Somewhere, deep in her mind, she is surprised by the fact that she actually hit him. There is an adrenaline rush, a thrill, one that she never would have thought to have in her previous life - but the darkness lives in her mind now, has taken over her thoughts and desires. She longs for his blood, wants to see him suffer as she has suffered. How does one so pure and innocent become so hateful? Perhaps it is that he is a stallion, and she is afraid of their gender; and in her deadened, hateful state she hides her fear with anger and brutality, perhaps hoping to regain some sense of courage and honor through beating them to a bloody pulp. (Isn't that nice?) In reality, the spotted steed's death would do her no good. In fact, she probably wouldn't remember him with the darkness eating away at her mind. But she presses on all the same in her attack. Her teeth clack together, somehow missing his flesh. She imagines that she comes away with a few hairs off his hide for her trouble, but perhaps that is only part of the illusion. His hooves, though, strike her squarely, chipping away even more of her broken body.

She is reminded of her Master and how he took pieces of her that she can never get back.

Bile rises in her throat as hatred clouds her gaze and her judgment. She does not remember falling, but she supposes that she must have to end up on her back on the path. A low moan registers, and she doesn't know if it is from her quarry or from herself, but she knows that she must get up. He will kill her if she lies here, she is sure of that, and though a part of her longs for the blissful nothingness that would accompany her demise, she finds that the darkness will not allow her to give up so easily. Up, up, UP, it shrieks in her mind, until she finds herself rolling through the gritty rock, taking some of the ground with her in her pelt. Her hooves scramble beneath her and she finds purchase, heaves herself to her feet (with quite a bit of stumbling, might I add). When she finally finds herself upright, she is leaning against the rock wall, looking much the worse for wear and panting with exertion, for the struggle of rising in her dilapidated stated is more than she can bear.

She gazes at the stallion with the glassy calm of shock, and her pale eyes show, for a moment, the little slave girl hiding inside her mind. They are pleading, pained, as a cornered animal asking for death, for salvation, for anything but the nightmare they are living. Please, she almost says, but she doesn't know what she is asking for, and the darkness is taking over again, anyway. Slowly, her gaze hardens, her breathing slows, and after a few moments, she forces herself to stand on her own four legs rather than depending on the wall. She has toppled down to the steed's left, and she takes a step at a time, steadily gaining ground (or so she hopes); but upon reaching his side, she stumbles, falls, precariously sprawling at his hooves. Again, there is a silent plea as her eyes lock with his; and she closes them, waiting for what she is sure will be the last blow of their little spat.

"Talking"

Kaiylia