I sprinted across the field, the pack of rabid unicorns thundering behind me in pursuit.
Now, I bet you're wondering why it's a pack and not a herd. No? You're wondering why I have a pack of rabid unicorns pursuing me? Funny story, but I'd rather tell you why it's not a herd first.
You see, these unicorns don't act much like equines. More like dogs. Right down to the saliva dripping from their mouths. Mongrels, the lot of them. The fury in their bloodshot eyes, the steam puffing up from their nostrils, the pawing at the ground when one gets you in its sights--it's all so dog-like, you'd think it wasn't a horse at all, until you see the deadly spiral reaching up to the sky from its forehead. Oh, and the glitter lacing its saliva. Can't forget the glitter. It is a unicorn after all.
Sometimes it's hard to notice the glitter, though. The dried blood on the muzzle and in the mane draws the eyes more than little sparkles. When you see the blood, you know you're in trouble. This unicorn isn't a happy, frilly, munches on grass and rainbows kind of creature. Oh no, that blood is from its past victims.
And then you start running and hope you don't become its next victim.
From my short story (or maybe something other, not quite sure yet) "Rabid Unicorns" (placeholder title) - rough draft
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