“She’s frustrated, yes,” Rafeek observed, half-stating and half-asking. “Yes,” Hasna agreed, the gangling camel-girl standing almost as tall as the rat, “And she is taking it out on the merchandise. I am sure at least some of our goods might have sold for more had she not been in such a bad mood.” “Maybe,” Wenona chimed in, the hare shuffling up to Rafeek’s opposite side and adjusting her glasses, “But the Vark boy wasn’t her fault. The filly . . . well . . .” The rat stroked his whiskers. The girls were right, he thought, when Miskomin was on shift, stock was bruised, battered, and sometimes left to expire in her care. Her dour attitude was affecting not only his sales, but the morale of his breeders and other workers, too – no one wanted to work around her when she was grumpy, and the breeders were starting to get wary of having their products caught by her on a bad day. There had to be a reason, he pondered. He watched from afar as the draft filly in question smeared iodine on the umbilical stump of a wailing vulpine cub. To her left, Koun the leopard was cleaning a docile cervine with his tongue. To her right, Mahjur the goat was busy trying to control a pair of vigorous gnoll twins with his one arm. “She does not value the merchandise, no,” Rafeek mumbled as he watched her work, “Perhaps she will treat them better if she feels we value her in the same way, yes?” He turned to each of the girls at his side. “But we do,” Hasna protested. Wenona was silent. “Maybe you feel that you do, yes,” the rat replied, “But she does not share those feelings, no. So we must show her in a new way, a way she understands, yes?” He stroked his whiskers in thought once more and then snapped his thin fingers in triumph. He knew exactly how to reach her. “Gather everyone you can spare for tomorrow morning while Rafeek does business, yes? And listen closely . . .” The next morning, Miskomin woke up with the rest of her bunkmates to the sun streaming through the curtains. She descended the steps to the common room and ate her morning porridge in silence, without making eye contact with anyone, while the other staff exchanged knowing glances. But when she rose from her seat at the table to head to the market stall, Koun roughly tapped her on the shoulder. “There’s no rush,” he informed her, “Rafeek said he only needed a small crew this morning. I hear the girls have something special planned for you instead.” Miskomin looked around accusingly. Zenibaa the thoroughbred filly flushed and tried to hide behind her long braided mane. Animikii the bear grinned and pointed at Wenona, who nodded at Hasna, who offered a sheepish shrug. “I guess the secret is out,” Hasna admitted, “can you meet us in the courtyard in a few minutes while we get everything ready? We have something for you.” Miskomin flattened her ears, but said nothing. “It is just something to say thanks for all your work this season,” Hasna explained, “It will be fine. You will like it, I promise.” Miskomin’s ears raised slightly, and she mumbled something about “five minutes” before turning away with an angry flick of her tail. “That went well,” Animikii nodded sarcastically. Hasna sighed. “You heard the mare,” she ordered, “grab your things, everyone.” A few minutes later, Miskomin walked slowly into the courtyard. The open space was located in the middle of the sprawling brothel, allowing breeders and staff to get some fresh air and sunshine while still being partially hidden from the rest of the city. The ground was cobblestone, decorated with creeping vines and bright flowers growing out of wooden troughs. In the middle was a single stool surrounded by a group of Miskomin’s coworkers: Hasna, Wenona, Animikii, and Zenibaa. The four were joined by Bushelelezi, a saurian with patterned green scales reminiscent of sun-dappled foliage. Each had their hands folded politely behind their back, hiding something, though Animikii and Bushelelezi were fidgeting. Miskomin’s gaze fell upon the scaly boy. “Are you one of the girls now?” she asked bluntly. “N-no, I-” the lizard stammered, his manhood hidden behind a vertical slit between his legs, “I just, uh, I-” “No,” Zenibaa interrupted, trying to spare her friend the embarrassment, “he’s still one of the boys. We just needed him for . . . well, you’ll see.” ‘Now siddown,” Animikii demanded, slapping the stool. Miskomin remained motionless. “Mikii, hush,” Hasna commanded, shooting the ursine a baleful glance before turning