The Mares of Gashran

Akrah appeared at Lady Linya’s villa late in the evening. He was riding a mare whose build betrayed her off-world origins. The local mares—descendants of human colonists—lacked such height and muscle. "Whoa," Akrah tugged the reins, slapped the mare’s withers, and she halted, immediately dropping to her knees, her body leaning forward, ready for her rider to dismount. The villa’s doors swung open before he could do anything else. Linya stood on the threshold, her yellow eyes narrowing at the sight of her brother before sliding lower—to the mare. "Akrah," she said, exhaling in surprise. "I thought we wouldn’t see each other again after my quarrel with Father." "I hoped you’d be glad to see me," he smirked, dismounting and using the mare’s thigh as a step. His palm rested on the small of the mare's back. "I’ve brought you a riddle. I hope you’ll forgive me, and we’ll solve it together. Like we used to as children." Linya descended the steps, her fingers tracing the brands on Dana’s buttocks. The mare didn’t flinch—only her breathing quickened. "A familiar mark," Linya noted, pointing to one of the brands. "Karana has the same, and so does Mur’s new mare, the one I bought for the tournaments." Mur, who had approached her, nodded in agreement. "Another one? So I was right!" Akrah fastened an ankle chain to his mare’s legs and flicked her thigh, making her rise. "Rokh, the one who brands them, calls them 'mountain mares.' Says they’re brought from the northern slopes. Wild, but quick learners." "Wild?" Linya scoffed. "She looks like Ana. Too aware for a wildling." "Mur, can you settle Dana in for the night?" Akrah asked, eyeing the mare, then added, looking at his sister, "I hope you’ll show me hospitality?" "Of course, brother! You’re always welcome in my home," Linya said warmly. "Mur, put the mare in the stall with Karana and come eat." *** The lamps burned with steady yellow light, casting short shadows on the polished oak table. Linya, the mistress of the house, sat at the head, her claws tapping the knife’s handle like a metronome. Akrah lounged in his chair. Mur entered the dining hall and settled on a bench, grabbing a large bone from the platter at the center of the table. "I’ve put your mare in the stall," he said, reaching for a mug of ale. "I wonder if they’ll recognize each other?" "They shouldn’t, if they were caught at different times in different places," Linya set down her knife. "Karana met Ana at Rokh’s farm. If they were from the same place, Karana would have mentioned it." "Maybe she didn’t want to remember," Akrah finished his wine. "Or maybe she was taught to stay silent." "Or maybe she just doesn’t know," Mur returned to the table. "Mares don’t always remember where they came from." "So Rokh didn’t sell you the mare he won the races with?" Linya cut a piece of meat. "But you bought this one?" "Yes. Her owner took third place in the final race, but he planned to buy a couple of untrained fillies and train them from scratch. Says he wants to test some ideas he got after acquiring Dana." Akrah took a sip from his goblet, leaving a scratch on the silver. "Rokh thinks the price of his mare will triple after the Elders’ Cup. He’s planning an auction. The goblins have realized that mares with his brand are special. They win often. Maybe he’s right." "Smart," Linya said, glancing at her brother. "And why did you buy this one? Want to compete with him?" "As you noticed, she has a brand on her rump. Same as Kaila, Rokh’s mare. I don’t think she can run faster than her. You should have seen that red beast run! Like lightning! And her endurance! Rokh and I talked for twenty minutes. She knelt beside us, within arm’s reach of her master. I noticed he kept petting her, leaning against her thigh, tousling her mane. Every time he reached for her head, she lowered it to make it easier for him. Every time he reached for her chest, she arched her back. The rest of the time, she stood still as a statue. I’ve never seen such a bond between a rider and a mare. I don’t think they can be beaten." Akrah set down his goblet. "But as I said, they all have the same brands. Kaila, Karana, and as you said, Mur’s new mare." Mur snorted, wiping his hands on his pants. "Her name is Ana. All the mountain mares have the same brands. Rokh marks them that way." "Yes," Akrah shook his head. "It’s his brand. He confirmed they’re brought to him from the mountains, wild. Then he trains them his way." "So what?" Linya bit into the meat. "Wild mares aren’t rare. I remember they were sometimes brought for sale to Father’s estate. You should remember too. But they looked different." Akrah smirked. "I