She lingers on the edge of the crowd, like a frayed edge beginning to unravel. She desperately hoped such was not the case, but she could not deny the paranoia clawing up her throat as her eyes spun over each gleaming blade. She felt like Julius Ceaser trapped among...what were these horses? Not her own, not when she had only come her to bear her own weapon upon them, into them.

A sneer curled against her face, the dark lips on her muzzle pressing tight against her teeth before falling flat again. She bit down her revulsion, as she always did - there was bad grass now, but shit on it enough and it would become a meadow worth grazing in.

The tawny frame pressed forward from the back of the crowd, striding with more confidence in each step she took. As always a pebble knocked around between her toes, expertly caged between the rise and fall of her back hoof and her fore. She nursed it like a child might it's thumb, or perhaps more appropriately for her situation, a man does his whiskey. It soothed her, this bullet in hand, as only tools of destruction can placate the mad.
She settled into a firm position, well away from any sides of the unicorns, lest they accidentally brush against her, an unbearable thought. Pride brought and arch to her neck and lifted her head, sights dancing like lit flint from face to face until at last it landed upon the king. A pathetic sight to behold, truly, for even with his naturally given crown she could see he was not born with a head to fit it. She wondered, faintly, if it felt heavy on his 'brow, if it wore him down. You would think being born with the weight you'd be accustomed to it, but his tiredness, and his eagerness to display it before his subjects, told her otherwise.

"Weak," Colt spoke up at last, her word like the deafening ring of a shot fired even when the finger but barely pressed the trigger. It would seem that way anyway, following the sugar-coated sprinkles of praise everyone else had flung about. She was taking a risk in doing this, but she believed in her words, truthful for once, and that was all the bravery she needed. "Your guard is weak, if such a demon managed to crawl in. You won, this time, because she lacked training, but you cannot rely on luck." Colt drew the last word out long and slow, her gaze narrowing as she glanced upon Apollo pointedly. "I have met you and Phaedra, and neither of you bear the look of a warrior. If you as king and queen do not boast the experience wrought in blood, then you need a stronger guard to bear that burden."

She let her voice fall into silence for a time, her gaze glancing about her fellows. She did not expect praise, especially not from a group so quick to drizzle honey, but she hoped they'd have the sense to see beyond her callous tongue. Perhaps she could have phrased herself more eloquently, but the matter was exposed and bared before them - they lacked the defenses to maintain themselves long term. Colt had yet to meet a single soldier since her arrival, though the bear certainly seemed terrifying, despite its miniature size, the the most recent stallion to speak bore a promising title among executioner, neither seemed steadfast in their placement with the herd. Colt was surely still green as far as taking the role herself, but she figured she knew more than most already.

Colt would have to remember to find Confutatis before the day wore itself out.