Laughter. So much laughter; the only thing that there was more of than laughter was blood, the sweet blood that stained his fur and hooves and teeth and burst into his mouth. They couldn’t see his vision, his calling; the Swamp herself had spoken to him, couldn’t they see that? The Motherfather had deemed them unworthy to live and his was merely the arbiter of Her justice. They came for him with unforgiving eyes and unyielding determination and together they marched to the end of the world; a dark and thorny place, an impossible tangled mass. He walked between the lines of judge and jury and vanished into the thorns, leaving behind his lingering laughter and the last flash of a black hoof being swallowed by shadow.
His hooves were always black, though they had once been white. Layers of blood had darkened them. As he walked through water, blood flaked off of all but one, and he laughed and laughed and laughed at the sight of that one black hoof. It was his mark.