Dom descended with relief. He could already feel his buttocks sore and stiff. The small soldier withdrew to relieve his stomach, while the other two guards patrolled the area. Ben opened a hidden compartment in the carriage and retrieved a small sack of apples. He tossed one to each guard, then handed one to Dom, fed each of the two horses with the others, and began eating one himself, holding the still-full sack with his other hand.
"The one with a head like an egg is Thorn, and he gets friendlier each time you ask about his daughter. The scar-eyed one is called Milow; I've seen him slit more throats than you can imagine. If he gets annoyed with you, I suggest you run. The little one is named Mice, for convenience. You're not much of a talker, are you?"
Dom was finishing his apple. Thorn and Milow were nearby; it was certain they had heard the guide's chatter. At least now he knew a bit about his fellow travelers. The rest of the journey might be less dull this way.
"I don't know what you've heard, but I'm not a monster. I just... don't know what the hell to do with my life anymore."
Thorn circled behind Ben and briefly looked at Dom.
"I don't know about the others, but I heard something about witchcraft..." the guide took another bite of his apple, squinting curiously as he chewed and waiting for a response.
"My only certainty is that I can talk to animals."
The two guards halted and exchanged glances. The guide stopped chewing. Ben had a forehead that extended halfway up his head; his wrinkles hinted at advanced age. His white hair and nearly gray eyes matched his long oval head. His chin was clean, and his attire consisted of a single coat fastened with a belt around his trousers, made from the same material. The two soldiers wore pieces of metal armor, without helmets, with only dark fabric beneath. Everyone paused and stared at the executioner.
"Prove it!" the challenge came from the back. Dom turned to see Milow. A sense of amusement overcame the executioner. How seriously would he have taken the assertion that a man could truly speak to animals a few years ago? Now, he had become that which he would have considered a lie. Fortunately, proving the truth wasn't difficult.
"What do you know about these horses?" the executioner asked as he finished eating his apple, wiped his hands, and walked in front of the animals.
The guide spat a seed onto the ground.
"One of them belongs to Milow; the other, to some innkeeper who owed the crown."
The scar-faced guard grinned, revealing yellow and black teeth, along with a piece of apple in the corner of his mouth. Dom looked at the animals.
"I know the two of you can understand me," the horses stared intently at the funny figure before them.
"The human will end up as soup," one of the horses affirmed, still eyeing the executioner.
"I'd prefer horse soup, actually!" the response came with a smile.
The animals neighed and reared up on their hind legs. Dom burst into laughter. The three of the King's servants exchanged puzzled looks. Milow was already furrowing his brow, mouth agape. Did he really make the horses neigh with just a few words?
"That's impossible, a man can't understand a horse!" the other horse asserted.
"Pay attention," Dom now looked at the thinner, and judging by appearances, the more mistreated horse. "Tell me your name and something about yourself."
The order wasn't contested. The magic was undeniable.
"They call me Horseshoe. My owner feeds me very little and always draws my blood with his whip when I try to graze."
Dominique lowered his eyes and turned to Milow, observing that tall soldier in his armor with a hint of regret. The guard's eyes nearly shut, the scar stood out on his face, which now seemed consumed by anger.
"Horseshoe! He loves grass..." was all Dom managed to say.