The ancient rotunda was kissed by the sun, which shone down in brilliant rays to frame the ground below in myriad colors and hues. The drapes, heavy though they were, rippled gently in the breeze, the same breeze that ruffled the leaves in the trees and carried the birds' songs through the woods. The nearby stream bubbled and laughed, full to the brim with the runoff from the snow-capped peaks to the North, and the small clearing surrounding the picturesque temple was carpeted with a thick, lush layer of emerald.

The little buckskin had taken a liking to the Ancient Rotunda, which, with its tall, elegant architecture, reminded her of happier times in Th'orqui. She was not supposed to hold onto those memories - "Do not form attachments, do not feel emotion, do not hold on to your past lives as you pass to a new Master. Let your old self go, become a clean slate," her teachers had impressed upon them all at the Academy - but it was absurdly difficult to do. After all, how could she shut out the memory of little Eirik touching his nose to her flank, shivering beneath her tail as he was called to meet this diplomat or that, terrified of the politicians of his parents' world? How could she make herself forget the kindness in the eyes of the Royal Family as they presented her with her anniversary gift, the golden bangle on her right foreleg? How could she erase them when she would be no one, nothing, without them?

Of all the things that she had been taught, all the lessons that had been drilled into her mind, this was the one thing that had been impossible for her to obey.

The little slave girl emerged from the woods and ambled slowly across the clearing, intending to walk around the rotunda and step into the stream, where she could soothe her parched throat. She had grown comfortable in the last few days, had begun to think that perhaps living out her days here wouldn't be so terrible - though of course she wished she had a Master; it was her purpose in life, after all - if she was destined to remain alone. In any case, she didn't even think to check for anyone inside the ancient structure, assuming that today, like all the others, would be spent in solitude. When the rough voice barked out from the shadows, she jumped, skittering sideways and throwing her head into the air in fear; but the reaction was short-lived, for habit kicked in and pulled her slowly into the shadows of the temple.

She paused for a moment, allowing her eyes to adjust to the darker interior, and once they do, she finds herself staring at the owner of the voice with well-concealed surprise. It is evident in the tight set of her mouth, the slightly visible white around her irises, but to all but the well-trained eye, she would appear entirely neutral. The Th'orquian Academy was, after all, the best slave academy in the known world. The stallion standing before her was tall and thick, with a set of sharp-looking horns atop his brow. His splayed stance and slack-jawed expression made him, if anything, more terrifying to the pony, who felt entirely dwarfed by his very presence. She did not notice the locoweed, the bag, or even his coloring, for her eyes were drawn to the floor, as befit her station; a rapid response fell from her lips with a respectful dip of the head, the equine equivalent of a cursty. "M'lord, this one is humbled by your presence in the Ancient Rotunda," she stated quietly.

"Talking"

Kaiylia

The little slave girl had calmed in here brief moment after her statement. Long experience had taught her that stallions like this - big, intimidating, and perhaps a bit mad - only wanted to feel powerful. Of course, that had taken several different forms over the years, and so she watched him with a sort of resignation, wondering if this one was a beater or a rapist, and if this was really her time to die, for surely either of those outcomes at the hooves of this massive creature would mean her demise. Still, no matter the circumstance, she had been nothing if well trained, and she faced her imminent death with the glassy calm of shock, determined to live her last moments as the perfect slave that she had been trained to be.

But it seemed that death would not be quite as forthcoming as she had assumed, for the steed merely snapped at her gruffly and waited for a response. A light fluttering began as she dared to hope that maybe, just maybe, she had found a new Master; and though he terrified her, reminding her of the last stallion to lay claim to her, she was so very desperate for leadership that she was almost willing to fall at his hooves and beg him to take her as his slave. Almost. If there was a doubt in her mind, it was very well hidden, very deeply buried, but perhaps... Perhaps it was there, somewhere, nurtured by a kind soul that had shared this very temple with her in the rain not so long ago.

In any case, she wasted no time in answering. Her vocals were efficient and emotionless, as they ought to be. "This one is well trained in all manner of services, m'lord. Is m'lord in need of a slave?" She fell once more to silence, not wishing to annoy him. She had never had to sell her own services before, and she certainly didn't want to scare him off, or wore, provoke him to violence. She watched a rock rise into the air before her, and her lips tightened again in fear. Nonetheless, she stood her ground, sure that somehow, the rock was tied to the horned steed. If he wanted to hurt her, he would do so; there was nothing she could do to stop him. All she could do now was wait and see.

"Talking"

@[Sevin]
[OOC | Sorry for the wait, love!]

