I was dully noted in the minds of the stallions, for they seemed trapped in their own world's of tension and past hatred. I was but a filly, they must have thought, unable to understand what ran behind their hate. But in truth I knew all of the happening, of the beginning of their dispute. I had picked up things in the Basin, talks of the older times, when unicorns ruled proudly over the Edge. Of course, that had ended when an outcast band fought for their rights to own the misty cliff, leaving the unicorns homeless. Mother was one of the many who fought, left with a scar, a constant reminder of her loss. When I was younger I would stare at it, occasionally tracing it with my dark muzzle when Mother was dozing off or just not caring. I take note of the scars running around the grullo's body, wondering if one or two of them were earned in the same way as Mother's.
The Grullo simply gave a smile in return to my greeting, a frustration growing deep in my heart. Was it all because I was a foal, a mere child to them that they do not bother with me? Should I be grateful he at lest payed a moment of his attention to me? I huff, displeased that they could be thinking of me as a simple, little, stupid child. And then he, the bloody red man, says one, single word. "Pity".
"What's a pity, mister?" Under my breath, I whisper one word. "Me?" I had turned into a foul mood, almost spontaneously. I'm fairly sure I was just worked up because this was the first bit of attention I had gotten in a long time, and they were barely giving me the attention I wanted. I flick my tail in frustration, letting it hit my hocks with a sharp stinging.
"These soldiers are not here to kill you; They're here to protect you."
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