Ultimate horror often paralyses
memory in a merciful way
- H.P. Lovecraft

There I was, casually rocking along at my own pace and disturbing none but the ground that - naturally- always seemed to be at the mercy of my pounding hooves, and the next thing I know something swoops down in front of me. It was instinct more than any real desire to stop that made me react. The gray ears slicked back over my neck as I dug the haunches in beneath my body, almost sitting down as I skidded through the fallen leaves on the ground and came to a sharp halt. But instead of casually cursing the feathered menace that dared to cross my path or timidly shying away from the taloned pile of feathers, I reared up and snapped towards the tail feathers of the eagle with blunt teeth. Maybe the blood of the pest would be enough to quench my thirst. If nothing else, at least the death of the winged predator would give me another feather to braid in along the larger ones that dangled in my main and tail; much larger that his, granted, tokens from my fallen victims of war as they were.

Just in case the eagle would escape my punishment I danced around on powerful hind legs, jabbing the white spear on my head towards him to skewer, or at least knock him down from the air. It wasn't until my feet touched upon the ground again that I noticed that I wasn't alone. In fact, I could almost feel the body heat radiate from the large alabaster stallion, so close was I to him. Had I gone blind without realizing? It seemed that my moment of distraction could cost me more than annoyance if I wasn't careful. I danced to the side, immediately prepared for battle with the neck arched and horn lowered as I took him in. Pale skin, splotched in black - it reminded me of the feathers of a crow scattered over glimmering snow, torn from the body much like I had torn the flesh from the hollow bones... But rather than being marked with a bloody red like I was, this one appeared dyed in another shade altogether. Ice. Indeed, he reminded me of an icicle hanging from the branches of a tree. The blues that accented his frosty appearance were clear as the winter sky, and I found myself itching to scratch my horn against his to see if it would shave off like ice. The thought made me laugh.

It appears you have caught me off guard, stranger I said and backed off a little, returning space both to him and myself. It wasn't true of course, since I was always on my guard. The horn on his head and the noble coloration of his body was not enough to make me relax, but the immediate need for slaughter had at least lessened somewhat. What gives me the pleasure of having my path blocked?

Perhaps I should be grateful for the stupid bunch of feathers that had stopped me in my tracks. If not for the eagle, I might have charged blindly into the bulk of this stranger, and no one knew how much trouble I would have been in then. Even at a brief glance he looked strong and capable - and I didn't enjoy spilling the blood of unicorns. It wouldn't be fun at all to have to fight him.