Ni'Srilan: The Desert: If at first you don't succeed... War isn't for you.

Time to start over. Her blood had so long needed the warmth of the desert. It was in her genetics to be drawn to the harsh sand-strewn land. The sun leeched through her ghost-colored pelt and energized her systems as never before. Here, here she felt alive and worthy. The warrior stood proudly beneath the glowering sun, ready to face this land. It was time to fulfill her calling. Time to serve, rather than be served.
Rin had no desire to mingle with the equine milling about. It was a dreaded necessity that Rin loathed. She would prefer merely to fight. Other horses bored her to tears, they were cliché and predictable. Who would want to spend their days chatting away? What benefit did that hold? None. Rin would rather train, getting stronger and faster. She would rather learn more and more strategies, and elicit blood from her enemies, than to sit and chat with the other goal-less mares that meandered about as nothing more than tools for sex and reproduction.
Oh how she despised the spineless who would rather sit around and talk politics or philosophy. What good did thunder do? It did not even necessitate a warning by preceding the lightning. No; it merely talked about it after the fact, when the damage was done. Rin was lighting, she was strong, fierce, and a fighter; with an insatiable thirst to prove herself. In this, she knew she had few contenders. Not many could best her at her drive. But time would tell, perhaps this was a different land? Rin doubted it. The reality was that every where you went, you had to deal with the same air-headed bimbos, and the same arrogant dickheads that thrived in this world.
Rin knew she would have much to prove. Her inheritance was Akhal-teke, and her frame was lean and gaunt. What she lacked in stockiness, she more than made up for in wit, stamina and speed. Her features were deceptive. Her bones were sturdy and could withstand much abuse. Her blue eyes were no less acute in their abilities than those of a darker origin.

The cremello mare grimaced slightly in apprehension for this new day. The sun lent her strength and courage as she moved into the terrain, crossing the border. Each footfall leading her ever closer to her new life. Her coat was already marred with the dust of the land, easing her gently into the background, providing her with subtle camouflage. Her tail flicked softly, threatening to reveal her carefully placed facade of ambivalence. Welcome, to hell.