back to the stout filly. “Misko, Rafeek and I thought you were treating the merchandise a little harshly,” she explained, then quickly continued before Miskomin had a chance to get mad, “But we realized that it was not fair for us to demand something from you that you were not getting in return. So, if you will let us, we would like to spoil you just a little bit, and give you the same treatment that Rafeek wants his most valuable A-ranked produce to have.” She then stepped aside and motioned to the stool. This explanation seemed to satisfy her. Intrigued, Miskomin stepped closer and swished her tail out of the way before sitting down. Hasna winked at Animikii. “First,” the camel explained, stepping behind the pony, “you will need to be brushed. I’ve asked Winnie to help me with this, because she has a keen eye for detail.” She revealed her hands from behind her back and produced a brush with baleen bristles and a dark wooden handle. Wenona stepped up beside her and revealed a similar brush, this one made from lighter wood and set with short, stiff animal fur. Miskomin looked at the brushes and snorted. They looked needlessly expensive and unnecessary, definitely not something she’d consider getting for herself. “This will get all the dirt out from under your fur,” Hasna explained as she dragged the baleen brush over the draft pony’s shoulder. Miskomin shivered involuntarily as the stiff bristles pierced her dense coat and scraped across the numerous scars across her back. It was a fascinating feeling, she thought, not painful, but stimulating, like scratching an itch she never knew was there. Hasna waited until Miskomin was finished shuddering, then continued, dragging the brush down her shoulders and upper back, dredging up tufts of short light brown fur from her undercoat. Once the camel had brushed one area, Wenona moved in and brushed away the loose hair with short, brisk strokes of her brush. Both Hasna and Wenona worked quickly and quietly once they had started, each running their free hands along Miskomin’s body to signal where they planned to groom next. They moved down her back, along her spine and to the base of her tail. By the time they got to her front, Miskomin was almost hypnotized, so focused on the sensation of the brushes digging up dirt and loose hair and sweeping it effortlessly away that she had stopped paying attention to anything else. The girls took advantage of the pony’s daze and continued grooming her thighs and chest, taking care to be firm enough not to tickle her but not so firm that they roused her from her drowsy state. “A quick, hard grooming,” Hasna began, speaking in a low tone as so not to startle the filly, “is often all that Rafeek demands. Enough to get the average product ready for display in a timely fashion. No more, and no less.” “But you’re far from average,” Wenona chimed in, “So we need to work extra hard to get you ready to show off.” “Which is why they brought me,” Animikii grinned. Miskomin snapped out of her daze and whipped her head around. The bear cub was holding . . . something in her hands. It looked like a tightly-wound bundle of hay. “Easy,” Hasna commanded, “The next step to go above and beyond a bare minimum grooming is the wisp.” She took the object from Animikii and showed it to Miskomin. It was, as the filly suspected, a tightly wound and braided rope of straw, roughly the size of the ursine’s massive paw. Once Miskomin appeared satisfied, she handed it back to the bear cub. “Wisping is like a massage,” Hasna explained, “and it helps the coat really shine.” “It also aids circulation,” Wenona added, “It’s like just like what we do when we have to stimulate some of the produce by slapping their back, paws, chest, or the like.” “I thought Mikii should help with this part,” Hasna continued, “As it requires a certain . . . energy.” Miskomin didn’t like the sound of that, but before she could protest, the bear brought the wisp down on her shoulder with a loud thud. It didn’t hurt, but it brought back memories of abuse from her former owners, and the mare involuntarily tensed up. Animikii brought it down again and again, four more times before letting the wisp slide down her back after the fifth impact. The pony gripped the sides of the stool, trying to keep from falling over before Animikii grabbed her by the shoulder to steady her, and then continued the rhythmic assault down her back. “Just relax,” the bear teased as she beat the filly like an old rug. Miskomin gripped the sides of the stool tighter until a second voice caught her off-guard. “T-that’s good, a little to the right, now.” It was Bushelelezi’s voice, hesitant and thin, but she could feel the massive bear moving as directed, closer to the middle of her back. She opened her mouth to speak but the wisp knocked the breath from her throat, and she quickly closed her mouth again. As jarring as they were, the impacts were strangely soothing. She could feel the blood rushing to her shoulders as Animikii brought the wisp down again and again, moving only when ordered by the saurian. Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, swoosh. Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, swoosh. Slowly, she started to relax. Unlike the camel and hare, Animikii avoided the mare’s bonier parts – Miskomin could feel the wisp pounding its way up and down her back and shoulders while purposely avoiding her ribs and spine under the lizard’s instruction. Bushelelezi even seemed to be gaining confidence as time went on – Miskomin imagined that he wouldn’t have the easiest time giving orders to anyone, much less the biggest and meanest of the staff. Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, swoosh. Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, swoosh. Miskomin felt a pair of cool, smooth hands lift up one of her legs. She let the limb hang limply as the wisp continued to slam into her thigh and slide down to her calf. She imagined all her tension sliding down with it, and she could feel her leg getting warmer and heavier with each motion. Even the saurian’s nasal, high-pitched voice was starting to become less grating. “Good,” he commanded, “Now around the top. Watch the knee – good, like that.” Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, swoosh. Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, swoosh. “Good, around the other side now.” “ . . . her eyes are closed.” “Is she asleep?” “I think we’ve put her out.” “If she’s asleep, how is she still sitting up?” “Don’t tell me you’ve never dozed off upright before?” “You horsey types are weird.” “ssh! Just keep going. If you startle her she might fall. Or kick you.” “or both.” Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, swoosh. Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, swoosh. Miskomin was indeed dozing off, and was losing track of which voice belonged to whom. The pounding and sliding of the wisp was dominating her senses until a low, smooth voice gently lifted her out of her stupor. “There,” the voice soothed, “Not not only is she clean, but relaxed and docile as can be. She looks good, and she feels good. Much more appealing to a potential customer, yes?” Is was Hasna, hunched almost over Miskomin’s head. “This sort of treatment is normally reserved for higher-end merchandise,” she explained to the group, “or if Rafeek really wants to impress a specific client. But there are still some things we can do, some some little tiny details that might go unnoticed by some, but will really set a specific product apart. Zeni, if you would?” Miskomin blinked her bleary eyes and the tall, thin silhouette of Hasna was replaced by the equally tall, thin silhouette of Zenibaa. “It’s okay,” the other filly advised, “you don’t have to move, I’m just going to do your mane and tail.” Miskomin flared her nostrils. “Do what with my mane and tail?” she challenged as Zenibaa walked behind her, “they’re too short!” She did have a point – like most equines of her linage, Miskomin had a short, stiff mane that was difficult to style. She often kept it trimmed so she didn’t have to spend time maintaining it, and it also made clean-up easier if her job got messy. Zenibaa, on the other hand, had a long, luxurious mane that she fussed over for hours each morning, and often decorated it with ribbons, beads, bows, braids, or creative knots. “Nothing wild, I promise,” Zenibaa reassured, trying to talk her down, “and if you don’t like it we can just cut it short again.” Miskomin snorted. Of all of her coworkers, Zenibaa was one of the few she trusted enough to touch her mane or tail. “Fine,” she huffed. She could hear a light clopping on the ground behind her as Zenibaa did a small victory dance. “Okay, perfect, first we need to wash it. We sent watermelon-boy out to get some hot water while you were nodding off-” “. . .watermelon boy?” “Oh, uh, Lezi. You know, green on the outside, pink on the inside . . . it