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Slaughter At Stringybark Creek,

Chapter Nineteen,

1. Cederwyn Whitefurr

13th September, 2017,

All Rights Reserved.

Kelsie returned to her small, one bedroom cottage early the next morning, her Police Uniform rumpled and in disarray, but even her Mare felt the subtle change in Kelsie's attitude and outlook. After what she had shared with Ironclad the night before – whilst it had been painful, her first lovemaking, he had licked and kissed away her tears, replacing bad feelings with his gentleness, kindness and affection – revealing a side to himself, that Kelsie had never imagined.

She had gone to him, torn with conflicting feelings and emotions – and in one night – he had shattered her conceptions of him, revealing himself as loving, gentle, compassionate, caring and a depth of spirit and romance, she had never imagined. As she began shedding her uniform, she smelt the scent of Ironclad and herself – a mixture of sweat, musk and other scents, that caused her to blush brilliantly and giggle shyly. As much as she did not want to wash herself clean – the scent imprinting the memory of last night into her mind – for the rest of her life – she knew even a human, with their weak sense of smell, would smell it and question it.

With a sigh, she shed the heavy tunic and leggings, then shivered as she slipped into the crude shower and quickly washed herself clean and dressed in a fresh, laundered uniform, before she made her way to the Doctor's home, where she paused and knocked loudly on the door. It took a few moments, whilst Kelsie fidgeted and clawed at the tightly fitting uniform collar. After what felt like an eternity, the Doctor opened the door, and stood aside, allowing Kelsie to enter.

Barely shutting the door, the Doctor blinked, then he frowned, as Kelsie turned and looked up at him.

“How is Clanton, please tell me he is alright – I need desperately to talk to him, can he answer some questions? It's importantly and - “

“Woah, slow down Constable - “ Chuckled the Doctor, as he gently placed a hand on Kelsie's shoulder, feeling her trembling. “Are you alright? You're trembling and - “

“I'm fine!" Kelsie snapped, as her mind began to boil, questions on questions on questions tumbling over each other in a flood of half-guesses, facts and disjointed theories.

“You're not fine..." Growled the Doctor, as he took her quivering paw and led her down the hallway, then sat her down and began making a strong tea. “What's got you so flustered?"

Kelsie rose, then sat, then rose again, before she began pacing back and forth, her words flowing like water from a broken dam as she become frenetic and her words tumbled together, so quickly was she speaking, as she unloaded her whole mind before the Doctor, who took a stunned breath then blinked.

“You mean - “ He began, as he pieced together the pieces as Kelsie knew them.

“It's got to be Patterson, I'm sure of it – I'd – stake my reputation as a Police Horse on it! It fits, it all fits – but I got no hard evidence, I can't go to the Magistrate with what I have..."

Making the tea, the Doctor set the bowl before her, then he pet her trembling paws comfortingly.

“Drink this, take some deep breaths and calm yourself young Filly, that's an order!"

Abashed and intimidated, knowing the Doctor was in business mentality, Kelsie obediently sat and clutched the bowl of hot tea between her paws, blowing on it and taking a sip. After fifteen minutes, she calmed down and sighed, then rested her head between her paws and leaned on the table.

“It all fits, the murders, the acquisition of their properties and – but I can't convict him, I don't have enough evidence yet...he can't be allowed to get away with this, I don't care how rich and powerful he is – this was cold blooded murder and - “

Kelsie trailed off, as her mind began churning, coming up with ways and means, then just as quickly discarding them in exchange for an even wilder idea and concept, which were just as quickly discarded and abandoned, whilst the Doctor watched her, a bemused expression his face.

“There is a much easier way my dear - “ He told her, as he seen the ideas flickering across her muzzle, the deep frown that creased her forehead as she thought long and hard. “As for Clanton, he is doing much better, when I checked on him an hour ago, he was sleeping – its amazing what a change has come over him, now he's no longer imprisoned and in that cold stockade. Now, you want evidence to convict – well – you come to the right person, after all – I handle everyone's medical issues and as such, I could – well, its unethical to use my training that way - “

Kelsie frowned and sipped at more of her lukewarm tea, the Doctor's implied words going straight over her head. Noticing her confusion, the Doctor smiled nervously, then sat down and pet her paws with his hands.

