It was cold—it was the north--but I was sweating anyway. Little trickles of it started beading behind my ears, and you felt my head getting so uncomfortably warm and I would’ve felt your little feet patter against my neck if I still had my senses in check. But I didn’t. Everything was warping out of my reach. The world was unraveling and my sense of balance and everything else was crumbling—softly, slowly, but it was crumbling still and I didn’t have the glue on me to paste it all back in place.

I tried anyway. I tried shoving it all together again, a sagging sandcastle I was trying to save—and you know how that goes. The castle stays standing, but the form is gone and there are still so many little cracks running along the foundation and the edges ‘n shit and honestly it doesn’t even look like a castle at all anymore. It just this pile of sand you shoved together hoping it’d fool some kid into thinking it was still super awesome before the collapse.

I didn’t know what happened; the entire situation was wrenched out of my grasp and my understanding of it was completely shot. I remember I was trying to get the hell away from her—a Basiner, a filly, a chick who liked my hair—but she wasn’t having any of that, I dunno, she needed me for something or thought I was too cool to lose, but either way she wouldn’t stop riding my ass.

That’s when things got weird. I turned to her, whipping my ass around in the snow to face her and tell her ass to back the fuck up--but when I found her behind me she was already on the ground.

I gaped, my jaw working like a fish out of water. I didn’t know how she ended up there—if something attacked her, if I attacked her faster than I realized. I tried to remember--did I do that? I racked my brains trying to figure out how I could’ve gotten her face-first and ass-flat on the ice like that, and it scared me that I couldn’t even bring up the image of a hoof flailing or my horn swinging so fast like that.

Was I really that dangerous?

And—oh, look, now she was yelling at me. Which cemented the idea that it was my fault that she was on the ground like that.

She was shouting at me, daring me to do--something, but all I could do was stare down at her, dumb and confused, terrified to move because of what might happen. I mean—shit, I had already tried to leave, hadn’t I? And before I could register it she was on the ground already, my whole body deadly and uncontrollable, apparently.

I didn’t let myself move; I stood stock-still in the snow, just staring down at this filly, knowing deep in my breast that every move I made was dangerous and wild.




@[Zünden]--Couldn't quite get her to attack in this post :/ maybe if Zunden made the first move?
"talk"