remember. These are bigger, taller, and run too well. And much smarter than wildlings." Linya leaned forward. "And what are you going to do?" "I'll talk to Karana," Akrah reached for the jug. "And then, perhaps, I'll go to the area around Rokh's farm. I'll hang around there, see if I can meet someone who communicates with Baza." "You're crazy, they won't let you in there without permission." "I won't ask anyone's permission. I'll find someone to take me there," Akrah stood up. "The goblins who trade with Rokh know where to get new mares." Linya shook her head. "You're playing with fire." "I play to win," Akrah headed for the door. *** The well-oiled stall door swung open almost silently. Mur entered, leading Dana by the reins. At his gesture, she knelt. He deftly unbuckled the headstall, removed the bit from her mouth, and unstrapped the saddle. It slid from the mare’s back onto the stone floor. The plug-tail came out with a wet pop. Dana clenched her teeth but didn’t make a sound. "Meet your new friends, beast," Mur said, yanking the collar chain, and Dana collapsed onto her stomach on the straw mat that served as the mares’ bed. The riding crop whistled, leaving a fresh red stripe on her buttocks. "Sleep well." He attached her collar to a long chain leading to the wall and left, slamming the door. Dana looked around. Two mares. Karana sat crouched by the far wall, her hands in leather mittens resting on her knees—useless, like usual. But not bound behind her back! Ana lay on her side on her mat, the heavy boots on her feet clanking as she turned to face the newcomer. Both wore standard braided collars with long thin chains attached to wall rings. "Nice setup you’ve got here," Dana stretched as far as the chain allowed. Her mittens remained bound behind her back—clearly, the local mares’ privileges didn’t extend to temporary guests. "Oh! Another star-girl. Hi! That’s Karana," Ana smirked without lifting her head but waved her mittened hand toward her friend. "She wrote a book on the goblin language with the mistress. Now Linya thinks she’s a scholar, and Karana’s something between a tutor and a bookstand. And a mare, of course." "And who are you to her?" Dana asked, sitting on her haunches, her tail-free for the first time in months—not just during defecation. "I’m Dana! Nice to meet you." "She’s the mistress’s gift to her boyfriend," Karana turned her head, her eyes glinting in the dim light. "So he doesn’t feel bad about ruining my racing career. Ana was bought for Mur so he wouldn’t get bored. You can’t assign work mares to serve him—he’s the mistress’s boyfriend, after all, and there are others to do that. The estate was already running smoothly when we arrived. So he’s Ana’s jockey and the trainer of the racing mares—and serves them. Meaning us. And now he’ll serve you too while you’re a guest. Mur’s the goblin who brought you here." "Why are we kept separate?" Dana asked, nodding toward the stall behind the bars, where the bodies of local mares lay in the darkness. "We’re special," Ana finally rose from her mat and sat facing Dana. "We’re not put to common labor. We’re for racing. And for the masters’ personal use." "And for the weekly whippings," Karana added. "Lady Linya decided: if there’s nothing to punish us for, we get whipped anyway. For prevention. Then we get a piece of fruit and an extra orgasm. For balance, I guess." Dana froze. "Wow. I’d agree too if I got whipped and then satisfied. The last time I came was…" she trailed off, remembering. "A month ago. When I still belonged to Krut. The jockey from the Capital. He believed a mare should be angry and unsatisfied before big tournaments. Then I was sold to Akrah, who doesn’t seem to know what a clitoris is for." "It’s not like that here," Karana stretched, her chain clinking. "A mare only comes by a goblin’s hand. But it happens a couple of times a week." "Do you never break the rules?" Dana peered through the bars. Whips lay in the far corner of the stall, oiled and ready. "We do," Ana leaned back, her chains rattling. "We sleep cuddled up. We kiss. We talk when there are no goblins around. But those are… allowed violations. The goblins know we break the rules, but they pretend not to see. But they can punish us for them anytime. And we know they can." She smiled. "It’s part of the control. They manage every aspect of your life: when you eat, when you sleep, when you shit. You think you’re fooling them, but they know you’re fooling them. And that holds you tighter than chains." "What if..." Dana said, lowering her voice. "What if we help each other? My chain lets me lie with either of you. Our mouths are free. And we