“I could, purely hypothetically you understand, give Patterson a routine examination, check his blood pressure, general health questions, etc...during which, come up with a reason to give him an injection, once again, purely hypothetically speaking..."

“You - “ Kelsie stammered, her eyes widening.

“I could find a way too, shall we say, make him indisposed for a while – how long would you need?"

Kelsie frowned, and thought. “He wouldn't keep incriminating evidence where someone would easily stumble upon it...if I were him, I'd keep it locked in a safe, only I would know the combination and - “

“Excellent thinking young Constable, you do have a smart head on those shoulders! Precisely, now, I can prepare what I need – would you know someone who...well, I won't lie, this is illegal, immoral but – important for the future of Stringybark Creek itself...we can not sit on our hands and let this travesty of injustice go without punishment..." He growled, his own anger rising as he thought over the countless deaths and disappearances, most of which he now come to realise were at the hands of the Sargent and his cronies – orchestrated by Patterson himself. “However – this is conjecture, we do not have solid evidence, he can deny everything, sure, you have the evidence that the Sargent is guilty – but what is there to prove Patterson was the one manipulating these events?"

“What can you do to help me?" Kelsie sighed, as she interlaced her furred fingers together, then rested her paws on the table.

“I'll do anything I can to help – I promise – now, leave this with me, I'll be in touch and work out something, go back to work, act like you've always acted – don't let on you suspect a thing...it'll be safer for you that way, trust me on this – I'm on your side – I've seen the injustice and the hurt and suffering your people have endured, now, it's time to finally make a stand for what's right – and bring equality to Stringybark!"

*

After Kelsie left the Doctor's place, her mind was distracted and her eyes glazed, as she pondered what would come of her beloved Stringybark – when suddenly she gasped and snapped back to reality, as she felt herself run into a large, well muscled human male, who snorted, then grinned lecherously at her.

“Well, well well...if its not the little Filly with grandiose ideas..." He smirked, glaring down at her.

“Pardon me, sir - “ Kelsie began, then as she moved to sidestep him, he blocked her and grinned more. “Sir, pardon me, but you're blocking me from going about my business and - “

He pushed her backwards roughly, and Kelsie squealed as she felt firm hands grip her by the forearms and twist her paws up behind her back. As she drew breath to squeal in fright and confusion, she felt a sharp blade pressed against her side, which instantly made her silence herself.

“I - “ Kelsie began, then swallowed as she felt the sharp knife prick her fur and flesh, a small rivulet of blood trickling from the wound.

Kelsie whimpered in fear, as she was roughly forced off the main boulevard and down the back streets – away from any potential witnesses. A crude muzzle was tied over her muzzle – a stinking piece of cloth that was bound beneath her lower jaw, keeping her quiet as she whimpered and trembled helplessly the adrenaline flooding her body. Kelsie didn't know what they had planned for her – but the knife pricking her kidneys gave her plenty of indication that it wasn't going to be something pleasant...

*

When a crude sack was dragged over her head, Kelsie squealed in fright, before she felt herself pressed hard against the wooden wall and her belt was unbuckled, the pistol being taken from her, before she was marched on wards, turning left, then stumbling as her hooves clipped the edge of a set of wooden external stairs.

“Fuck you, you useless Filly – lift your fucking feet!" Come a cruel voice behind her head.

Sobbing, frightened and trembling, she timidly lifted one hoof, then another, feeling the stairs creak under her weight as she was marched up them, then against pressed against a wall, held there by the knife against her side, whilst a quick double knock was made on what the blindfolded Kelsie thought was a door.

“Come - “ Answered a voice, that sent fresh adrenaline surging through the Filly's body, as she moaned and shuddered, shaking her head violently as she recognised the voice, but her cries were muffled and indistinct, due to the gag that bound her muzzle closed. Kelsie dug her hooves in, but a swift punch to her lower back and her knees buckled as she was dragged into the room and unceremoniously dumped on the floor, where she lay sobbing and shaking in fear.

