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