was Mikii’s name for him, but don’t tell him I told you! He’s a little sensitive about it.” “He’s a little sensitive about everything,” Miskomin countered. “Focus, girls,” Hasna warned, “Keep your mind on the task at hand.” Zenibaa turned with an irritated swish of her tail. “You’re not telling the groomer how to do her job, are you?” she challenged, “Everyone else got to do their thing their way but you’re going to tell me how to do my work?” There was an awkward silence. It wasn’t like Zenibaa to stand up to anyone, much less Hasna. But the camel relented quickly. “You are right,” Hasna acknowledged, “you are right. Just make sure that your gossip is not shared at the expense of someone else, especially not one who is bringing your water.” Miskomin gave a small approving nod at Zenibaa standing up for herself, and the taller pony returned the gesture with a small pat on the shoulder before running her fingers through her charge’s thick mane. “I’ve been thinking want to bring out this beautiful dark stripe that runs down your back,” Zenibaa mumbled, mostly to herself. “You have?” Miskomin snorted, “Just how long have you been planning this?” “I think the best way to do that is to trim down the lighter stuff a bit,” Zenibaa continued, dodging the question, “And that way we can highlight that stripe, make it visible from all sides.” She continued running her fingers through Miskomin’s mane, trying to tease it this way and that to no avail. Bushelelezi returned with a pail of steaming water and an earthenware bowl, and set the pail down at the thoroughbred’s feet as she outlined her plan. “But before we can do any of that,” she continued, “we need to actually wash your hair, remember?” Miskomin wasn’t sure whether Zenibaa was actually talking to her, or reminding herself what she needed to do. “Step one is the soap.” She pushed a beige rectangular bar up to Miskomin’s nose. The mare’s nostrils flared as she inhaled, then recoiled. The block had a weak yet biting odour similar to smelling salts. Zenibaa took the soap back and inhaled luxuriously. “It really opens up the nose,” she commented before dipping it into the steaming water and rubbing it into Miskomin’s mane, working up a lather. As she massaged and scrubbed the bar into the pony’s mane, the stiff hairs began to soften slightly. “This is a very strong soap,” she warned, “I wouldn’t use this every day or else your fur will start to thin out. And if you get too much through your fur and onto your skin it can leave a nasty rash. But just once won’t hurt, and it’ll leave your mane and tail shining bright.” While Zenibaa washed Miskomin’s mane and started working down her back to untangle her tail, still extolling the virtues of soap, Bushelelezi entered the mares’ field of vision and wordlessly held up an iron rasp, then pointed to one of Miskomin’s hooves. The mare nodded, neither one of them interrupting Zenibaa’s monologue. Now that he had permission, Bushelelezi stepped over Miskomin’s leg and then turned around and lifted it up, closing his legs around it to hold the limb before wrapping his tail around Miskomin’s thigh for an extra bit of grip. In a different context, it would have been quite the assertive gesture, but the mare knew the saurian meant nothing of the kind. With the mare’s leg firmly in place, he started dragging the rasp over the tip of her hoof, filing down the excess material. Miskomin stifled a giggle at the strange sensation. It almost tickled! Zenibaa paused at the chortle. “What’s so- oh, I totally forgot! While I’m doing this, Lezi is going to be doing your hooves – they could use a trim. He did mine the other day and he’s actually really good at it. And he seems to enjoy it quite a bit,” she added, whispering. “So how come you were telling Mikii where to go with that hay-knot-thing?” Miskomin asked, clearing her throat to get the saurian’s attention. “Oh,” Bushelelezi turned slightly, “I, uh, I could see the blood rushing up when she was using the wisp, so I could tell her when to move to a new spot.” “. . . you can see my blood?” Miskomin asked, not understanding. “N-no,” Bushelelezi corrected, “Well, sort of. But not really! I could see you warming up.” Miskomin nodded. “Right,” she remembered, “You can see hots and colds, I forgot. That makes sense.” “Not only can he see fevers and chills,” Hasna piped up, “But he makes an excellent masseur as well!” Zenibaa shot the camel an irritated look, and Hasna raised her hands