Hunger. Hunger and pain ravaged the light grey stallion’s body, moving his till he couldn’t walk anymore. He didn’t realize it was hunger until the slave put it into words. His stomach was empty, a sac in his body with no use to him. It had been empty for days now, showing no sign of filling up again, until that day. Food? How long…have I not eaten? His looked at his body. He was a loose bad of bones, sagging from his deterioration. Is there a way he could reverse it, or was it already too late. He bowed his head, trying to touch his muzzle to grass, but fell. His body hit on his left side, and his body weight fell on his left knee, and it twisted a bit. He moaned in pain, resting on his left side. He didn’t try to stand up, knowing that he hurt himself, and he probably wouldn’t be able to get up for a while. He looked at the slave again, knowing he was correct. He lifted his head, teeth grinding grass next to him. He looked at once more, deciding to speak to him.
“Thank…you.” He looked at the mark he left on the slave’s shoulder, remembering his anger at Psyche. He was ashamed, and didn’t even think about it till now. “I’m very sorry that I injured you. I was only angry with Psyche, not you.”

"talk talk talk"
"think think think"

Follow the trail of blood…
You'll find me at the end.

The silence of the slave was normal to him, but he couldn’t help think that he was plotting. He was quiet, as he guessed a slave should be, but you had to do something when you couldn’t talk. Valentine knew that he liked to think, and it had almost become a dangerous pastime for him. Thoughts were both good and bad. They swirled around in his mind, sometimes playing out things that would never happen, other times playing out things that were possibly real, and still others played out the past. The past was a dark and dank room in his mind, were he seldom wasn’t wondering. What was it about these old artifacts that kept him coming back? They never seemed to bore him, and although they never changed, he still had to get the ending. It was a badly written book, but sometimes you had to write your thoughts down, even if you were drunk and out of your mind. The present was similar to the room of the past. It was dark, and he felt the pain in his intestines when he went there. Everything that he had experienced recently he felt now, all together. It wasn’t pleasant, but he needed to feel that, in order to prepare himself for the future. The room of the future was a different room entirely. On one half, it was brightly lit with candles, things hanging on the walls. There were pictures, books, maps, and other various things that had no definite faces and readable words. It was a sign of hope, good times, and that life would get better, no matter what. The other side, facing Valentine, was just like the past. It was almost pitch black, mist fogging his vision. This future was the untold tale of bloodshed, and it was up to him if he experienced it. Ghosts formed in the mist, images of him being murdered by unicorns floated past his vision. Next was his body lying motionless, a look of pain etched on his face as he had past away from his illnesses. His body was thin, every bone showing on him. His muscles had deteriorated, and there was nothing left of him. He shivered at this thought. No, he wouldn’t let this happen. He keep eating, trying to get as much into his stomach as he could. He wouldn’t let himself die. Giving up just wasn’t his style.
“So…what is it like being a slave?”

"talk talk talk"
"think think think"

Follow the trail of blood…
You'll find me at the end.