She could smell their fear, instinctively recognizing the scent of faint soil and morning dew.
She snapped one up in her sharpened fangs, leaping out into the clearing even as her tail speared through another twig-heart. With a loud and viscerally pleasant “crunch”, the captive in her mouth was reduced to crunchy twigs.
A group of ponies stared up at her from the clearing, closing ranks and tensing for action. One of those tiny ponies, standing further out than the others, was standing almost directly underneath her. Its (his?) face was masked in shock…. confusion… recognition… horror.
“Obsidian… no.”