i can feel the flames on my lips; crimson blood on my skin
The walls of the Hall of the Slain crumble around her; from glittering gold to flaking ash in the space between one step and the next. Stars glitter in the sky overhead – where had the sky come from? – and a bitter wind blows the heather wisps of her mane across gentle nutbrown eyes.
Everything is gone.
Everything she deserved is suddenly gone.
A primal yell spills from her night-black lips, feral and raw. Louder than it should be, the strength with which she beats the earth with her front hooves is equally impossible, and the thunder of their fury shaking the earth for a good half-mile around the grey mare. Birds scatter from trees at the edge of the Plains, startled, and a rabbit three yards away collapses. Its little heart was no match for the fear brought about by her scream, and the blood that drips from its soft nose soon taints the air around her.
Starlace smiles, and some of the dried blood that stains her crimson shoulders flakes and falls. Muscles more toned than they had ever been in life quiver beneath her dappled coat, and a dozen bits of bone clatter in her ash grey mane: trophies.
The world she knows is gone, but she does not need familiarity to feel at ease. This is a world where creatures bleed (they do not do so everywhere) and so this is a world she can conquer.