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Strange of Heart

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Love? He'd whinnied at the very thought of it.

Bad Horse chomped on the woman's microphone. A sharp noise swept around him and the people scattered, leaving the Evil League of Evil to stand guard while their leader fumed.

Scanning the racetrack, Bad Horse locked eyes with a grey speckled mare. The small pink man upon her back held a trophy in one hand and a whip in the other. Spitting out bits of microphone, Bad Horse dug his iron hoof into the dirt. His nostrils flared and within moments there were screams.

Love? No, not quite. This was vengeance.