Kelsie gasped as a heavy boot slammed into her soft belly, making her buck and writhe in agony, before she was cruelly pulled back to her hooves by someone grasping her ears and pulling her upright. There was the sound of muffled grunts of appreciation and sadistic pleasure, before she began shaking, as she felt strong hands grip her tunic and tear it open, the brass buttons clattering to the floor.

Muffled cries and pleading mumbles were torn from Kelsie as she fought and struggled, but the hands that gripped her forced her onto her belly and she kicked wildly, trying to escape, but as her paws were wrenched higher, Kelsie shrieked and wept, it feeling like her wrists would surely snap.

“Mmmph!" Kelsie gurgled, tears sliding down her muzzle as she continued to try and struggle against the three men who held her.

“Shut your crying Foal...or I'll give you something to cry about..." One snarled, his breath hot against the hessian sack that covered her head.

Her legs were kicked cruelly apart and her leggings were torn from her body, leaving her dressed only in her undergarments – which elicited cruel jibes and snickers from the unknown men.

“Mmm, wouldn't mind giving her what for, right now..." One chuckled, as he slid a hand up the inside of her thigh, making Kelsie tremble helplessly.

“Yeah...make her cry, real good...she wouldn't walk for a week after we got through with her...not that she'd be walking anyway..."

Kelsie's eyes widened in horror, as she listened, held helpless on the floor, as she bucked as her undergarments were torn away, leaving her as naked as the day she was foaled.

“Fuck, feel that...the slut is in season...you ever had a filly in season? They're so..."

A drunken belch sickened Kelsie to her very core, before she felt iron manacles slapped over her tortured wrists and others were affixed to her ankles, before they were yanked and she shrieked, pulled roughly to her hooves then pushed backwards. Kelsie stumbled then her calves hit the end of something and she fell backwards, landing with a thud on a hard bed, but before she could struggle off it, the human hands gripped her and the hoof-shackles were released, then tied to the bed end, before her paws were likewise restrained.

“Very nicely done men!" Come the sickening chuckle of the Sargent, as Kelsie heard the sound of money changing hands, then the thud of the door. “Now, you little slut of a foal...I'm going to give you a ride – you won't forget..."

Kelsie fought, bucking and struggling, the gag muffling her cries and the restraints binding her, before she tried to scream and she felt the Sargent's hands lock around her throat – a second before he forced himself inside her unwilling body....

*

Ironclad stood at the entrance of Stringybark Creek, resplendent in his armour, the ragged drizabone coat clinging to his ankles, as he snorted through his nostrils. He strode with purpose and without fear, a veritable wave of anger and hatred flowing from him, as he walked, seemingly oblivious to the humans and anthropomorphic people – who stared incredulously at the armoured Stallion, who carried a long rope coiled over one shoulder. No-one dared speak, they merely stared, as Ironclad strode down the main street – completely without fear of being shot – his anger emanating from him in waves, before he turned and sniffed the air, his head slowly turning to stare at a trembling young human man, who pressed himself back against the nearest wall, eyes wide in fear.

“Where is he?" Ironclad snarled, as he stepped closer, his heavy hoof-falls clapping like thunder.

“I - “ Stammered the youngster, as he shuddered. “Sir, I don't know who you - “

Six shots rang out, and Ironclad staggered forwards, as his knees turned to jelly and he snorted, slapping hard against the wall with his right paw, before he heard the mocking laughter of two humans a dozen yards behind him.

“Yeah, got him, we're gonna be rich..." One laughed, as Ironclad slowly sank to his knees, gasping and coughing.

Others stood in horror, their hero being shot in the street like a feral wild dog, but the cheers of the humans who shot him, soon turned incredulous, as Ironclad slowly began to stand and turn about – before in the blink of an eye, his paw drew leather and with four loud gunshots, that come so close together – those who heard it, swore to their dying days – it was one shot each – and their bodies were flung backwards and blood sprayed as the slammed into the dusty roadway.

