He was wrong to face her, to dare to look upon her face. Immediately, underneath her creamy skin, she erupted in fierce hate, a feral animal clawing to escape from her, to kill and slaughter and pillage, to murder the idiot who dared lift his head to meet her eyes. Snö didn't care the Plague was meant to be secret. One rogue attack would not defeat its purpose, not destroy it, not harm it. Fuck her the bane and the crux and all of the other damn fools. Was it frustration, inactivity that created this monster tethered to the secretive commands of the unicorns? Was it just her soured, frozen nature rising to the surface?

Snö didn't know; Snö didn't give a single thought to it. All she wanted, desired with a passion, was this horse's head to be bowed and him to be scraping at his feet. She wanted to gut him, watch him bleed out on the snow. This was how she entertained herself through the agony of seeing him eye-to-eye (in a physical, not metaphorical sense). The wind howled around her, swirling across the open snow plains, mirroring the fury inside her, most opposite of the calm in her voice. Snö trembled slightly, subtly, along her legs, quivering with the clawing need to kill, as the blood so crimson dripped down, falling onto her brow from her horn. Slowly, elegantly, she lifted her head, eyeing the pegasus critically. Did he sense the raging emotions threatening to engulf her, eat away every bone of sanity?

If he was afraid, he kept it hidden. His voice was calm, even, relaxed, totally smooth and unfettered by fears. Snö's eyes narrowed suspiciously, tensing along her shoulders. Was he an idiot, or was he trying something else? Whatever the matter, the white mare didn't care. She would happy attack him whatever the case. Not yet. Just hold on, the varnish told herself. Yet all her resolve was lost upon the word 'mother'. Snö reared, snow flying underneath her hooves, snatched by the wind and swirled away, and she screamed with fury, a sound that could be produced by horses, but so rarely it was blood-chilling to hear it. Everything was lost, lost to her vindictiveness and cold cruelty, gone as a ghost in the wind. But she did not attack, not quite yet. The varnish dropped to her cloven hooves, eyes filled with malice and rage.

"Fuck you." Snö growled softly, rumbling low in her throat. How dare he mention her mother, the idiot? She stepped forward, trembling with eagerness, Tarak moving with her, joints creaking slightly, a sound that could hardly be heard in the roaring wind. There were so many swears, and not enough of anything. "Tarak, stay." Snö snarled, leaving her companion behind. Then she dashed forward, snapping at his wing, launching out a kick at his right side, whirling around to rear again. All she wanted was to hurt him, punish him.

Fuck him, and fuck all the others with him.

[Dramatic Snö is dramatic.]