Pinkie placed the tool over the mangled flesh of the last attempt.
Standing on her hind legs, she worked the saw back and forth with her front
hooves.
I’m not sure how, but it didn’t occur to me that these horses would have hooves.
And now that I think about it, the alternative is way more disturbing.
Wait, how exactly is she holding these tools?
It sliced effortlessly through the bone and skin. The feeling of the
jagged teeth grinding into her made Dash want to vomit. She watched numbly as
her wing flew over her head and landed with a fluff on the table.
Dash seems to have stopped complaining at this point. Maybe it’s just that the pain makes it impossible, but maybe she’s getting, I dunno, resigned to her fate.
Pinkie moved to the next wing and started sawing. Dash didn’t struggle
this time; she’d given up trying to fight and focused on choking back screams
of agony.
Oh, okay, that confirms it.
Abruptly, the sawing paused. Pinkie was only half way done, the wing
hanging off by a sliver.
Hm?
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