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12-24-2013, 01:48 AM
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The unicorn stallion speaks again, furtively and hopefully. Her orbs flickered to him again, something stirring in them as she silently hopes that he will stop talking to her like that. She is only a slave. She does not have the right, and he hasn't even spoken to Mistress yet! He is horribly rude (though she can tell he means well) and she simply will not have him messing up her only chance at a normal life. If Mistress chooses to leave her here, what will she do then? She has only just found other horses again, after so many lonely nights, and she needs to be taken in. She needs to be guided. She needs to be needed. And so the warning in her eyes, tinged with fear of consequences, pleads with him to just be quiet. Were she any other mare, perhaps she would feel guilty for seemingly ignoring him, but she was not. Her training did not allow for guilt. In any case, she did at least look at him; perhaps that would be enough acknowledgement. Her knees are beginning to hurt. She dares not move from her kneel. Mistress had been imposing, and she does not know what to expect from such a mare. Truth be told, her downcast gaze had kept much from her - she did not see that the mare was a unicorn, nor that she had cruelty in every line of her face. She did not see the danger that she might be placing herself in. She read only the power surrounding the seraph, only the regal air with which she carried herself. Even if she had looked up, she probably wouldn't have known the difference between cruelty and royalty anyway. Regardless, she remains stubbornly bowed, refusing to give in to the weakness pervading her limbs and the rush of blood to her head. This is nothing, nothing in comparison to her time at the Academy. Her teachers had forced them to bow like this for hours on end; the timer would reset if anyone moved. This is easy. She will not fall. She will not disappoint. "What's your name? You, girl." The voice cracks like a whip through too-tense air, and the slave swallows hard. It is not unkind, that voice, but it holds a certain... tone. She knew that tone. It is the voice of someone who is used to getting his way. It is the voice of someone who will not take no for an answer. She does not move, but she seems to cower from the voice all the same, gritting her teeth against a whimper. She squeezes bi-colored orbs shut, expecting a blow of some sort, for that voice was very like that of the stallion that had taken her after the destruction of Th'orqui. He had done horrible things, that stallion, and though she had borne it as the most well-trained slave should, he had filled her with fear and dread unlike any other. She had been relieved (and, therefore, guilty) when she had been passed on to the next master. She was not supposed to feel relieved. She is not supposed to be glad to be rid of a master. The memory haunts her, as much because of her perceived failure as the wrongs the stallion had committed. And here it is again, that old feeling of terror as a powerful stallion approaches. It isn't always this way - the timid steed she could view with a certain neutrality, the the Family's men had always treated her kindly and without raised voices - but seeing as she cannot place the source of anyone's anger (for it is always the slave's fault) she is prepared for the worst. She has never had a female master. She thinks perhaps that will be easier, and after all Mistress did get here first. Will the new stallion scare Mistress away? Will he take her away and demand the unthinkable from her, just like the other master so long ago? She cannot bear to force her eyes open, to meet his demanding, inappropriate gaze (or so she imagines), for she feels impure just in his presence. She cannot tell that he is concerned. I don't suppose it would make much difference, anyway. "Talk talk talk." |
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