a halt, gasped, and fled. Shamefaced the young Zafir stared upwards right into the grey eyes of their tribe's leader.

“I should've ducked.” He mumbled as he looked down at his bare feet. The old man laughed whole-heartedly and Zafir's cheeks burned in embarrassment.

“A wise man once told me, to look where I was going- but I tell you ducking just might have worked!” he leaned down and ruffled the feathery black hair. “What's your name, colt?”

“Zafir, sir.”

“Zafir-sir, well that's an interesting name. I think I shall just call you Zafir, if that's alright with you.” The young boy nodded quickly, his dark eyes shining in curious amusement.

“Now that we've been introduced, I think it's a good time to find your mother.” Zafir tilted his head, his mood suddenly downtrodden. He was going to get it good for sure. “We won't tell her about this little incident, but it is getting late. What's your surname?”

“Al-Traikhr”

“Ah, you're Saqr's youngest!”

“Yes,sir”

“Now, don't go calling me Sir- you'll make me feel older. Call me Hamsheed” They began to walk down the sandy pathway, as lights on the outsides of tents were being lit. The sun had completely set by the time they reached his family's tent. His mother waited outside worriedly.

“Where have you been? Thank you so much Hamsheed for finding my naïve son.”

“The pleasure was mine, I wouldn't mind seeing more of him.”

“Hamsheed?”

“When he's feeling restless bring him to my tent, I'll have him help me.”

“Of course, thank you so much.”

“I will be seeing you soon.” He waved goodbye and disappeared down the lantern-lit pathway. That night Zafir got an earful from his father, about following rules and not straying too far from his mother. Every day, the 5 months they were there that year, Zafir left early in the morning after doing his chores and raced to Hamsheed's tent, where he would learn. Every day opened up new doors, new possibilities. Hamsheed introduced him to his own horse herd, taught him everything he knew as a wise horseman. Zafir learned how to help a newborn foal nurse his dam, how to check a horse for it's overall health, what the markings on the horses meant. Most of them were similar to his own family's herd, their horses from the Kehilan strain of arabians, there were however a few stallions and mares of the Abeyan strain. He was taught about the religion behind the beautiful breed, and how they should never mix the strains, and how their tribe was special in that they owned two of the strains instead of just one. He figured out based on his own horse's looks that they also had the Kehilan strain of arabians.

There was one incident that he very clearly remembered. It had been a terrible sandstorm and many of the horses had scattered. While he and his family huddled in their tent that was threatening to collapse on them, a mare was stolen. It was a very specific mare, one of their best chestnuts that had two hind socks and a long thin stripe that reached her lips. They had to leave on their business trips across the United States the next day, cutting their search for the mare short. When they had come back the next year, Zafir swore he had spotted the mare in El-Hashem 's herd, pregnant from one of their stallions. El-Hashem was Yasir's and Yasura's father, a real snake in the sand. When Zafir had accused him, Zahhak had been prepared, and had hidden the mare. Zafir was forced to let it drop, and under his father's glare he submitted, his heart torn to shreds over the rusty mare that he had grown up with. His younger sister had been 2 at the time, and he 11.

Two years later had matured the boy significantly. It was on his 13th birthday, and he was considered a man. Well, he was going to once the Seer finished tattooing the only hint at true love on his arm. He hadn't expected the searing pain from the needle at first, but after a few minutes his arm just kind of went numb to it. The entire tribe waited with bated breath for him to come out of the tent. This would seal the deal between his family and El-Hashem's. When the Seer had finished she wrapped up his arm with blue bandages that had ceremonial gold.

“In two days you can unravel bandages, but for now enjoy your birthday, youngling.” He nodded and walked, head high, out of the tent. Grinning faces beamed around him, and then there was Hasheem parting the crowd, and in his hand was the lead rope of a gorgeous black going grey stallion with perked ears and one long stripe down his forehead that reached to his lips, and upon his back was a traditional blue and gold saddle, adorned with shimmering opals.

