He knew the horse was used to running full tilt after some quarry or another, but today’s hunt was of a different sort. At the tree line, several communal concubines, some that had been recently uncollared to find other Satyrs and a few prizes, like Karina, stood in the bright sunshine of the day. Clad in silk slippers and some rather revealing clothing that showed off more than it covered, they were a fetching sight. Alexander, one of the Estales Satyrs, trotted to his left side on a strong Hamiltonian with a deep chest and squinted. He reached into his waistcoat pocket and put a pair of designer sunglasses on as he addressed Harley. “So what exactly is this game, Prince Harlequin? We chase a bunch of women? Please tell me we aren’t using Bollo’s or nets, are we? That hardly seems sporting.” Harley laughed. “Chase, Alex, yes. But they don’t actually run. They dislike being sweaty for the most part.” Alex frowned. “Sweaty pussy isn’t my favourite as well. So we chase, on horseback?”
