As Catskill’s legs trotted her after Trace, she focused on this singular item. It was the only thing she could. She couldn’t remember the name of her mas- her captor. Her slaver. She couldn’t remember the name of the pony who controlled her. Her memories kept telling her “Artemis”, but whenever she tried thinking about it, her mind spat out “Circe” from… somewhere. She wasn’t sure where, but it seemed ri- No. It wasn’t right. Her ma- Her slaver’s name was Artemis.