violence

Violence often finds herself bored.
Her solution for this is simple, though it doesn’t always work. She paces through the various lands, looking for things to catch her eye. She has little use for the plain horses, although she herself looks to be a plain horse – except, of course, for the bone creature that walks beside her, a mishmash of bones from all types of creatures.
A new scent fills her nostrils, and a base instinct from her less intelligent forbearers send a blast of warning, for a moment she freezes, tense.
Predator, the scent says.
She looks, sees no one – the fear gone, replaced by curiosity – and then looks up. At the silver feline reclined in the tree.
It doesn’t fit here, which means Violence is intrigued.

She thinks about trying to prod into its mind, but she knows nothing of this creature, and doesn’t yet want to tip her hand. So instead she smiles sweetly, twists her head to better view the creature. Her bone-thing, too, twists its head in mimicry.
Rather than call up to it, she detaches the creature’s head, floats it up towards the lion. The creature’s head is a horse’s skull to which she affixed a pair of antlers. Several of its grinning teeth are missing – she got careless – but she hasn’t yet found a replacement.
“Hello,” she calls up, and the creature’s jaws move in tandem. She lacks the ventriloquism to make it look as if the thing is speaking itself, but she likes the practice.
“You’re quite different,” she says, “you catch the eye.”

I’d stay the hand of god, but war is on your lips