There also was a throbbing. Slow pulsating globs rose as in one of those ugly lava lamps.The sounds were music. Or maybe not music at all. They were s...unds as lazy as the rising globs. His entire world seemed in slow motion.Every slow breath he took filled his head with memories. Not real memories. Just luke-warm breezes of artificially remembered happiness. They were long gone feelings of being well... well... being... Then there was the voice.It was a throaty female voice. It seemed to use. I feel kind of like a fraud. I am not a Master. You call me Master Joe, but you don’t say it the same way you do to Dad. I feel like Little Joe from Bonanza,” he chuckled. I didn’t even know he watched that old TV show. I didn’t understand what he meant initially.“You call dad your Master. You call me Master Joe. You never refer to me simply as Master. It is like you know I am not really a Master. I just bring you your lunch and inspect you. I don’t really have any authority other than what Dad. Nothing focuses your thoughts and actions like knowing you're working toward your own survival. Realizing you are the only one working on it just sharpens the focus. At sunrise I cooked and ate breakfast and got to work.Maneuvering mature horses into the catch pin and then roping and working them over to a hitching tree was easier with the two ringleaders already tied. This part was the end of the beginning. Teaching a horse to stand tied where you put it is the basis for all other. It was a very large steam-operated thing, artistically crafted, decorated and lit up. The painted wooden horses spun anticlockwise on their axes, slowly bobbing up and down as they went, moving to the sound of the tinkling tune. At that point in time, the carousel was in the middle of a turn, the horses which had been out of his sight before were now revolving back in his direction. It was then that he saw her. A shocked breath issued out of his lungs. Lorens stared, his blue eyes wide on.