Even among the obvious cliques of the stable, there were sub-cliques. I guess I belonged to this one now, and Crystal was our unofficial leader. This was usually a time of flighty social interaction between us, but this morning was a sullen affair, at least for us show ponies that had undergone a lesson in proper feminine hygiene last night. Being pelted unmercifully with cold, high-pressure water for over fifteen minutes, while being the recipient of a forced enema and massive douche before we could leave, didn’t exactly put you in a talkative mood afterwards. Torri stalked among the tables around us, listening, watching, hunting, as self-righteous and omnipotent as ever. Nathan wasn’t here yet, and I was afraid she would torment us with some new form of devilry at any minute, if he didn’t show up soon. When she passed close behind me, I couldn’t help but shudder. It was bad enough that I was worried about my presentation later tonight, but what Torri had said to me in private last night, only gave me a new source of apprehension to mull over.