in surrender, returning to silence before turning and nodding for Animikii and Wenona to follow her out of the courtyard. Miskomin was surprised how well the pairs were working together. Hasna and Wenona both considered themselves to be authority figures and often butted heads on how things should be done, but it was clear to her now that when they had a common goal, they were capable of sharing the spotlight. Animikii and Bushelelezi also worked together surprisingly well – once the saurian had time to find his bearings, he could summon the confidence to command even the mighty bear cub, who, it turns out, just needed to be told what to hit. Even Zenibaa, who got so easily overwhelmed on the job, was able to take total control once she was in her element and comfortable. While Miskomin and the saurian were talking, Zenibaa had worked most of the knots and tangles out of Miskomin’s tail, and was busy running her fingers through it. “Can I braid it?” she asked excitedly. “No,” Miskomin answered flatly. “What about a nice bow?” “No.” “What if I put it in a bobtail, make you look like a proper working draft mare?” “I said no,” Miskomin warned. “Will you at least let me trim the ends?” “. . . fine,” Miskomin relented. Zenibaa had another small celebration, then slowly reached her hand under the base of Miskomin’s tail to lift it slightly. Grabbing a pair of shears, she then trimmed the tail in a straight line parallel to the ground, and let it drop. Miskomin gave her tail a few test swishes, and Zenibaa playfully swatted it back. “There,” the thoroughbred exhaled, “at least it’s clean and neat now. I still think the bobtail would’ve been cute.” “Still no,” Miskomin replied. “I had to try.” The sound of the rasp had stopped, and Miskomin craned her neck to see as Bushelelezi dipped his hands into the bowl and started smearing something on her trimmed hoof, but she couldn’t see what it was. “Hey, hey!” she protested, rolling her ankle to get his attention, “You’ve already trimmed my hooves, now what is that?” The lizard turned around, keeping the pony’s leg still between his thighs, and showed her his outstretched hands coated in some sort of thick, pale yellow paste. “S-sorry,” he replied, “I, uh, meant to tell you earlier. Trimming your hooves is good, but I wanted to do a little bit more, so I’m sealing them up with a bit of wax and linseed oil.” He paused, waiting for a response, but Miskomin remained stoic. “It’ll fill the pocks and cracks and protect the hoof from wear and tear until it rubs off or soaks in.” Still no response. He was starting to think Miskomin just enjoyed making him uncomfortable. “I use it on my scales sometimes,” he offered, “it stops them from chafing or getting scratched.” The mare at last seemed satisfied with that answer. “Alright,” she snorted. Bushelelezi nodded and carried on, gently unwrapping his tail from one of Miskomin’s legs and lowering it to the ground before slowly picking up the other one, cradling it from the hock and then holding it between his legs and wrapping his tail around it, just like he did before. While the saurian began filing down Miskomin’s other hoof, Zenibaa placed a firm hand on top of the shorter pony’s head and started to carefully clip through the lighter part of her coarse mane, further revealing the darker stripe down the middle. “Hold still,” she cautioned, “or you’ll end up with one ear shorter than the other.” Zenibaa snipped and clipped away, and Miskomin quietly listened to the shears as they travelled down one side of her mane and up the other. When the metallic sound finally stopped, she heard Zenibaa huff. “What did you do?” Miskomin accused. “Not enough,” Zenibaa answered, “I’m gonna try something.” Miskomin instinctively tensed up. “Nothing fancy. No braids, no bows, no bobs. Trust me,” she urged, “please?” “Fine. But if-” “Just trust me!” Zenibaa resumed cutting, this time in short, sporadic bursts up and down Miskomin’s mane. By the time she finished, Bushelelezi was just releasing her other leg. “There,” Zenibaa snorted triumphantly, “all done. Ladies?” While the mare was doing her work, the hare, camel, and bear had all returned with looking-glasses. Miskomin looked at herself from all angles, almost not quite believing what she saw. Her short fur was clean and bright, her tail was neat and tidy, her hooves were smooth and polished to a shine. But most shocking was her hair – the sides of her coarse mane had been trimmed in