November Horses

Tomorrow is November 1st. Tomorrow, out on that beach, someone will die.
The November sea is all the colors of the blackened capall uisce now leaving it-dark and smoky and grey and black and blue. Even though the sun shines above, the water is still frigid when it splashes me. The uisce stallion rears high, crying out mightily, baring his teeth. The song of the capaill echoes in the cove, mystifying a man I don't know near me and placing him in the possession of the water horse. The capall slams his hooves down, inches away from the man, and breathes down his neck. A crack, then a snap and the man is crumpled on the sand in a heap. Spots of red stain the pristine white beach and the horse's long face.
So deadly, yet so beautiful. How could a creature be so harshly beautiful, with the wind in its mane and the sea dripping down its legs, but so dangerous?
Based upon The Scorpio Races by Maggie Stiefvater. Everything belongs to her-nothing to me except for character and place names.