The forest shifted as a pony meandered through it, either unaware of the dangers within or brave enough to ignore them completely. Eyes closed and humming softly, the mare skipped over tree roots and darted around Poison Joke. The trees around the mare became less frightening as she passed, as if an aura of happiness and positivity surrounded her, affecting the very forest itself. Affecting my home.
Time passed as I stalked the fearless mare. Although she followed no path, she was making her way ever closer to my garden, my sanctuary. I didn't enjoy harming ponies, and after the time I petrified the lavender mare with the branch protruding from her head, the honey-coloured pony with one of the most serious cases of a misnomer if I had ever seen one - Fluttershy, if my memory serves me correctly - had given me a stern talking-to(and looking-at), explaining that petrification is rather uncomfortable for ponies and that I should only afflict them with it in self-defence. It was with a heavy heart that I decided if this meandering mare continued in the direction she was headed any farther I would be forced to take action.
It certainly was an unpleasant can of worms this cheerful mare had opened, and though I was loathe to end her cheer, I stoned my heart and found a concealed spot to ambush her.
***
A crunching of small sticks and scattered blades of petrified greenery alerted me to the pony's presence near my hiding spot. The hoofsteps ceased as it stopped to look at the bush I had hidden nearby; everything was proceeding as planned. In a short burst of motion I moved in front of the pony, and as it looked up at the disturbance, I knew what was to happen next. I was prepared for fear or panic, but what happened next caught me entirely off guard.
"Hi there, Mr Chicken-Snake!" the pony giggled before sttempting to prance towards me. The movement soon stopped as one of it's back hooves stayed grounded. The process had begun.
"Mr Chicken-Snake? What's wrong with my hoof?" The pony inquired, as if it expected me to speak. I looked it in the eyes, repeating to myself that this pony was equivalent to the prey I caught daily, and the look of cheer that had left it's face did not imply any higher intelligence - that I was not a murderer. That I was doing what I had to to protect my garden.
A look of understanding began to dawn on the pony as the grey signs of petrification spread up it's back legs and fluffed tail. As the stone reached it's rear, the pony began to giggle, seemingly finding the situation funny. I nearly lost my resolve right then and there. I wanted to run, to leave and allow the process to begin it's natural reversal, allow the life of the pony to fight off the petrification, as had happened the few times I had only partially afflicted a foe, or accidentally done too little to dispatch my prey, but as I contemplated doing this, the giggling began to fade away into silence, as the pony realised I was not to be swayed - or, perhaps due to the fact a diaphragm has trouble forcing air in and out of the lungs at the speed giggling requires when it's makeup is being changed from that of muscle and flesh to a more sedimentary nature.
The eyes of the pony narrowed, as if it could understand my intent, before widening again and almost popping out of it's skull. It opened it's mouth to say something, but as speech requires air to be passed through the vocal cords - air from the lungs which were now solid as my resolve - the words faded before they were even formed.
As the stone spread, a look of contemplation covered the pony's face, where it stayed. As the tip of the pony's muzzle fianlly greyed over, a tear of similar make left my eye. It fell to the floor at the pony's feet as I retreated into my garden, only a scant few metres behind me.
That night, as I slept, the faces of the creatures I had petrified flitted about my dreams. Some were my meal for the night, taken while they slept. Others were those that would attempt to take me as their own meal, either desperate or stupid enough to confront me. But one thing stayed in my mind. The disapproving glance of one warm-hearted pony as she stood before another pony covered in stone. A pony that was once a far different colour than the dull grey it currently was. A pony that had had pink in it's hair, a look in it's eyes that showed shock and fear, like it should.
**
The next morning, as I awoke, my dreams came back to me, and something occurred to me: of all the things I had dreamt, one thing had always been present on their face - fear, be it primal fear of a predator come to take them in their sleep, fear of losing a poorly-chosen fight or fear of understanding; knowing what is happening but being powerless to stop it. Fear had always been present.
Until the previous night.
As I hunted, all my prey escaped me and I returned to my garden with an empty stomach. I perched and looked out at my garden, the petrified plants arranged just so, the trees cleared perfectly by my withering gaze, the ground hardened to prevent anything new sprouting and it all managed to feel wrong. Nothing new ever happened. Fear was always felt at my presence, the plants were always arranged the same way, and everything learned to avoid my garden - except the pony outside.
I looked to the horizon, acknowledging it was beginning to darken and crawling to my burrow for the night.