[It's something she's never had to think about or explain. It was just the way things were, and had been long before her dam's sire or even his sire had lived. She had never felt the amount of shame she had learned to feel for it. After all, she had been one of the few and special. She had been a good horse. She had kept her arms. She was a warrior, not a slave.

Not like the armless. She was different. Until she'd realized she really wasn't.

Her expression darkens, looking straight ahead, but after a lapse she resumes.]

I was born in a stable, I do not know as much as another might.

[How did you explain something that you lived and never truly analyzed? Why did it matter? When had it become a thing she began to feel embarassed for, when once she had worn her master's seal with pride, and looked forward to the day she would be sold to a great warrior?]

But there are few jinba left in the field and mountains. We are strong, but humans are as numerous as they are weak. And they desire us.