alternating long and short squares, like the top of a castle wall. She furrowed her brow at the sight of it at first, the mare not used to gazing upon such a radiant reflection, but the more she looked at it the more she liked it. It was bold without being fancy, just like her. It was attractive without being overly feminine, just like her. And most importantly, it wouldn’t require much in the way of maintenance or upkeep – just like her. Miskomin stared a little more, turning her head from side to side until at last a faint smile began to creep across her muzzle. “It’s not bad,” she finally admitted. Zenibaa beamed and did another small dance in place. “She loves it! Yes!” Miskomin tried her best to keep a straight face – she was afraid that if she got too happy then the others would start to expect it more often. Fortunately, Zenibaa saved her the embarrassment. “We’ve got to show you off,” she insisted, “Rafeek gave me some coin to go buy something from the dressmaker, let’s go!” She tugged on Miskomin’s arm, practically dragging her off the stool. The draft mare knew it was less about herself and more about Zenibaa wanting to show off her handiwork, but it was as good an excuse as any to not be the centre of attention anymore. But before the pair could dash back to their room to change, they were stopped by Rafeek himself. “You look wonderful, yes!” Rafeek praised, looking Miskomin up and down, then giving an approving nod to Zenibaa for her part in the grooming process. “Misko, Rafeek must speak to you, yes? Zeni takes a long time to change and this will be quick, yes.” He motioned for Zenibaa to run ahead while he put his hand on Miskomin’s shoulder. She feared the worst – she had been lectured before about her handling of Rafeek’s merchandise. Zenibaa knew better, however, and flashed the draft mare an approving grin before skipping up to her room. “Rafeek wanted to thank you.” Miskomin blinked. “ . . . what?” “The filly you handled earlier sold to a very special customer for a very good price, yes! And the vark caught the interest of someone who has already paid to have the breeder re-seeded for next season in hopes of a similar result. Rafeek can count on you, yes?” Miskomin was pleasantly surprised, but still stunned. “I thought -” she stammered, “I thought you didn’t want that sort of thing happening?” Rafeek shook his head. “Too many discounted goods are bad, yes, but more diverse produce lets Rafeek sell to customers who may not want the usual stock – including some clients who have very special interests, yes! Without you, Rafeek would not have sold the filly, no, and the vark breeder may have been retired. And without you, the cleaners and sorters would feel useless, yes? You make them feel valued, yes, even if you don’t see. You fill an essential part of Rafeek’s business, yes, and it would not be the same without you, no.” Miskomin didn’t know what to say, so she folded her arms in front of her and fidgeted uncomfortably. “You will return to work this evening, yes?” Rafeek asked rhetorically, “we will give you a job up front to show off that new look while we still can, yes?” Miskomin was hesitant. She hated working the sales counter – Rafeek and Mahjur always seemed like they did such a good job she wasn’t sure how she could compete. She was much happier in the back and out of sight, sorting, catching, and cleaning. Rafeek saw her trepidation and put up a hand to calm her. “Not the main desk, no, the back counter. Discounted and expired produce, yes? Rafeek feels that you need to build rapport with your preferred clientele, yes.” Miskomin snorted, but she couldn’t really find anything to protest about. It relieved her that she wasn’t in trouble, and it was both confusing and enlightening to be told that her questionable work ethic and blunt techniques were actually helping to drive sales in a way that she didn’t anticipate. But now she had to own up to that particular niche, and she wasn’t sure how to feel. “Just for this afternoon, yes,” Rafeek clarified. “If you want, you can go back to sorting tomorrow, or if you like it, you can stay. Rafeek will let you choose, yes.” Miskomin nodded. She could give it a try for today. Rafeek nodded back, then stepped aside to let Miskomin back to her room to dress. “Oh, one more thing, yes?” Rafeek added, “Be sure to tell the dressmaker that Rafeek says hello, yes? She should be quite accommodating on price once she knows who the dress is for, yes!”