I’m so tired my legs are still shaking.

Petra didn’t even pull the cart today, she was just chained beside it, running at my shoulder the whole way. But she ended up just as breathless and sweaty as I did. The road was long, and that awful hill nearly finished us both. Petra even tried to push the wagon with her body at one point, but her arms were strapped tight to her waist, so she couldn’t help much.

When we finally got to stop... I thought that would be the best moment of the day. But then Mistress went to her first. Brushed her mane. Stroked her cheek. Praised her.

And I stood there—the one who actually pulled the cart—still gasping for air, waiting for a touch that never came. I shouldn’t feel jealous. I know I shouldn’t. But I do.