Conditions Of My Parole.

Fucking coward.

That was the only thought that beat down into his mind when she so easily fled and diminished his threats. Only the inner, twisted voice resembling the tones of his beloved Queen kept him from charging after the fucking filly and rip her apart. Because he had done that once. Twice. No, many times before. And it had been much less taunting that had set him off. So he breathed in deeply as he stopped himself mid stride and once he had all four feet firmly planted on the ground, he turned his back to her.

He wanted nothing more to do with her. Those who only wasted his time should be ignored. Or killed. Or both, but he had no energy to run after a little prick just to stomp her to death once he caught up with her. No. He left her so she could bask in her own loneliness, as that was what seemed like her goal. Without giving her an ounce of his focus, he walking in the opposite direction, hearing her words echo through his skull.

You better pray I won't find you again, little One - for I will not be so considerate then.