I had heard freedom, but she mustn’t have heard me. I spent all night yelling her name. “FREEEEEEEEDOM, FREEDOM HEAR ME!” But it never worked; I may as well not have called out to her, as it made no difference.
In the morning, a man, a woman, the hunter, and a girl came to visit me. The man helped the girl onto my back. I, obviously, reared in fright, and the girl had to hold onto my mane to keep me in check. I eventually settled down, with the painful help of a whip. It hurt so badly, but I realised that if I wanted to avoid the horrifying pain I had to obey orders. They let me out of my stall with the girl on my back. I went slowly, as to cause no trouble to the girl. When she got off me after a test ride, I studied her.
The man called her Eleanor, and she called him Daddy, and the lady was called Mama. She had long brown hair, plaited so it only reached her waist, and she and the woman were wearing long, sort-of-puffy dresses that went down to the floor. The woman’s dress was a startling red, with shining gold, swirling patterns, sleeves that elegantly draped down her long, slender arm, with a puffy bit at the end, and a golden rope around her waist witch tied at the back and then hung down her lovely dress, and her lovely, soft-looking black hair was tied in a coiffeur at the top of her head. She had soft brown eyes that twinkled when you stared into them, and a dazzling smile. The girl had a bold, forest green dress that had pure white lace covering the green in a beautiful, sophisticated manner; she looked like a teenager, but actually was only about twelve. She had brown, melting, eyes and flushed cheeks and pink lips, it was almost impossible to think that she had no makeup on at all. The man was in a Black tuxedo, and had chestnut brown, slicked back, hair. The girl cheerfully cried “Oh horse what shall I call you, you look like a girl, so you can be Zahira.” So Zahira was to be my new name. Well at least Freedom would still call me hope, at least.