have access. I’m inexperienced, but I think I could satisfy another woman orally on the first try." "Mouths are free, but there’s a direct ban," Karana shook her head. "Control over orgasms is power. No sane goblin would give that to a mare. Though…" she glanced at Dana. "I’ll hint to Mur. If I can." "Why? Don’t risk it," Ana snorted, turning to the new mare. "Can you come without an order? My last master trained me so well I can’t without words. Without a direct command." Dana bit her lip. Her gaze fell on the plug-tails hanging on the wall. They don’t even try. "What if I try?" she asked, moving closer to the mare. The chain clinked against the stone floor. Karana recoiled. "Then tomorrow we’ll be punished for real. No fruit. They might even take this away," she nodded at her hands. Dana stopped. How she wished her hands were free, even like her new acquaintance’s—restrained only by mittens. Ana’s words echoed in her head: "They control everything." "Fine," she said, returning to the straw mat. "Then at least let’s talk. I haven’t had anyone to talk to in a long time. Tell me how you ended up here." Ana closed her eyes. "Tomorrow. Tonight, sleep. Tomorrow morning, Mur will check how we slept. And if the mistress thinks we’re tired because we were up to something at night…" She didn’t finish, but Dana understood. They’re broken. But not the way she thought. Not like her. They’re broken smarter. "All right," Dana said, turning on her side, her back to the wall. Her chain clinked again. "But if you can... hint to him, please." Karana chuckled softly. "Welcome to our cage, mare." *** Seven Years Earlier Dana—then still Danielle Marie Velez, a researcher for the Earth Alliance—wore a gray jumpsuit with insignia marking her scientific status, magnetic-soled boots, and sensor gloves. She was part of the first scientific expedition after the planet’s discovery, when scanners finally penetrated the atmospheric interference and revealed that Gashran was not just habitable but inhabited by intelligent races. Her task as a xenobiologist was simple: establish contact, exchange gestures of goodwill, and study the physiology of the local intelligences. She didn’t expect the first point of contact to be the floor of a spacious dugout, or the first required gesture of goodwill to be an order to strip naked. "Take it off," said the goblin named Trakh (she would later learn this was a title, not a name—Envoy), clawing at her clothing. His yellow eyes didn’t blink. "Or we leave." They stood twenty feet away, not approaching. "Why?" Daniel didn’t move. Behind her, two Base guards stood ten miles from the meeting site, their blasters ready but useless. The goblins had already realized the humans wouldn’t use them against intelligences that posed no direct threat. "We came in peace." "You came in armor," Trakh scraped a claw along her sleeve. "We don’t talk to those who hide behind armor." He spoke in the common tongue, with an accent and errors, but clearly enough. She hesitated. Alliance protocol demanded maintaining uniform in all situations where one represented the Alliance. But protocol didn’t account for goblins perceiving clothing as a threat. Yesterday, they’d declared male participation in negotiations dangerous. Now, a new demand. "Fine," she took a deep breath and began unzipping her jumpsuit. She wasn’t ashamed in front of the goblins—she didn’t see them as people—but the guards behind her unsettled her, especially Lieutenant Sever, the closest. During the expedition’s formation on the station, they’d had a brief fling: a couple of dates, one of which continued in her cabin. But she hadn’t liked his roughness or his obvious desire to dominate, which didn’t excite her, and their interaction faded. The fabric slid from her shoulders, exposing her chest. The goblins snickered. The smaller one tossed a rope at Sever’s feet. "Tie her hands. Behind her back. Kneel her. Legs wider than her shoulders, ankles parallel." "Why?" Her voice trembled. "So we know you’re not lying, and that you’re safe for us," Trakh grinned, baring sharp teeth. "You see, you’re big and strong. We’re much smaller. It’s only fair to restrain you. Are you afraid? Then tell your men to take you and leave. You’re not needed here." She looked at the guards. They didn’t react. She nodded to Sever, who smirked and approached, swiftly binding her wrists already pulled behind her back. Then he stepped away. Daniel stood naked and bound. The rope bit into her wrists as she knelt, legs spread as the goblin ordered. The warm floor of the dugout was unexpectedly comfortable, like a yoga mat. The goblins approached, their scent—a mix of spices, sweat, and