The evening is cool and quiet, and the little slave girls walks on. She isn't entirely sure where she is going, but Mistress had been very clear about her current role. She is afraid, because she is no social butterfly and she does not think that she has the skills to accomplish that which her Mistress has sent her to do. But she is determined to try. After all, how else is she supposed to repay her guardian angel than to be the perfect servant? And Zuriel is, no doubt, her guardian angel. Everything about her exudes perfection and protection. Even though her departure had filled the little slave girl with anxiety, the buckskin had turned and begun to trek towards her next destination, just as she had been told.

The golden bangle taps against her foreleg with every step; her eyes are trained carefully on the ground before her. Auds are flicked back, though they twitch to the side every now and again, as though to insist to any that find her that she is, in fact, relaxed, though that could not be further from the truth. Her hooves hit the ground one at a time, the soft clip-clop of her hooves deadened by the grass. She is alone, and it is terrifying, but at least this time it is for a good cause and not because her master had either died or gotten sick of her. Or at least she hopes that is not the case. Clip, clop, clip, clop. One foot in front of the other. Sooner or later, she had to come across civilization again. Right?

"Talking"

@[Ktulu]

Kaiylia

She picks her way across the dying field, the orangemoon grasses beginning to crunch beneath her hooves. She had plodded through a river a while back, and it seems that the further she gets from the water, the less luscious the grass becomes. When the second set of hoofbeats picks up, she thinks that she is imagining it, thinks that she is merely afraid of being alone and her fear is getting the better of her. Her eyes remain trained carefully on the ground as she forces herself not to speed her walking. It's her imagination, that's all - there's nothing out here to harm her. Mistress wouldn't send her off to get hurt, now, would she?

But the hoofbeats don't subside, and her auds pick up the crunch of the grass that doesn't quite line up with her own steps, and she frowns slightly at the interruption, still refusing to lift her gaze. But then, she remembers that Mistress had ordered her to talk to others, and so she forces herself to raise her eyes and glance over her shoulder. The mare looks fairly normal, but there is something off about her approach, about the sly look in her eye. The little slave girl shivers, but allows the newcomer to get closer. It is about the time that she speaks that the buckskin catches a hint of the stench accompanying the mare, and she crinkles her nose as she looks away. "This one wonders what a big, bad wolf has to do with anything," she offers, thinking that she ought to just give the mare what she wants and then continue on her merry way. She doubts that the crazies will be of interest to her Mistress.

Her pace increases slightly, fear and adrenaline flooding her system. Something is not right here, but she can't figure out what is wrong.

"Talking"

@[Ktulu]

Kaiylia

The little slave girl takes in the mare's uninjured side. Dark, with a light banner. A red-tipped horn. She cannot tell if the crimson is a naturally occurring colour, or if the appendage has been recently dipped in blood. The thought makes her shiver, and her pace quickens into a trot. The mare keeps pace, though, and laughs in a way that makes her shiver. She swallows, hard, and tries a new tactic: ignorance. This works, for a moment, but then the mare swings out in front of her. The buckskin is not prepared for what she sees, her eyes brought up in surprise, to make sure she doesn't run into the crazy unicorn. The flesh is rotting, bones showing through oozing, bloody wounds. The girl's hooves halt of their own accord as a little shriek leaves her maw. She is immediately embarrassed, for etiquette says that she ought be seen and not heard, and she has never let such a sound slip before, no matter how harrowing the sight. Of course, she is usually protected by her master, and she has never seen the living dead, so I suppose she has a pretty good excuse.

She takes a step backward and then another, hooves scrambling away from the terrifying sight before her. Mistress had not warned her about this, had not told her that such creatures existed, and no matter how strong the urge to carry out her task was, she had not been told to get herself killed. She has half a mind to run screaming and quaking back to the seraphim, to beg her for mercy, for protection, but the logical part of her mind tells her that she doesn't even know where to run to. She shakes her head, wanting badly to scream but resisting because that's what good slaves do. The rotting mare is facing her now, and there is something predatory in her grin. The little slave girl cannot stand it anymore. She gives up on trying to be polite and instead turns, hindquarters bunching beneath her and pushing her into a headlong run in the opposite direction. If she were the praying kind, she would ask for help from long-lost deities, but slaves were not heard by the gods. At least, that was what she had been told. There is no one to help her, no one to hear her screams, even if she were to open her mouth and let one slip.

She is alone.

"Talking"

@[Ktulu]

Kaiylia