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

Things hadn't exactly gone the way I planned. Not that I had planned much at all to be honest. At the time when I left Isilme for the shades my thoughts had been in shambles, and all my focus had been directed at getting away, saving my own skin and to make sure that nothing followed in my trail. And that had been well and good, but once cleared of the malicious evil there had suddenly been a need for serious thought. I always hated when that happened. There were just so many options, so many paths to travel and the process of making decisions gave me headaches. In my attempts at postponing the need for elimination I simply wandered in the direction my nose was pointing, in a sort of opportunistic manner. Maybe if I waited a solution would come to me. It would have been so much easier...

But things rarely happen that way, and instead of arriving at some utopia of supreme unicorn rule with only interesting things to see and do, I had found myself walking through nothing but wilderness. The rare encounter I made was with small savage tribes that I had nothing in common with, even in the rare occasion when they chose to address me. It was an irritating trail of events, altogether boring and it didn't take long before I decided to turn around, walk another direction. At one point I picked up the scent of a trail that felt vaguely familiar, and lacking anything else to do, I began to follow it. The further I went however, the more I realized that the scent wasn't actually of anyone I knew. By the time I had acknowledged that fact though, it was so strong that I almost could count the days since the passage of the creator. There was no point in turning back. Besides, my curiosity had been teased for days on end by then. I supposed it couldn't hurt to examine further, especially since the trail was beginning to gather up with several others, until scents were mingling in a manner most confusing. I was amused, entertained even.

Now I found myself cantering through the depths of a forest, where the sound of my hooves echoed like drums of war upon the dry earth. It was early for the leaves to be changing colors already, and the heat spoke clearer than words of the intensity of the season that had passed. The pace I held was steady but ground covering, air blasted through the quivering sails of the nostrils for each step. Methodically my body moved, the strength of the muscles as perfectly toned as always; I was in good shape. My skin retained the same thundercloud gray as always, the coat was shiny and well maintained and the tassels of crimson hair that flowed from neck and croup gleamed as they always did. If anything I was beginning to feel a bit unkempt, the mane was coming out somewhat too long. It would have to be remedied one of these days; it wouldn't do to have it getting in the way of the eyes. A warrior mustn't be vain, but should uphold a proper facade. Dirt would get in open wounds and infect them, hair would obscure the vision. Keep the horn sharp and the hooves ready to strike down upon those inferior, winged rats and hornless tainted, until they are no more. Then we could rest, only then.

Eyes pallid and distant took in the surroundings as I kept going, scrutinizing the path that slithered among the trees like a snake would slither between rocks. The sun was obscured by gathering clouds but the heat of the afternoon remained the same. There were no shadows beneath the trees, no rays of light to glow upon my passing, but it could matter the same. As much as I was interested in the source of the trail I had been following, the first signs of thirst was creeping upon me like an itch, similar to the urges I feel when looking at something small and defenseless. It tore at my mind, and for a moment I allowed the glitter of what may be a stream distract me for a moment. How foolish. A moment is always all it takes for something unplanned to happen.

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.