Death rides a pony. It’s a cutesy pink pony that he rides around to do his job. It has bright eyes and good teeth though and a nice mane, tied up in psychedelic orangey ribbons. That’s something at least. It’s been groomed pretty well.
The pony trots along, Death sitting atop of it, along with his scythe and all. He would have preferred it if he got the black stallion, of course. But the four of them drew lots for their rides and Death just happened to pick the cutesy pink pony.
Oh well, Death thinks to himself, that’s life.