“He's not the youngest, but this stallion will carry you through some of your most trialing battles, my friend. He's all yours, a steed sired from the great Ikram, descendant of Kehilan. Meet Aasifat. ” With that Hasheem handed the lead rope to Zafir, and a pouch containing the recently written history of Aasifat's bloodlines and history. The world was changing, and papered lines were more prevalent over spoken heritage these days, so Hasheem had made it possible that if Zafir got into any legal issues, he would keep his horse. That night they celebrated with music, a feast, games, and races. Aasifat proved himself more than once that day to be efficiently quick, despite not being built for racing. Two days later they unraveled his bandages. In the form of the breath of a black dragon, reaching down onto his knuckles just above his actual fingers was the word Rose.

Rose.

Not Desert Rose, not Blue Rose, not even Morning Rose, just Rose. It was the vaguest prediction that had been seen yet. An odd emotion flitted through his stomach, one that he couldn't exactly identify. The one that he could identify pooled like a deep ocean in his stomach, realization. Yasura wasn't the one. She was a desert rose amongst lilies, and she wasn't his. The village men believed that it had meant Yasura, but deep down he knew it wasn't her, so he ignored their jokes of his little desert flower. On the days that he could avoid being around large groups of men smoking, chattering, and doing business, he played with his younger sister, Rana who was 4 at the time. He would set her high up on the back of Aasifat and walk her around the outskirts of the town. She was a bundle of laughter and a joy for him to be around. She understood him as only a younger sister could, he just wondered if she would continue to do so as she grew older and reached adult-hood.

By the time he turned 15 he had another brother, Numair. The little boy detested horses, or it seemed like that. Zafir and Rana just couldn't figure out why. Ever since he was a week old, the baby saw a horse and screamed his lungs off. It got to the point that Zafir and Rana stayed well away from the little boy. The little 6 year old Rana was a natural when it came to horses, it was her suggestion that Zafir should breed Aasifat, who by then was almost 19, to one of their other older mares from the Kehilan strain. So he did, he bred him to one of their golden bay mares that was known for throwing gorgeous chestnut mares, like the one that El-Hashem had taken from them. It was also that same year that Aasifat had died, breaking his leg during one of the harshest sandstorms that year. Zafir had been crestfallen, and ended up spending as little time possible with other people. He was often seen rubbing the bulging stomach of the bay mare, occasionally in the company of Rana and Yasura. The next year, the foal was born, just a few months after Zafir turned 16. It was a near white filly, that would obviously darken a bit as she aged. Zafir returned to his social life.

His 17th year his mother died giving birth to another son. The baby had also died during birth. His father grew cold as the weeks passed. He seemed to smoke and drink more. He cursed and yelled, throwing a fit only to go into a reclusive state in his room. Numair was just a confused toddler, so when his father started yelling, he'd start crying. The 8 yr old Rana and Zafir did everything they could to calm their father's wrath. Their father mellowed down as the months passed, but he always seemed to have a cold atmosphere around him. He became extremely insistent on Zafir and Yasura's marriage. Zafir and Yasura had been great friends, but as the proposal date came closer and closer, and the more they hung out together, it became ever more obvious to them that they just weren't meant for each other.

So in the middle of the night, Zafir snuck out of the tent, already packed for a long travel. He saddle up the golden bay mare, and haltered his white yearling in the dark of the night. Rana caught him just as he was about to go.

“Take me with you.”

“You know I can't. He'll follow us if I take you with me, besides you need to help take care of Numair. He needs his older sister.” He noticed the tears welling in his younger sister's eyes. “You'll see me again. Don't cry.” Zafir leaned down and very gently wiped the tears from his sister's cheek. She gave him a toothy grin and waved as he cantered away into the darkness, letting the desert swallow him up. The last thing Rana saw was the rear of the white yearling fading into the distance.