Kaiylia

He was certainly very prickly, though not verbally abusive as other Masters had been. As the moments ticked on, and her eyes adjusted to the darkness within the Rotunda, she looked at him surreptitiously from beneath her lowered lashes. To look directly at one's Master was to break the Code; it was proper to keep one's eyes firmly to the ground, head lowered to just above the parallel, the picture of submission. To raise one's cranium or one's eyes was to show defiance and was often the brand of a rebellious slave. In Th'orqui, such individuals were given no mercy. The punishment had been brutal, and it was said that only one in three survived. She had forgotten, if she ever knew, what the exact terms of discipline were, but the fear had remained deeply ingrained all the same.

In any case, her secretive gaze was keen, and she saw a skinny draft, large but with little meat on his bones - the type of steed who could crush her with one hoof, but would likely be bested by a healthier individual of his size. Of course, physical altercations were rarely predictable. One of her Masters had enjoyed betting, and so she had attended several arenas as his pack mule. She had watched, unable to tear her eyes away from the violence, and she had learned that the simplest of circumstances could turn the tides in a fight. Still, she doubted that the old Master would have placed his coin on this steed. He was colored simply enough - a dark bay with four even white socks - though it did little to cover the scars that criss-crossed his dilapidated body. The pair of twisted horns protruding from his skull looked sharp, and of course the floating rock nearby was a concern.

Her analysis over, she lowered her eyes again. There was something not quite right about the stallion, though she couldn't quite put her hoof on it. Never having seen the effects of drugs, she didn't know the signs. Instead, she wondered if he was ill, or dying - if, once again, she was going to attach herself to someone who would leave her alone in the world. How many different Masters was she going to have? The Academy had favored longevity, teaching that to hold only one or two Masters in one's life was more desirable than having many different owners. In this regard, the little slave girl was a disastrous failure. She did not particularly enjoy the feeling.

"Don't move." The demand is authoritative and clear, and the buckskin froze immediately, barely even daring to breath. "As the Master comm- OOF!" The air was knocked from her lungs and, a moment later, she became aware of a dull, throbbing pain in her shoulder. She hadn't looked up, hadn't expected the assault, hadn't been able to brace herself - she leaned slightly to the right, testing the limb; it held. It was bruised, then, and therefore nothing to worry about. Soreness, perhaps (and, by the feel of it, quite a lot of that) but nothing that could deter her from doing her duty. The rock had been fairly dull, for which she was grateful - had it been sharper, she may have sustained a more serious injury.

Her eyes still on the dirt, she offered the proper response: "This one is pleased to have served you." She spoke with a mildly pleasant tone, as was desired from those of her station. She did not spend very much time considering the magically floating rock, for it was not her concern. Magic was not commonplace in her homeland, but it was not unheard of. As for the stallion's violence - it wasn't the first time she had been hit, and she very much doubted that it would be the last.

"Talking"

Kaiylia

As the moment of surprise passed and the pain in her shoulder faded to a dull throb, she found herself considering that perhaps the oafish brute would not be such a bad master, after all. He had not truly tried to hurt her, for if he had, she would be dead. He was so much bigger than the petite slave, and one well-placed kick to the head would have quickly ended her life. And she would have borne it, too, would have taken it like she had so many other abuses. If he had told her to stand still and wait to die, she would have had no choice but to do so. Instead, he had merely tossed a rock at her - and while it had been thrown with a bit more force than strictly necessary to prove her obedience, it had not truly harmed her.

She began to relax in his presence, into the role that she had been given to play. She stood in silence, her eyes trained on the ground, surreptitiously watching his massive hooves as he stalked around her, inspecting every inch of her flesh. She was used to the scrutiny, having been subjected to it many times over since her original sale to the Royal Family. "This one was not trained in the arts of fighting, Sir, but this one's former masters offered instruction in healing. The Good Master's secrets are safe with this one." After all, who would she tell? "This one may also carry messages, among other services, as the Master commands."

As the stallion turned away, the little slave girl became aware of a strange, wispy presence wrapping around her muzzle. Her eyes widened, and she struggled not to move in her momentary panic; but it passed quickly as the mist fell to the ground, sprouting several ghostly marigolds before disappearing entirely. A small smile grew on her face for the briefest of moments, though she fell once more into a mask of polite interest as the steed's attention was drawn back to her. Whatever the creature was, she was sure that it accompanied her new master, and though she could not begin to comprehend its nature, she could not help but appreciate the gesture of kindness.

"This one will be pleased to serve you, Good Master," she told Oxy with a brief bow.

And so her life began again.

"Talking"

[OOC | I'm sorry, I'm terrible, this took forever! D: @[Sevin]]

Kaiylia