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12-16-2013, 01:31 AM
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She comes in silence, as she is so accustomed to doing. Dark hooves press mercilessly on the last traces of grass, sink easily into soft dirt, making a soft padding noise rather than the general clip-clop of a horse. The mare has learned to come and go without raising a fuss; it was a rather large portion of her training, after all, and if she can't depend on that, what can she depend on? Families come and go, but her well-learned traits are timeless. Surely someone, somewhere needs a slave? The rebellion had aimed to eradicate the practice; she remembers that all too well. But surely they have not reached this far, plucked the leaders of whatever land she had entered from their thrones as well? Surely she would be of use somewhere. There is very little to say of the little mare at the moment, as free thought had been drilled from her mind a very long time ago. She simply listens to the soft noise of her hooves hitting the ground, the distant call of a late-blooming songbird on the wind, the quiet, bubbling trickle of a nearby creek. Her second-to-last master had been a paranoid old crone (or that was what Slavemaster had called him) and had forced her to walk along river beds with him for the duration of their brief union. She does not miss the chill on her hocks, but she does miss having a place where she fits. On she walked, small auds flicking every which way, taking in any sound that might be a new master. Or anyone, really. If she could encounter slaves working in the forest, an overseer, anyone, anywhere. She had been alone for weeks, longer than she had spent alone in her life, much less without a master to claim her. It was not healthy. It was not lucky. Oh, gods! Is she cursed? Is that why such misfortune had befallen those who had called her their own? The golden bangle, a sign of her rank, rubs against her foreleg, over calluses formed long ago, and she is reminded of a time when she knew where she belonged, when she knew her place, when she knew who she was and what she wanted and what she was doing. But that was a long time ago, and slaves aren't supposed to think about the past. "Talk talk talk." |
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