something metallic—filling her lungs. "You may ask questions," Trakh said, standing before her. "But first, answer one of mine: why have you returned?" "We haven’t returned," she lifted her head. "We’ve come for the first time." "You lie," his finger touched the university emblem tattoo on her arm. "Your kind have been here for centuries. They serve us. They told our ancestors you abandoned them." "What people?" Daniel blinked. "There was a colony?" "Legends say star-people came and left, abandoning their children," Trakh leaned closer, his breath scorching. "The mindless children couldn’t feed themselves, so they came to serve us, so we’d protect them from orcs and you, if you returned." He snorted. "We don’t forbid our people from talking to you. They fear you more than us." She wanted to ask who these people were, where they were now, what they looked like. But her mouth was dry. "Abandoned their children." So there were humans here. So the Fleet and Sector representatives were hiding something. "Why do they fear us? We’ll return them to our civilization," her voice softened. "What do you mean, ‘return’? Most humans are someone’s property. You can’t just take what isn’t yours. That’s why they fear you. Because you take, not give," Trakh stood. "They’re certain you left them here to work in the mines. They died in the caves you dug, mining useless glowing stones instead of growing food or building homes. At first, you came and traded stones for food, clothes, mining tools. Then you stopped coming. The stones must have become unnecessary to you. Humans were never important to you. They know if you’ve returned, you’ll take them back to your new mines." "We didn’t—" she began, but he cut her off: "You’re here. Unarmed. Without armor." His claws touched her chin, forcing her to lift her head. "And you’re still lying. Not that it matters anymore." She didn’t have time to respond. Something pricked her neck—a needle or a plant’s thorn. The world swam. The last thing she saw was Trakh gathering her clothes into a bundle and tossing them toward the guards, signaling them to leave. They hadn’t guarded her from the goblins. They’d delivered her to them. *** Dana didn’t remember how much time passed. The years blurred into a succession of masters, races, beatings, and rare moments of relief. She understood she’d been given to the goblins first—not as a scientist, but as a free mare, a test case. But others would follow. She was taken to Rokh, who turned her into a racing champion in six months. Training a star-born mare was new to him. He’d spent his life breaking mares—either farm girls entering maturity, suited in size and temperament for the saddle, obedient and easily tamed, though rarely elite racers, or wild mountain mares who required harsher methods to break their will to escape. A delicate balance was needed: too much, and the slave would break, becoming a mindless beast unresponsive to stimuli. His new slave was a new type of mare. Tall—a head taller than his usual "pupils"—with wide hips and shoulders, strong abdominal and back muscles, she was perfectly suited for the saddle. After she was brought to the farm, she was tied unconscious to the sawhorses used for servicing mares and awakened with slaps to the face. "Hello, little one," an unfamiliar goblin addressed her in the common tongue. "I’m Rokh. Your new master. Your old masters sold you for a hefty sum, and I intend to profit from you. I was told you understand human speech well." "But they couldn’t! I’m a free person! Let me go, send me to the Base! I want to go home!" the girl screamed. Daniel stood on her toes, her naked body trembling not from the evening breeze but from the realization: she was tied. Her arms stretched wide, her wrists bound so tightly the blood barely reached her fingers. Her body was bent almost parallel to the ground, secured by straps to the sawhorses. Her ankles were locked in iron rings hammered into the earth. Even her head was fixed so she couldn’t move it. "They don’t think so. They took coins, many coins, and gave you to me. I have a parchment saying you belong to me. By our law, you’re my slave—a mare, to be precise. I was told you’re intelligent. So I can explain the rules, and you’ll follow them. If you don’t, I’ll punish you." "This is madness! You have to let me go! They’ll come for me, they’ll free me, and they’ll kill all of you!" "No one will save you. You’re a mare now. And the first thing a mare must learn is obedience. The goblin who handed you over explained how things work for you: You’ve long overcome nature, where strength means right. You’re used to obeying not the strongest, but