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Finally, it was dawn. The cold, embittered night had dragged on without too much of a struggle, and had eventually been slaughtered by the emerging sun. Bloody streaks of light stained the flat, dusty plains and lit up the ravaged corpse that was still stiffening in the early morning hours. He'd been a young, energetic stallion who merely had the misfortune of crossing her. She'd deemed that he was suffering. Weren't they all? But there he was, blissfully ignorant to the agony of life and the struggle it was to simply try to live. He'd slyly hinted that'd he'd recently had his heart broken by another mare--but was willing to try and let it heal for a pretty thing like her. She'd accepted with a bland and grim reply; the cover of nightfall hid her gory appearance from his roaming eyes.

The great blade had sliced through the air with a practiced jerk of her long neck, ripped into his skin--and the heavy thump of his body broke through the sound of dripping blood. She hadn't bothered to feed on his remains, already full from another kill earlier in the eve, and now she lingered to observe the bloated ball of fire as it heaved itself above the horizon line.

She could feel the grime caking itself against her filthy legs, the sharp symbols that marked her feet miraculously almost untouched. A faint shift had the heavy, murderous weapon strapped to her side rasping against the sullied soil, though Sacrifice still gazed onward. Her wings were still close against her sides, unfurling only once to wordlessly stretch themselves before they relaxed once more. Soon, she would continue forth in her endless cleansing of the world, 'saving' those from the hating currents of life that refused to cease in their torment.

The lone mare was impassive as she stood, feeling the cooling blood of her kill making puddles around her feet. In truth, she was sampling the gentle breeze that had decided to accompany the tyrannical rule of the sun, and her stained body stiffened as a foreign scent drifted to her. Death. Ruin. Decay. In some ways, it reminded her of her father, but Sacrifice knew that whoever this stranger was, he bore no relation to her or her kin. She twisted her neck to watch him, allowing her sanguine gaze to soak up the blackened hide slung across his powerful shoulders, his baleful stare, and, lastly, his mutated feet. What manner of demon was this...? Rather than alarmed, Sacrifice felt almost at ease. He smelled of all things she was accustomed and familiar with, things that defined her very reason for being.

She would weigh judgement on this creature. Did he deserve to live and suffer until the true horrors of the world became known to him...? Or should she end his life? Sacrifice contemplated wordlessly to herself, but found herself struck with curiosity. "What are you, dawn-stalker?" Her voice was a low rasp, seeking the knowledge that he perhaps would provide for her. Her reclusive behavior, her indifference for what made up individual 'races' had rendered her ignorant in some aspects. She saw the population as little more than milling cattle, both awaiting the slaughter and salvation she could bring.

She knew not of fear, the emotion a foreign and intangible subject to her. Acquaintences with both caution and wariness had kept her alive for this long, and she already knew there was no shame in slinking off in the shadows when things seemed as though they could take a turn for the worst. He spoke with the growl of a wolf and she listened to his words, judging what truth they held. A skinwalker... A glorious creation, steeped in misery that flowed outward in staggering waves that even made her skin feel as though it was crawling.

"Then our purposes are not so different." The mare said shortly, offering no more insight than that. It was true, wasn't it? She, too, was ridding the world slowly of its ignorant masses, even if it was for their own good. Sacrifice did not deny that she enjoyed the bloodshed, but she would never forget the central purpose to her slaughter; she acted as a savior for the ones who slogged through life without release.

Her head obediently swung to observe the desecrated corpse for a moment, admiring the gaping, ragged tear that made up his throat before she twisted back to observe the skinwalker. "Yes. And now he'll never be unhappy again." She was content with that knowledge. She again eyed the pelt slung upon his shoulders, unable to detect stains of blood, or even tears in the skin. How could it have been fashioned in such a way...? She had little else to say for now, keeping a close and critical eye on her new acquaintence.

Her purpose... She regarded him wordlessly, attempting to muddle through her own thoughts to best sum it up in something short and relatively easy to understand. It wasn't as though she had any qualms with sharing her ideals and views, after all--this Skinwalker intrigued her. What exactly was the reason for his purpose, she wondered? The death of every living creature would result in madness, chaos, decay. It sent a subtle shiver of delight through her bloodied flanks at the mere thought. What a world that would be...

"I follow in the footsteps of my father." Sacrifice began, tossing her head some to shift her mane from her eyes. "With the wings of heaven," Her stained limbs stretched from her sides to splay themselves fully in the pale light of the morning, "I seek to save those who trudge on in this world. Blinded by their ignorance, they do not realize how they suffer. All life will end in sorrow... I end that process, and forever rid them of their unhappiness. The dead have no tears to spill, after all..."

Her sanguine stare pierced through the stallion for a moment, head slightly canted to one side while she mused. "Why do you seek to cleanse this world, Skinwalker?" Was it for his own purposes? Or did he simply enjoy the slaughter? She, too, would not deny that the rush of a successful kill always had appealed to her.