Zafir disappeared into a small country-side town in Germany. There he met Heinrich Eberhardt who became his trainer. He had to prove himself to the man. He'd heard from people in town that he was a very strict boss, and he only worked with the best. Zafir had to prove that he was the best. So he tied up his grey mare, groomed and saddled the golden bay and rode. The arena that he rode in was large, with a few obstacles. Benny leaned on the fence as Zafir started off with a simple canter, hands loose on the reins, then turned into a trot. He glanced at Heinrich who just frowned as he watched Zafir. The mare could sense the nervousness in her rider and in return she tucked in her head more, perked her ears, lifted her hooves a little higher and flicked her black silken tail. Zafir knew he had this one shot, so he took it in stride. He added pressure with his legs and his little mare jumped into a canter, heading straight for one of the larger obstacles. She leapt over it with all the grace of a mountain cat, turned and cantered back towards Heinrich, in front of him they practiced their piaffe. Zafir felt clumsy in front of the older rider.

“You're nervous. You're very lucky that your horse is trained to cover it up, any other horse would have tensed and balked under you. Good performance, but not enough for an international competition.” Zafir held his breath, daring not to set the old man off.

“You will be training with Benz, she'll show you where you sleep, and where you can put the mares. What are their bloodlines?”

“They're from the noble line of Kehilan, the grey sired from-”

“Enough, I don't need to know their entire lineage, just wanted to know the strain.”

That day started some of Zafir's hardest training. He spent every day working with horses, and became great friends with Benny. He watched as his mare grew into a gorgeous little arabian. The old golden bay mare died of age 3 years later. It was a peaceful passing, and it marked the year that Zafir decided to travel back to where he was born- America. He left his grey mare in the hands of Heinrich, swearing that once he found a place of his own he would send the money to have her brought to him.

He landed a horrible job under some greasy looking man, that moved horses around. This job was the closest he could get to horses, and a sufficient pay. That greasy man led him to finding a job with Rosela. The minute he laid eyes on her his heart flittered like a hummingbird, and he could hardly speak. He had been bringing one of the horses to the stables, when she'd seen him. There were bags under her emerald eyes and she looked a little pale, but that didn't stop his heart from pounding in his chest. She went from annoyance to joy the instant she looked at the mare he had been leading. She took command, taking the mare from him and leading both of them to the horse's new stall. The next thing he knew she was holding his hand and tugging him towards the unloading zone. The sound of the neighing horses stampeding into a corral hurt her, he could tell as she leaned on his for a second holding her head as she seemed to drown in memories. She screamed “STOP” and gave an earful at his boss, and fired him. With the boss now having no job, he yelled at Zafir and proceeded to fire him for not keeping Rosela occupied, and for leading him to be fired. The other men unloaded the rest of the horses, packed the truck and disappeared with the boss down the dirt road. He'd lost his job and pay all in one hour. He cursed under his breath only to have a hand on his shoulder stop him.

He turned to find the kind eyes of Rosela staring up at him. She gave him a job and a home. He went from a stumbling welp to a real man as he worked for her. The toga party from the international Naked Jockey Month had led her to him in ways he had been dying for, for ages. He became one of her good friends, her stable manager, her companion, and her lover. He was just waiting on the right time, to become more than that to her.

Now however, he sent the money to Heinrich to bring over his special little mare. She arrived sooner than he had expected, and just after his sister had re-appeared in his life. He knew that soon, he would have to come to terms with his father and face his past.

The Bedouins believed white markings were a sign of the horse's worth or a prediction of the horse's performance in battle. A horse without markings on its legs and with a star on its forehead was the most prized of all horses. If a horse had a stripe reaching down to its lips, its master would never be without milk. Two white hindfeet were as indication of good fortune on the battlefield, and two white forefeet were a sure sign of destruction.

In the ancient Arab world, the horse's color was often associated with certain characteristics. Bays were said to be surefooted and enduring; chestnuts the most swift, grey were ceremonial favorites and the black horse was said to be the bearer of good fortune.

Just for I worked extra hard on making a decently large story! Feel the love!

