He hated her. Every fiber of his young being, every beat of his darkened heart, every muscle in his taut form hated that innocent little filly. What was her crime, you ask, her reason for becoming the object of such intense loathing? Forget reason, Sorodan was far beyond that, he simply let his hatred fester and burn like the poisoning infection it was. It was easier than facing the truth. That would require him to admit he was wrong, to give in, to say at last that his entire life had been a lie.
He couldn't do that.
There was nothing about the unicorn filly that would explain Sorodan's utter abhorrence of her. She was a simple Plainsdweller, a pretty chestnut paint with bluejay feathers braided along her crest, dancing along the Mare's Back without a care in the world. Of course she had seen the skeletal figure of the other Plainsdweller, but she saw no threat in the younger colt. He may have appeared a tad unusual, his form skeletal, his eyes haunted and hungry, but there was nothin