those appointed to rule you. Power taken by force is unjust to you. Your own leaders sold you. And you’ll accept it. You’ll submit—not because I’m stronger, but because that’s the order of things." "I won’t submit!" she said proudly. "Pity," the goblin shook his head. "Now you’ll be whipped until you acknowledge me as your master or until you lose consciousness. If that happens, you’ll be doused with water, revived, and the whipping will continue. There’s no way off these sawhorses except by accepting your place. Maybe at some point I’ll grow tired, spit on the wasted coins, and order you beaten to death. Or I’ll give you to the orcs with a note that you’re no longer needed. Few human girls last more than a week with the orcs. You’ll die or go mad." "Begin," the goblin shouted to someone behind her. Her back burned instantly. The first lash struck her back. Daniel cried out—not from pain, but surprise. Her skin burned as if scalded. The second lash—lower, across her buttocks. She tried to clench her legs, but the straps and rings held her. Pain seared through her, tears streaming down her cheeks. The third lash—across her thighs. Daniel screamed, her body jerking forward, but the straps held her. She realized she couldn’t escape. "This will continue until you accept your fate," Rokh approached, his face inches from hers, so close she could have bitten him. "You’re a mare. You belong to me. The sooner you accept that, the easier it will be for you." The fourth lash struck her back again, this time across her ribs. Daniel gasped, her body slumping in the bonds. She no longer screamed. She just breathed heavily, trying to endure each new blow. Fifth. Sixth. Seventh. Tenth. She lost count. With each lash, her resistance faded. With each lash, she understood she’d do anything to make it stop. Anything to stay alive. "Good," Rokh said, stopping the goblin from whipping her. "You’re starting to understand." He stepped in front of her so she could see him. "You’re smart. You’ll survive. But to do that, you must accept who you are now." Daniel silently nodded. She didn’t care what he said. Only one thing mattered: no more beatings. Her body still burned, but the pain had dulled, become bearable. She watched the goblins—Rokh and two workers, one who had whipped her and now coiled the lash and hung it on his belt, the other climbing a ladder to secure her head in special clamps. She suddenly saw herself through their eyes: a grown woman, twice the size of each of them, four times heavier, immeasurably stronger, trembling in fear before these small creatures. Rokh showed her tall leather boots without heels, with iron horseshoes on the soles, resembling a horse’s hooves. "We need to equip you," he said, looking into her eyes. "Let’s start with your feet." A farmhand unlatched her left ankle. Daniel instinctively flinched but froze—the memory of the lash was fresh. The goblins worked together to pull on the boot, lacing it so tightly it felt like a second skin. They repeated the process with her right foot. The boots were more comfortable than being barefoot, and the heavy, wide soles—practically hooves—were surprisingly stable, even without heels. Though she’d only tested this while tying spread-eagle to the sawhorses. She didn’t yet know how she’d walk once unbound. "Chain," Rokh said. The worker fastened a short, light chain between her ankles—enough to prevent running or lifting her legs, but allowing small, goblin-sized steps, a constant reminder with every movement. "Now, your hands," Rokh continued. "Try to relax your arm and don’t move it yourself." The farmhand freed her left hand. Daniel automatically tried to rub her wrist against the sawhorse, but Rokh quickly caught her, and the worker slipped on a mitten—a thick leather glove without fingers, stitched so she couldn’t even clench a fist. He tightened the cuff. They repeated this with her right hand. "Behind your back," Rokh ordered. Obeying the goblins holding her arms, she moved them behind her and heard the carabiner click. Daniel felt the mitten’s leather cuffs tightly gripping her wrists. She couldn’t move her wrists or fingers. Rokh circled her, inspecting. He examined her leg muscles, then, with clinical detachment, spread her labia with his fingers and said something in Goblin to his workers. They chuckled eagerly. She felt her face burn. "Now, your teeth," he said calmly, switching back to the common tongue. "Your molars will interfere," he showed her the pliers. "They’ll keep the bit from fitting properly. And the bit isn’t for us—it’s for you. So you can better understand your rider. The whip and spurs hurt much more." Daniel tried