Back at Keckla’s home, Mika stood there, legs trembling, still staring at the spot where Keckla once stood. For months he’d waited, readying his time to strike, and this morning was going to be the payoff. The dagger under the table, which Mika had stolen the day before and had intended to use that morning lay there strapped tightly to the underbelly of the surface of oak as Mika gazed at the orderves on top. His opinion on Keckla, the pony who he had hated with all his body and mind, had been blown to pieces. She was no witch of Saddale. Mika didn’t know who she was. Mika realized he didn’t even know who he was. He slowly approached the table and touched the dagger with his left hoof. What had once felt good felt scary, how natural it was in his grip. With Keckla gone, what was he to do with himself? He stared into the dagger, looking for an answer. And, with that, remembered what Keckla had said. He eyes and face stiffened as he gripped the dagger with a new resolve. He stormed out of the house and galloped down the twisting alleyway, leaving Keckla’s door open in his wake.
If Keckla was leaving Saddale, Mika thought, she must have a plan. And that plan must involve and exit opening and Keckla slipping through it unnoticed. The exit of which was most likely to be the nearest one to Keckla’s house, the eastern one. Mika emerged on the empty main street as the salt cart crossed the drawbridge. Prickle flipped his switch before laying down and closing his eyes again. The drawbridge slowly began to rise. Mika knew what he had to do. He dropped his dagger and galloped towards the rising drawbridge in a mad final dash, His head down and his eyes closed as he remembered the creatures in the moat Simian had shown him...
Now, Simian Dibar was not a pony you’d like to meet in a dark alley. Or in broad daylight, either way he’d kill you if you got on his wrong side. He was unique according to himself, A Boss, an Idol. He was a brown pony, with brown eyes, strong legs and a sick green mane that he wore smartly to prove his betterness than other ponies. Because he was better then most. He had to be. He could determine if he was better or worse than a pony just by looking at them. He had to be able to. He could cause pain and not deserve it. He had to. It was fun. Saddale said it was fun, therefore Simian said it was fun. And if Simian said it was fun, it was fun. It had to. He had to.
Simian had visited Keckla many times before. She was his territory, and everyone had to know. 3 years ago, Corsette, Simian’s slave, was Serving tea to the pair. At that time, Simian had just become of age and Keckla’s beauty was slowly turning heads. Now, Corsette was a clumsy type, often slipping or tripping up. Simian had not been very impressed with her. He had bought her with his money, and he felt he’d been horribly ripped off. Simian was talking about his latest theft to a smiling Keckla beside the warm fireplace when the slave girl came in with drinks. She tripped, spilling scorching tea all over Simian. As soon as Corsette looked up at Simian’s predator-like eyes, she knew she was finished.
Mika and Keckla watched and followed Simian as he dragged Corsette by the mane, Her wailing and sobbing attracting the attention of many passers-by. Soon a crowd was trailing simian as he made his way towards the east drawbridge. “DOWN” he roared, thus the drawbridge was drawn. Corsette sobbed and begged for forgiveness and mercy. None was given. She was thrown into the murky moat, emerged, caught her breath, and started to plea again. She suddenly stopped. For a sickeningly long moment there was silence. Simian stared intently down on her, a sadistic smile engraved in his features. Without warning, she was dragged beneath the surface. Another long moment passed. The crowd remained silent. Then she emerged again, with from a large scar on her face. The crowd remained silent. She was screaming and kicking and paddling under the drawbridge, out of sight of the crowd. She remained that way for a short moment, before everyone heard a large crunch and some sort of squelching noise. The crowd remained silent. It had to.
Mika opened his eyes and lifted his head. He was near the foot of the drawbridge. It was around about 40 degrees up and still rising. He took a breath and held it, oblivious to whether any pony had saw him thus far or not, galloped up the drawbridge, closed his eyes and leapt for his life. For a seemingly long moment, immense terror gripped him. As he crashed down on the other side of the moat, he heard the salt cart slowly trotting away. Knowing he couldn’t lose it, for then he’d get lost, forced himself onto his aching hooves, and started after the cart, keeping his distance while doing so.