Outside the courthouse, life went on. From trading goods at the local market to pleasantries in the shade of the oak trees, ponies went about their business without too much worry. Every so often a herd of foals would come thundering past on one game or other, but most had long since migrated to the closest river or lake to beat the summer heat. The happy shouts and general bustle found their way to every corner of the town, save for an imposing and utilitarian building tucked away behind the town hall, a place where even the birds seemed to keep a respectful quiet.
The granite of the courthouse halls muted the sounds of the outside world to a faint hum, a constant reminder to those inside that this was a place of gravity. Businessmares discussed strategies over sheaves of documents; clerks accepted and dispensed papers; families gathered in their best attire around one of their own to offer back-slapping congratulations — or savor those last few moments of freedom.
But the hot and muggy air of the courtroom absorbed any remnants of the outside world, leaving only the droning of the judge, accompanied by an occasional creak as the attorneys shifted in their seats, attorneys who had heard the admonishment a hundred times before. The jury, however, had not, and sat, stock-still, with the rapt attention of one who isn’t quite sure what is going on but knows she ought to pay very close attention.
By contrast, the accused virtually ignored the judge, spending his last few minutes of the trial watching the jury, those twelve mares selected by lots to choose his own fate. They, in turn, largely ignored the young pony in the grey jumpsuit. They had seen enough of him already, and there wasn’t much else to look at in that direction: behind him stretched three or four long rows of empty benches. The pony had turned to look back at the benches several times over the past few days. Was he waiting for someone? No one came. No one cared. It didn’t matter any more, because time was up.
With a symphonic shuffling of hooves and scraping of chairs the jury stood as one, following the bailiff out of the courtroom. Some glanced back for a last look at the accused, but none held his gaze for more than a moment. One by one they stepped out the door, and then all at once the jury box was empty.