>Agony. Pure fucking agony.
>As you watch the filly's hind legs and rear burn, you try to imagine what they are feeling.
>Fear obviously, pain most definitely, but there is something more.
>The moment when a pony gives up that last little bit of hope is special.
>You broke them, and they understand and accept that they are going to die.
>They are at your mercy.
>You love watching the life leave a ponies eyes. How they can go from conscious and moving and begging to just a still pile of dead flesh. The life permanently gone.
>As this filly screeches and writhes, you wonder what else it is thinking.
>Eventually, its expression twists from a horrific pained expression to a still pained but more 'will I survive and what will be left of me' expression.
>The filly watches as their body deteriorates, as the flames disfigure and take from them their fur and flesh.
>You dump the pail of water on them.
>They lie there, hideous, melted, scarred.
>Their breathe is rapid with on and off sobs.
>They don't dare move. No, they can't move.
>"That was fun. Shame it's gotta be over, though." You say admiring your work
>"You were such a good little filly that I'll let you live. Yay you." You say with convincing sounding enthusiasm.
>You begin to leave the forest, ignoring the violent cries behind you.
>You know the filly will die in those woods, be it infection, starvation, dehydration, or a wild animal attack. 
>Those woods are an isolated tomb, and all that filly can do is look at what's left of themselves, shiver through the cold, and suffer.
>And suffer they would.