Art, characters, and story(c)*Rosela
Benny, R(Ana), etc. (c) =decors

Description
Name: Anadil
Breed: Arabian
Color: Grey, 2 white socks
Height: 14.3 hh
Age: 10 years
Gender: Mare
Lineage: Aasifat x Al-Ahmar (the Bay)
Temperament: Anadil is extremely social, and sweet if not a bit high-strung. She know's she's beautiful, but she's more interested in getting lovings than prancing around like a starstruck filly.
Favored Disciplines: Halter, Jumping
Owner: Zafir Al-Traikhr

He was a young nuisance when he met the tribe's leader, hardly past the age where he could leave his mother's skirts as far as the tribe was considered. Their meeting was completely unorthodox, with the young Zafir racing with a group of older children across the sandy pathway around the tents. He had been in the lead of them despite being the youngest in the entire group, and when he glance behind him just for a few seconds to see how close they were to him he slammed face first into the legs of a tall aged man. The boys behind him skidded to a halt, gasped, and fled. Shamefaced the young Zafir stared upwards right into the grey eyes of their tribe's leader.

“I should've ducked.” He mumbled as he looked down at his bare feet. The old man laughed whole-heartedly and Zafir's cheeks burned in embarrassment.

“A wise man once told me, to look where I was going- but I tell you ducking just might have worked!” he leaned down and ruffled the feathery black hair. “What's your name, colt?”

“Zafir, sir.”

“Zafir-sir, well that's an interesting name. I think I shall just call you Zafir, if that's alright with you.” The young boy nodded quickly, his dark eyes shining in curious amusement.

“Now that we've been introduced, I think it's a good time to find your mother.” Zafir tilted his head, his mood suddenly downtrodden. He was going to get it good for sure. “We won't tell her about this little incident, but it is getting late. What's your surname?”

“Al-Traikhr”

“Ah, you're Saqr's youngest!”

“Yes,sir”

“Now, don't go calling me Sir- you'll make me feel older. Call me Hamsheed” They began to walk down the sandy pathway, as lights on the outsides of tents were being lit. The sun had completely set by the time they reached his family's tent. His mother waited outside worriedly.

“Where have you been? Thank you so much Hamsheed for finding my naïve son.”

“The pleasure was mine, I wouldn't mind seeing more of him.”

“Hamsheed?”

“When he's feeling restless bring him to my tent, I'll have him help me.”

“Of course, thank you so much.”

“I will be seeing you soon.” He waved goodbye and disappeared down the lantern-lit pathway. That night Zafir got an earful from his father, about following rules and not straying too far from his mother. Every day, the 5 months they were there that year, Zafir left early in the morning after doing his chores and raced to Hamsheed's tent, where he would learn. Every day opened up new doors, new possibilities. Hamsheed introduced him to his own horse herd, taught him everything he knew as a wise horseman. Zafir learned how to help a newborn foal nurse his dam, how to check a horse for it's overall health, what the markings on the horses meant. Most of them were similar to his own family's herd, their horses from the Kehilan strain of arabians, there were however a few stallions and mares of the Abeyan strain. He was taught about the religion behind the beautiful breed, and how they should never mix the strains, and how their tribe was special in that they owned two of the strains instead of just one. He figured out based on his own horse's looks that they also had the Kehilan strain of arabians.

There was one incident that he very clearly remembered. It had been a terrible sandstorm and many of the horses had scattered. While he and his family huddled in their tent that was threatening to collapse on them, a mare was stolen. It was a very specific mare, one of their best chestnuts that had two hind socks and a long thin stripe that reached her lips. They had to leave on their business trips across the United States the next day, cutting their search for the mare short. When they had come back the next year, Zafir swore he had spotted the mare in El-Hashem 's herd, pregnant from one of their stallions. El-Hashem was Yasir's and Yasura's father, a real snake in the sand. When Zafir had accused him, Zahhak had been prepared, and had hidden the mare. Zafir was forced to let it drop, and under his father's glare he submitted, his heart torn to shreds over the rusty mare that he had grown up with. His younger sister had been 2 at the time, and he 11.

Two years later had matured the boy significantly. It was on his 13th birthday, and he was considered a man. Well, he was going to once the Seer finished tattooing the only hint at true love on his arm. He hadn't expected the searing pain from the needle at first, but after a few minutes his arm just kind of went numb to it. The entire tribe waited with bated breath for him to come out of the tent. This would seal the deal between his family and El-Hashem's. When the Seer had finished she wrapped up his arm with blue bandages that had ceremonial gold.

