Morigan gave him a cold look, but removed all of her jewelry but for her tiara. The words of her subjects made her bristle; her hands tightened on the reins, causing her poor horse to whinny in discomfort. Her lips were a pale white line as the mutt led her horse forward through the crowd. It was too quiet... it was a crowd before a riot. When people started shouting, she almost sagged in relief... until her guide was stricken with fruit. She smiled ever so slightly at the sight, pleased beyond words at her people's righteous hatred of these... animals.<br/><br/>However, that smile wilted when the Kes'nal leaped forward, seizing a man with a rock in his hand. She had not seen him throw one, and would have been pleased had she. "Release him at once!" she said, voice drowned out under the swelling roar of the crowd. Something clipped her shoulder, and she jerked, a yelp escaping her lips. At the sight of the beast changing and  assaulting one of their kinsmen, the crowd let out a howl, surging forward. They jostled against her horse, causing the poor beast to whinny and rear in terror. As it reared, hands grabbed at her legs, clawing her skirted pantaloons, trying to pull her from her mount.<br/><br/>She snarled, brandishing her riding crop (that she had never once actually used on an animal,) and struck a man who nearly succeeded in unseating her, opening up his cheek bone.<i>"Whore!" "Slut!" "Abomination!"</i>were some of the more nice things screamed at her and the mutt guiding her.<br/><br/>Her horse dropped back to all fours, crushing a woman beneath it's hoofs, then surged forward. Leaning forward, she grasped it's mane, the reins in her hands useless as the mare forced her way through the furious crowd. A furious howl rippled through her subjects as her horse rode them down, until finally, she was free. The clattering of hooves on the cobble stones was loud in her ears as her steed bolted, headed for the nearest city gate. Ever so often, someone would leap out at her, or throw something, and at one point, she was sure someone had shot at her. But as it was, soon enough, she was at the gate, which Arland, thoughtful man, had made sure was open. Her horse charged through, scattering mercantile refugees, and made its' way down the path, until finally, FINALLY, it slowed.<br/><br/>She was panting, eyes large, clothing torn. She was sore, and felt rather damp. She didn't know it, but the thing that had struck her shoulder was an arrow. She had gone into shock, body numbing itself as she fled. So she lay over her horses neck, eyes round in her pale face as her horse wandered along the road, then down a hill to rest beneath the trees. She slithered from her saddle, seating herself beneath a low hanging bough, mind still clear enough to know she should remain hidden. Then she leaned back, broken arrow lodged unknown in her shoulder, the black fabric of her traveling cloak hiding the blood and broken shaft.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>