You reach for the horse mask, and try it on. It doesn’t cover your entire face – the ears point up, but the horse’s muzzle brims down like a hat that you can see clearly underneath. What’s ornate about this one is the mane of horse hair streaming down the back of it, with gemstones braided in. Wearing it you feel high and proud, and one of the women nods strongly.
“Nice, lovely,” she says.
“It suits you,” says another.
The third sighs. You look at her, hair and beads spilling across your shoulders. “All right, now I’m jealous,” she admits.
The others laugh, and start pulling clothing out for you.
They dress you to match your mask, pulling you into stretchy riding pants, high black leather boots, and a shirt that’s so tight it barely covers your chest. Last but not least, they give you
