I stand alone on a dirt road, waiting for something to happen. All I can hear is the sound of my own breathing. It was a hot summers day, almost too hot for me to work. But my owners did not care, for they were as cruel as a horse owner comes. What they have done to me In the past I cannot describe. For the evil that surrounds me has thought me to only speak when spoken to. And it didn't take long to teach me. I stare at the path in front of me, wondering if I could maybe manage to break the leather straps they have tied me up with, and run away. But I know this is a hopeless thought. I am neither strong or fast enough to possibly make it. I've grown weak from labor that I was not bred for. My ears flatten as I hear the familiar thudding footsteps of my master coming towards me. His voice is low and crackly as he grunts at me. I cannot truly understand what he is trying to say to me, but I get the message, and I brace myself for a heavy weight to be put upon my back. I huff as he he loads two large bags full of what they call sand on my rump. And I wince at the sharp, and unnecessarily hard, kick he gives me with his spurs to make me go faster. "I could go faster if I wasn't so bruised." I say. But as our relationship goes, I'm sure he can't understand me. I only have time to start trotting before the crack of the whip makes me cringe, "Why do you want to go so fast?" I whinny. "It's not like you have to get somewhere in a hurry." The whipping continues until my flank is stinging so much I'm stumbling over my own feet. We pass the barn house minutes later, and I know I'm also almost done for the day. When we finally get to the masters house, I sigh with relief, as the stable boy leads me into the pasture. Unlike the fresh green meadows I pass on trails, my meadow is dull and dry. It couldn't look appealing to a desert. The boy walks fast, and I am too weary to keep pace with him. He seems to understand, so he slows down with me. This I am grateful for. He releases me into the field, and as usual, when I step onto the grass, it's crunchy and hard. There are no hay bales for me to snack on, and when there is, they are no better than the grass. I look around, and see Nutmeg nestled under a tree, trying to keep cool. As I walk closer, I can see how hungry she must be. Her ribs are showing, and her joints are bulging, but her eyes are still as wild as ever. I. "Well, you look terrible." I tease. She smiles weakly, "As do you." I step forward, and try to get as cool as possible under the scrawny tree before go into the stuffy stables. Nutmeg stands up beside me, boney and weak as ever. We stay silent, as if we are talking to each other though our minds.