to pull away, but her head was clamped tightly. "Don’t be afraid. All mares go through this," Rokh smirked. "It’s not painful. Well, almost not painful." The worker pried her jaw open with a metal spreader. Daniel gasped, trying to resist, but he only tugged her hair, urging her to calm down. "First one," Rokh said. The pliers entered her mouth. She felt the tooth give way under the pressure, the dull crunch as it left her jaw. Blood flooded her mouth, warm and metallic. She coughed, but Rokh immediately stuffed a gauze-like tampon into her mouth. "Bite down," he ordered. Daniel obeyed. Her eyes were wide with horror. It hurt terribly, but she didn’t resist as Rokh extracted the first tooth and dropped it into a metal bowl with a sickening clink. "Second," Rokh said. She tensed but didn’t flinch. She was terrified, but she’d already learned resistance only made things worse. She’d already learned: here, her body belonged to others. When the last molar was removed, Rokh wiped the blood from her chin and inserted a bit into her mouth. "There. Now the bridle will fit properly. You can drink, receive small treats, even speak if permitted. Later, you’ll appreciate the design." Daniel tried to say something, but the bit hindered her. She only coughed hoarsely, and Rokh patronizingly patted her cheek. "Don’t rush. Let your gums heal," he seemed to mean it as encouragement, but every word sent pain shooting through her raw gums. He descended the ladder and stopped in front of her breasts, positioning himself so they hung directly above him. He took a small iron needle and a jar of sharply scented ointment from a box. Without warning, he generously coated her left nipple, then, giving her no time to react, pierced it with the needle. Daniel clenched her teeth but didn’t scream—the pain was sharp but not unbearable, more unpleasant, like a botched piercing. He immediately inserted a thin iron ring into the hole and clamped it with the same pliers he’d used to pull her teeth. Now it could only be removed by sawing—otherwise, the skin would tear. He repeated the process with her right nipple. Then he coated both piercings with the same burning ointment and covered them with broad leaves of a local plant—rough like plantain but with a silvery sheen. They use antiseptics but no painkillers, flashed through her mind, but she didn’t say it aloud. Later, she’d learn the goblins did have painkilling elixirs. They’d even tried using them on mares but hadn’t thought to adjust the dose for the difference in weight and concluded the elixirs didn’t work on humans. "It’s not to humiliate you," Rokh explained, as matter-of-factly as if speaking to a child. "In a couple of days, your nipples will heal, and we’ll hang bells on the rings. So I can hear where you are. Mares aren’t always careful—it’s a safety measure. When the bells ring, I know where you are. Simple and practical." He tugged one of the rings, and Daniel flinched involuntarily. "And beautiful," he added, smiling. "Now, the tail," Rokh showed her a long leather plug-tail with a horse’s tail at the end. "It’s not just for looks. You need it." Rokh generously lubricated the plug and slowly, deliberately, inserted it into her anus. Daniel winced as her sphincter stretched then clenched around its wide base, but she didn’t resist. She’d already learned: the goblins considered her body theirs, and all these changes were for the convenience of its use. From their perspective. "You can swat flies with the tail," Rokh explained, fastening straps around her body. "When your hands are bound, it’s very useful. You’ll learn to control it." He gently tugged the tail, and she instinctively clenched her sphincter. The tail twitched against her leg like a living thing. "See? You’re already learning how to use it." Rokh patted her thigh. "Tomorrow, we’ll start learning to walk. With the tail, the bit, the bridle. You’ll become a good mare. Because you’re smart," he caught his breath. "Now, the brand. You understand there must be order. I think on your planet, herders brand their livestock to avoid disputes." She didn’t understand why he was explaining all this to her. She barely comprehended his words—her head pounded, her jaws ached, her breasts throbbed where they’d been pierced, and her back stung from the lashing. Her consent wasn’t required. Later, he’d tell her this was all new to him too. He’d never before broken a slave who’d considered herself a free human that very morning. On this planet, there were no free humans. That’s why he tried to explain every step of the transformation as fully as possible, hoping she’d accept his dominance logically, not through