She found a new life outside the village, far beyond civilization. They were hesitant at first, for she was starting to become a myth to all equestrians, a legend, a bedtime story that had passed it's prime. They were cautious, afraid of her Power, not sure what this meant for them and their land. She, in turn, made sure to meddle little in their affairs, to be a ray of sunshine that would appear without notice, would stay for a while and then disappear for a day, a week, a month. She was happy, and they became happy for her appearances, happy for her kind words and loving nature, this white Alicorn of happiness. And she went away one time to touch the sky, to twirl and dance in the air where no one was watching, returning a week later, ready to smile and laugh and spoil.
The first stop was a small hut on the outskirts, unusually quiet, unusually dark, the door ajar, uncommon for this family of four at this time of day. She was a little mystified but not concerned, for the savage beasts knew that sunlight would burn should she be angered. It was the smell of blood that first kindled her concern, and then the remains of the mare just inside the door, nothing left but hair and bone that bought forth the anger. The debris and destruction hindered her for a little, but not long, and then she found the rest, all too late.
She flew to the village proper, and found them all hiding, barricaded and armed as best they could, trembling at shadows. She strengthened defenses and advised on how to patrol in numbers and to leave nopony alone, and then she left, for she had vengeance to deliver. She sought for a week, quartering the dark forest and the steep hills and the wide, rapid river, but she was a warrior, not a hunter, and there was much ground to cover, her quarry eluding her. At last, she stopped, and she pondered, and then she slept. And in her sleep she called for the dark horse, the terror in the night, the blade in the shadow, the Nightmare.
The next day there was nothing, and so she flew up and found a spot in the sky, a cloud to use as a platform, and lay there for the rest of the day, looking out onto the land beneath her, hoping against hope that her call had been heard. Nightfall came, and she descended, and she slept. Her calls again thundered out into the darkness of the dreamscape, a scream of mindless fury and angst, roiling the fabric of the realm in hope that she would be heard, heard and heeded and answered.