“In two days you can unravel bandages, but for now enjoy your birthday, youngling.” He nodded and walked, head high, out of the tent. Grinning faces beamed around him, and then there was Hasheem parting the crowd, and in his hand was the lead rope of a gorgeous black going grey stallion with perked ears and one long stripe down his forehead that reached to his lips, and upon his back was a traditional blue and gold saddle, adorned with shimmering opals.

“He's not the youngest, but this stallion will carry you through some of your most trialing battles, my friend. He's all yours, a steed sired from the great Ikram, descendant of Kehilan. Meet Aasifat. ” With that Hasheem handed the lead rope to Zafir, and a pouch containing the recently written history of Aasifat's bloodlines and history. The world was changing, and papered lines were more prevalent over spoken heritage these days, so Hasheem had made it possible that if Zafir got into any legal issues, he would keep his horse. That night they celebrated with music, a feast, games, and races. Aasifat proved himself more than once that day to be efficiently quick, despite not being built for racing. Two days later they unraveled his bandages. In the form of the breath of a black dragon, reaching down onto his knuckles just above his actual fingers was the word Rose.

Rose.

Not Desert Rose, not Blue Rose, not even Morning Rose, just Rose. It was the vaguest prediction that had been seen yet. An odd emotion flitted through his stomach, one that he couldn't exactly identify. The one that he could identify pooled like a deep ocean in his stomach, realization. Yasura wasn't the one. She was a desert rose amongst lilies, and she wasn't his. The village men believed that it had meant Yasura, but deep down he knew it wasn't her, so he ignored their jokes of his little desert flower. On the days that he could avoid being around large groups of men smoking, chattering, and doing business, he played with his younger sister, Rana who was 4 at the time. He would set her high up on the back of Aasifat and walk her around the outskirts of the town. She was a bundle of laughter and a joy for him to be around. She understood him as only a younger sister could, he just wondered if she would continue to do so as she grew older and reached adult-hood.

By the time he turned 15 he had another brother, Numair. The little boy detested horses, or it seemed like that. Zafir and Rana just couldn't figure out why. Ever since he was a week old, the baby saw a horse and screamed his lungs off. It got to the point that Zafir and Rana stayed well away from the little boy. The little 6 year old Rana was a natural when it came to horses, it was her suggestion that Zafir should breed Aasifat, who by then was almost 19, to one of their other older mares from the Kehilan strain. So he did, he bred him to one of their golden bay mares that was known for throwing gorgeous chestnut mares, like the one that El-Hashem had taken from them. It was also that same year that Aasifat had died, breaking his leg during one of the harshest sandstorms that year. Zafir had been crestfallen, and ended up spending as little time possible with other people. He was often seen rubbing the bulging stomach of the bay mare, occasionally in the company of Rana and Yasura. The next year, the foal was born, just a few months after Zafir turned 16. It was a near white filly, that would obviously darken a bit as she aged. Zafir returned to his social life.

His 17th year his mother died giving birth to another son. The baby had also died during birth. His father grew cold as the weeks passed. He seemed to smoke and drink more. He cursed and yelled, throwing a fit only to go into a reclusive state in his room. Numair was just a confused toddler, so when his father started yelling, he'd start crying. The 8 yr old Rana and Zafir did everything they could to calm their father's wrath. Their father mellowed down as the months passed, but he always seemed to have a cold atmosphere around him. He became extremely insistent on Zafir and Yasura's marriage. Zafir and Yasura had been great friends, but as the proposal date came closer and closer, and the more they hung out together, it became ever more obvious to them that they just weren't meant for each other.

So in the middle of the night, Zafir snuck out of the tent, already packed for a long travel. He saddle up the golden bay mare, and haltered his white yearling in the dark of the night. Rana caught him just as he was about to go.

“Take me with you.”

“You know I can't. He'll follow us if I take you with me, besides you need to help take care of Numair. He needs his older sister.” He noticed the tears welling in his younger sister's eyes. “You'll see me again. Don't cry.” Zafir leaned down and very gently wiped the tears from his sister's cheek. She gave him a toothy grin and waved as he cantered away into the darkness, letting the desert swallow him up. The last thing Rana saw was the rear of the white yearling fading into the distance.

