I often wonder why I ever leave the beach. I do not seek companionship nor have I ever felt like it was a necessity but still my slender limbs are moving my frame away from the black sand, away from my house of bones.

I am raw in the unfiltered sunlight and it is searing on my ebony pelt. There seemed to be little adjustment for my suffering pupils but in the course of a few moments, I am no longer blinded by the richness of Beqanna. 

Perhaps it is the spring that has drawn me.
Perhaps it is the desire to wash the scent of death from my hair.

My pale blue eyes are watching, watching, watching when my lips thin out slightly at the petty annoyances of insects caressing my tender spots before lavishing in the sticky red of my equine blood. The shock of white from my hind end lashes out to inflict a stinging death...the very edges of my lips tugging upward in a smile.

It is not remorse that is felt (for I genetically can not due to my mother) but I do feel pleasure (and indulge whenever I can), when I reanimate the crushed insect bodies. They are tiny heaps of twitching ooze that push themselves around in the dirt, truly blind without eyes or even heads. The smirk of my lips stretches further when I bring a single blue hoof down upon the crumpled bodies.

My attention is drawn away now to the scent of living beings nearing me. My features are placid and growing more stoic when the smile slips from my lips like the sag of flesh, muddling. There are horses everywhere...as far as my eyes can see. The forest is a throbbing hum of heartbeats, buzzing like hornets within their paper walls. I am curious (and slightly disgusted) as to the lives of the other animals. The forest was a way to allow me to peek through the curtains of their existences and take a small glimpse of what Beqanna was like deep down to her bare bones.