“No…” she breathed. Mistress would be along soon; she would be so mad with her. She placed her hooves over her head and closed her eyes. “It can’t… I can’t… I’m sorry,” she whispered. She heard soft hooffalls coming down the corridor, the tell-tale creak of wood as weight pressed down upon it. She forced herself to calm down, to regulate her breathing. Mistress hated weakness, and she would punish her more for it if she saw it. Taking slow, steady breaths she got back to her hooves, her closed eyes twitched as she summoned the courage to open them once more.