Zafir disappeared into a small country-side town in Germany. There he met Heinrich Eberhardt who became his trainer. He had to prove himself to the man. He'd heard from people in town that he was a very strict boss, and he only worked with the best. Zafir had to prove that he was the best. So he tied up his grey mare, groomed and saddled the golden bay and rode. The arena that he rode in was large, with a few obstacles. Benny leaned on the fence as Zafir started off with a simple canter, hands loose on the reins, then turned into a trot. He glanced at Heinrich who just frowned as he watched Zafir. The mare could sense the nervousness in her rider and in return she tucked in her head more, perked her ears, lifted her hooves a little higher and flicked her black silken tail. Zafir knew he had this one shot, so he took it in stride. He added pressure with his legs and his little mare jumped into a canter, heading straight for one of the larger obstacles. She leapt over it with all the grace of a mountain cat, turned and cantered back towards Heinrich, in front of him they practiced their piaffe. Zafir felt clumsy in front of the older rider.

“You're nervous. You're very lucky that your horse is trained to cover it up, any other horse would have tensed and balked under you. Good performance, but not enough for an international competition.” Zafir held his breath, daring not to set the old man off.

“You will be training with Benz, she'll show you where you sleep, and where you can put the mares. What are their bloodlines?”

“They're from the noble line of Kehilan, the grey sired from-”

“Enough, I don't need to know their entire lineage, just wanted to know the strain.”

That day started some of Zafir's hardest training. He spent every day working with horses, and became great friends with Benny. He watched as his mare grew into a gorgeous little arabian. The old golden bay mare died of age 3 years later. It was a peaceful passing, and it marked the year that Zafir decided to travel back to where he was born- America. He left his grey mare in the hands of Heinrich, swearing that once he found a place of his own he would send the money to have her brought to him.

He landed a horrible job under some greasy looking man, that moved horses around. This job was the closest he could get to horses, and a sufficient pay. That greasy man led him to finding a job with Rosela. The minute he laid eyes on her his heart flittered like a hummingbird, and he could hardly speak. He had been bringing one of the horses to the stables, when she'd seen him. There were bags under her emerald eyes and she looked a little pale, but that didn't stop his heart from pounding in his chest. She went from annoyance to joy the instant she looked at the mare he had been leading. She took command, taking the mare from him and leading both of them to the horse's new stall. The next thing he knew she was holding his hand and tugging him towards the unloading zone. The sound of the neighing horses stampeding into a corral hurt her, he could tell as she leaned on his for a second holding her head as she seemed to drown in memories. She screamed “STOP” and gave an earful at his boss, and fired him. With the boss now having no job, he yelled at Zafir and proceeded to fire him for not keeping Rosela occupied, and for leading him to be fired. The other men unloaded the rest of the horses, packed the truck and disappeared with the boss down the dirt road. He'd lost his job and pay all in one hour. He cursed under his breath only to have a hand on his shoulder stop him.

He turned to find the kind eyes of Rosela staring up at him. She gave him a job and a home. He went from a stumbling welp to a real man as he worked for her. The toga party from the international Naked Jockey Month had led her to him in ways he had been dying for, for ages. He became one of her good friends, her stable manager, her companion, and her lover. He was just waiting on the right time, to become more than that to her.

Now however, he sent the money to Heinrich to bring over his special little mare. She arrived sooner than he had expected, and just after his sister had re-appeared in his life. He knew that soon, he would have to come to terms with his father and face his past.

The Bedouins believed white markings were a sign of the horse's worth or a prediction of the horse's performance in battle. A horse without markings on its legs and with a star on its forehead was the most prized of all horses. If a horse had a stripe reaching down to its lips, its master would never be without milk. Two white hindfeet were as indication of good fortune on the battlefield, and two white forefeet were a sure sign of destruction.

In the ancient Arab world, the horse's color was often associated with certain characteristics. Bays were said to be surefooted and enduring; chestnuts the most swift, grey were ceremonial favorites and the black horse was said to be the bearer of good fortune.

Just for I worked extra hard on making a decently large story! Feel the love!

Art, characters, and story(c)*Rosela
Benny, R(Ana), etc. (c) =decors