The jury, those twelve mares selected by lots to choose his fate, largely ignored the young pony in the grey jumpsuit. Was he waiting for someone? If so, no one came. No one cared. It didn’t matter any more, because time was up. One by one they stepped out the door, and then all at once the jury box was empty.

What happened that night? Would this young colt, a displaced refugee from a bloody civil war, really kill his own mother? After all, the Everfree terrorists no older than this colt had done worse things to better ponies. Had he? Between passion and prejudice, it certainly seems so — but one mare disagrees.

Though Twelve Angry Mares stands alone, it is probably best enjoyed as a sequel, of sorts, to a previous story of mine, Blackacre. You don't need to have read it to appreciate this — certainly the styles and tones struck are vastly different — but it does contextualize some of the prejudice and gut reactions of our cast of characters.
For those of my faithful readers coming from Blackacre: this is not a straight sequel, so if you come at it like one you'll probably be a bit disappointed. There's no sequel proper . . . not yet.

In 1957, Reginald Rose wrote a screenplay about a murder trial. It has since been adapted many times, and the story you're about to read draws from many of those adaptations. Twelve Angry Mares is, however, something entirely different, located in a different world, with different concerns. Though similar on the surface, you are about to read a very different story than the one with which you might be familiar.
And yet — there is a resonance here that goes beyond space and time, beyond one story or another. You are about to read a pony fanfic, but there's more here than just that. The basic elements of this story are ones that should be familiar to all, for this isn't a story about ponies. It's a story about me. About you. About the very heart of the notion of justice, of fairness, of what is right.
I greatly enjoyed telling this story, and sincerely hope you enjoy experiencing it.