“Please, Sir," Stammered the human, whom Ironclad had pinned against the wall, as he dropped his smoking revolver into its holster. “Please don't kill me - “

“I'm not a murdering horse - “ Ironclad told him, before sighing softly, then turning away. “I've never killed in cold blood – do you hear me? Never! Yes, I've killed – I just demonstrated that – but they shot me first...I have NEVER killed anyone in cold blood...every death at my paws, ever one, has been justified! Those I killed, worked for the human I have sworn my revenge upon – or have harmed one of my people, now, I'll ask only once more...where is the Sargent?"

“He - “ Stammered someone, then weakly lifted a hand and pointed in the direction of the tavern. “In there, he...he..."

Ironclad's anger boiled over, as he began running towards the tavern, people and animals scattering before him, as no-one wanted to try to stop him, or even get in his way...

*

Sargent MacGoven grunted, and thrust violently, feeling sick, perverted pleasure as he raped Kelsie repeatedly, feeling her struggles and cries as she tried to fight him, but he just laughed at her feeble efforts, knowing she was bound well, then he snapped his hips forwards and grunted as he reached his climax deep inside her and felt Kelsie writhing helplessly.

“Yeah, you like it you little fucking slut..." Grunted the Sargent, as he squeezed Kelsie's throat tighter, cutting off her breath and feeling her begin to wildly buck as she strangled. “Oh yeah, that...that feels amazing and..."

He gasped, as his head snapped around, as the door he had bolted closed was shattered off its hinges, falling to the ground with a loud slap and the golden coloured fur of the legs appeared, then he screamed in rage and fright as Ironclad stormed in – then froze – before his eyes narrowed in unmistakable homicidal rage.

“You..." Ironclad began, his voice catching in his throat, as he seen the naked Sargent and Kelsie beneath him, what the human had done to his beloved mate, turning the Stallions blood to ice.

With anger born out of rage, he took a single step, his paw gripping the Sargent by the left ankle then he tore him off Kelsie and threw him across the room, the human smacking against the wall hard enough to crush bones. As the Sargent lay there, coughing up blood and gasping, Ironclad snarled and kicked him with his powerful right hoof, shattering several ribs that snapped like kindling, causing the Sargent to try and scream, but only a bloodied gurgle come from him as Ironclad gripped him by the hair and pulled him up, then threw a noose around his neck and snugged it tight.

“This is better than you deserve, you bastard - “ Ironclad growled at him, as he walked to the balcony door and heaved it open, the door slapping against the wall and the glass shattering.

“Fuck...you..." Gasped Sargent MacGoven, as Ironclad marched him onto the balcony.

With a snort, Ironclad kicked the Sargent in the knees, crushing the cartilage and crippling him, making the Sargent scream in agony before Ironclad pulled him back up again, then bodily slammed him against the wall and left him there, whilst he shortened the rope and tied it to a balcony pillar.

“I've long dreamed of this moment..." Ironclad snarled, as he shattered the railing and forced the screaming Sargent closer and closer to the edge. “I'll give you one last chance – who told you to murder my mother in cold blood – yes, only now, do you remember...answer me!"

Sargent MacGoven coughed up blood, as he was held up by Ironclad's iron-like grip on his throat, as Ironclad's anger began to seize him and he began to squeeze.

“Confess you cunt!" Ironclad shrieked, his forearm muscles bulging as he squeezed tighter and tighter. “Who told you, who pulled the strings...who demanded the lives of innocent's, for their own benefit?"

A weak, gasping mumble come from the blood flecked lips of the Sargent, who screamed breathlessly as Ironclad gripped his testicles, then crushed them in one paw, his look of rage and blood-lust there for the assembled crowd who watched on below.

“Patterson..." Come the high pitched shriek of pure agony, wrenched from deep within the Sargent's body. “Oh dear God it hurts it..."

“Fuck you..." Ironclad snarled, before he thrust his powerful forearms forwards and the crowd screamed as they watched the Sargent topple from the second story – then his body began bucking and writhing helplessly, as Ironclad had repaid the cruelty of the Sargent – and intentionally affixed the noose wrong – so he wouldn't snap the Sargent's neck, instead, the crowd screamed in fear – watching as the Sargent slowly but surely, strangled to death, whilst Ironclad looked down at him, his muzzle bereft of any semblance of pity....

To Be Continued...