Mount Apikuni let the bed sheet soak up my tears

and then she is sliding, falling, into submission and docility. she turns and at once is she the picture of perfect meekness, ears drawn back and head low, gaze falling on the woman's chest as her plume wraps tightly around her hind. she peered down at the stranger, low against the rock, calling back a soft, "hello." she is still, silent, until she can draw conclusions about just how much of her submission she can unravel, strip away.