Not unwittingly, Maslakhat has done what he does best—he has planted a seed in her mind and cultivated it into the beginnings of roots that will grow deep into the earth befitting a strong stalk that should burst into the world and soak up the sun for all its sustenance. For whatever faraway fondness she had for her old life, he has stamped it out with the promise of something greater—and what could be greater than true and unfettered freedom? It was an easy sell in this case, having lived this way his entire life. He knows now that he was fortunate in this respect, and of course the first thing he does with this information was use it to his advantage.

“Sabit dur,” he murmured in their shared tongue as he watched her struggle to remove the bridle, desperation obvious in her voice.

The golden bay stallion wandered nearer to her, his eyes fixated on finding a solution for breaking the bonds that held her as he extended his nose for a closer look at the odd contraption. He snorted lightly, a torture device indeed. Why would such equipment be required for running, he wondered silently as he began to fidget with the strap along the side, pulling it with his lips to no avail. The only explanation was control, as he continued to search for weak points along the leather with his teeth, he discovered it was all too easy to pull her head in one direction or another.

“I apologize if my attempt to remove this causes you any discomfort,” he remarked, wanting her to know any yanking he was doing was unintentional.

He at last finds the throat latch, the thinnest piece of leather, and bites down as hard as his flat teeth allowed. Fortunately the salt of the ocean had made it weak enough to break and Maslakhat felt accomplished in this small success.

“Perhaps try again now?” He suggested, referring to her attempt to rub it off upon the edges of a nearby palm. Maybe then Merwerit would be rid of the wretched thing at last.


MASLAKHAT

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