prolonged training. Another goblin approached Rokh, holding a red-hot brand on a long rod—engraved with his personal mark: two crossed hammers. The goblins manually secured her left leg so she couldn’t move. "This is forever," Rokh said, pressing the iron to her left buttock. She screamed through clenched teeth as the smell of burning flesh filled the air. The pain was sharp, searing. It seemed today she’d experienced every kind of pain and humiliation. Rokh stepped back, inspecting his work. "Good. Now you’re officially mine." He nodded to the worker, who applied a prepared herbal compress to the burn, then unbuckled the straps still holding her to the sawhorses. Daniel slumped. Her legs wouldn’t hold her. She collapsed to her knees, then crumpled to the ground, nearly falling face-first into the dirt. "Rest," Rokh said. "Later, we’ll start learning to walk." Fifteen minutes later, he returned. "Get up," he ordered. She tried to rise, but her legs buckled. The workers caught her by the bridle and kicked her until she knelt. "Better," Rokh said, fastening the reins to the bit. "You’re not ready to stand yet." He took her chin, forcing her to lift her head. "You’re my property," he said firmly. "Acknowledge it. This is a very important ritual. You must consciously bow and kiss my boot. Then I’ll strike you with a riding crop across your back, chest, and stomach as a sign of accepting you under my hand. Then you’ll kiss the hand that struck you. That’s the rule. You’ll always kiss the hand of the goblin who agrees to strike you." Daniel hesitated, but the memory of the brand and the lash was too fresh. She slowly bowed and kissed his boot. "Good," Rokh approved. He took a light riding crop and delivered three symbolic strikes to her back, then stepped aside and struck her chest, careful to avoid her freshly pierced nipples—just enough to leave a mark and make her feel his authority. "Now kiss the hand," he said, extending his palm downward. She obeyed. "Excellent," Rokh smiled. "Now you’re truly mine." Even on her knees, she was two heads taller than him if she straightened. But like this, bent double, with his hand on her crown, she felt size didn’t matter. She looked up at him from below and understood: he owned her. "You’re strong," Rokh said, stroking her head. "But strength means nothing here. Order rules. Law. And you’ll obey it." He took her chin, forcing her to lift her head. "You’ll obey. Not because I’m stronger. But because that’s how it must be." Daniel nodded. She was ashamed. She was afraid. But she knew: he was right. Here, in this world, she was just a mare. And these small creatures, who barely reached her waist, owned her. From this day forward. *** Later, after six months of grueling training, he sold her to his apprentice Samart, a jockey from the southern domains. Then came a succession of masters, each leaving a brand on her buttocks. Her forehead had long been tattooed with a four-letter nickname. Mostly professional jockeys earning their living from races, or wealthy goblins who fancied themselves jockeys. It didn’t matter to her. None of them saw her as human. Or rather, they saw her as a human female who had become a mare. A common thing. Krut had been her previous master, and the worst of them. She’d been sold to him a year or so ago. She didn’t track time—it was meaningless. For the first weeks, or maybe months, he put a helmet on her every night: total isolation, no light, no sound. She couldn’t see or hear—only feel his hands, his absolute power over her. He whipped her with a leather crop until the straps were wet with blood. Then he forced her to climax with a smuggled device and left her in the helmet until morning. Over time, he began taking her out in the same helmet for training, and she learned to move blindly, guided only by the reins, the pressure of his legs, and the spur strikes. She learned to trust him—she had no choice. She learned to sense his desires through touch. But she lost track of time. In isolation, time didn’t matter. One day, he said in the common tongue: "You’re no longer a human girl. You’re a perfect mare. You can run without seeing the road. It's rare obility. You obey without the slightest delay. I’m pleased with you and my work." She didn’t reply. Her response wasn’t expected. Mares didn’t speak to masters. She’d long accepted she was an animal, livestock in his eyes. Now, lying in Linya’s stall, she sometimes remembered that first conversation with Trakh. "They fear you more than us." She didn’t think she feared the star-people—she hadn’t seen them in all this time. But she no longer feared the goblins either. She’d grown used to them.