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