For the briefest of moments, the little slave girl was in her element. How very refreshing it was to revert to her old self, to be given the opportunity to defer to her betters!

But then, suddenly, the entire situation came crashing down around her ears.

He was pleased to meet her, he was not pleased with her, he had honorable intentions and hoped he hadn't offended her; he wanted to be a gentleman and would be happy to stand in the rain.

She couldn't help it - she stared.

Those bi-colored eyes snapped up, taking in for the first time the full form of any creature in Helovia. To her surprise, his odd reaction to her subservient nature was not accompanied by an odd appearance. He was very small, though in relation to her own short stature, he was actually quite large. A chestnut pelt, darkened by the rain, faded around his belly and muzzle and covered a muscular body. He was more solidly built than the little slave girl, and with a certain detachment, she realized that he would be considered quite attractive in her homeland. In fact, were he a slave, he might even have been used in a pleasure house - but as that train of thought was entirely improper, she quickly banished it from her mind.

"Sir," she protested, lowering her gaze shyly after a moment of unabashed gaping, "This one hopes that she has not offended the good Sir. It would be most improper for the good Sir to stand in the rain." She stood for a moment in silent thought, her mind lingering over the stallion's kindly words. Hadn't he said something about being a friend? Well, she couldn't pretend to know what that meant, having never had any of her own - but if her company pleased him, then she would be able to avoid the rain and, perhaps, prove herself to a new Master who seemed to be quite the gentleman.

"This one will stay, if it please the good Sir," she finally conceded, haltingly inching back to her former post. Another mare might have inquired his name, which he still had not given (most likely being distracted by the little buckskin's odd mannerisms and his own dismay at her attempted flight), but the Academy had instilled certain habits in her, and she still found them quite difficult to shake. She wasn't quite sure what to make of the stallion with whom she shared her shelter, but she did break one of the Academy rules: never speak unless spoken to. "This one finds the good Sir to be quite the gentleman," she offered, speaking too quickly with nerves, her gaze peeking through her thick forelock, a spark of fuschia and green, before finding the grassy floor once more, as though fearing a disciplinary strike and preparing herself for his wrath.

"Talking"

@[Wilibald]

Kaiylia