Wild Things

A slight adjustment of his head to angle his horn just right. No need to kill her, I only need a couple of crimson drops on the forest floor. A slow shuffle of his feet to take him even closer. Any moment now. He answered her without really noticing what she had said or what words he himself chose. "Yes, very true." he murmured looking at the point of her shoulder rather than in her eyes. He paid no mind to how odd he must seem to her. His logic and reason was already leaving him - making way for the frantic madness he felt when the need grew too strong. Sweat was breaking out around his ears now and his skin itched like he had ants crawling all over him. Around him the humid forest felt like it was closing in. All those wet plats and strange smells were beginning to drive him crazy (even more crazy that was). But the need, the cravings he had were worse than this hellish place. He could kill all those negative feelings if he only got his hooves (or rather his magic) on some blood. Like a viper he struck. Suddenly and true. He had honed his skills on small critters throughout his lonely years, other horses where seldom the victims of his cravings. But this time he hoped for nothing more than that his horn had sliced open her hide at the point of her shoulder - as he had aimed to do. It would not be a severe wound, but it would bleed and blood was what he needed for his ritual.