[On instinct, she tries to hide them, even though she'd grudgingly admitted to the weakness, pulling her long dun legs in as close to her belly as she can. For the other members of their faction, brittle nails were an inconvenience, an eerie reminder of withering in their failure... yet to a woman with hooves? It was not crippling, but.]
- I already spoke to a... farrier.
[Like a fucking horse. Her lips pursing to try and prevent them from curling into a sneer (or something more pathetic), reaching into her waist pouch and pulling out a vial... that she tch's over.]
Their oils and salves aren't working.
[Because the cause... wasn't physical. A part of her knows that. But what is she supposed to do?
She doesn't even realize at first what else he'd said. These were proper accommodations. The stalls even had wooden shavings, unlike the plain dirt of her "home".]
no subject
- I already spoke to a... farrier.
[Like a fucking horse. Her lips pursing to try and prevent them from curling into a sneer (or something more pathetic), reaching into her waist pouch and pulling out a vial... that she tch's over.]
Their oils and salves aren't working.
[Because the cause... wasn't physical. A part of her knows that. But what is she supposed to do?
She doesn't even realize at first what else he'd said. These were proper accommodations. The stalls even had wooden shavings, unlike the plain dirt of her "home".]