She hadn't left right away after the war seemed to be over. She hadn't done much, she must have waited too long atop the mountain.  But something kept her here, the thrum of pulses surrounded her, called to her, seduced her even. A chorus of heat and rhythm, moving in a dance of mismatched unity as the blood danced through their veins. All the while she thought of the colt's blood as it glittered through the air, its waltz beautiful in a the most pernicious of ways. But to her it was magical, spellbinding even. Ever since that moment, she had wanted more. Ba-dum, ba-dum-ba-dum Her own pulse hard-hitting against the restriction of her veins, as her pulse quickened at the thought of the blood. Emerald green extremities twitched with anticipation, eyes almost rolling  under the red tendrils of her forelock- the drumbeat pulling her to the edge of sanity. Ecstasy, orgasmic in nature,  pushed her enchanted her to repeat the act by the thrumming beat.

Slaybell was aware that there were others around, that they looked on, taking wide birth, avoiding the unusual, disheveled mare that had charged in during the war. All the while she waited, as the crazed urge continued to build, one of the dwellers would step too close, one would make it so she was reacting...not acting.  She would fly over the cliff, and bath in the fruition of the red spray as it danced through the air again.  So Slaybell waited, to the beat of her drumming pulse as is conducted its symphony of torture and joy.

Slaybell

The Evil Christmas Bitch