Fallout Equestria: Medicine & Mail

Chapter Five-point-Three

Cost

“Never let yourself be convinced that you’re useless.

No matter what, no matter where, and no matter when,

There is always somepony you can help.”

Splinters of cold rushed through my coat and dug into my skin beneath. The whirring of the wind that had surrounded me during my descent a moment prior vanished, consumed by a muffled roar that enveloped me.

My eyes stung and limbs flailed out, thrashing in the water. My flank smacked against a hard, cold surface. My hooves scrambled beneath me, kicking at the rocks at the bottom of the river, urging me through the roiling water.

Brisk wind whipped at my bangs and blew into my eyes. Sunlight glinted off the crests of the river, and the crashing current rolled white caps and spray over me. I gasped for air, my lungs inflamed from water that rushed in.

The blue skies far above the grey cliffs vanished, my sight filled with murky brown water. I kicked again and my head broke the surface. Coughing and sputtering, my hooves caught solid ground, and I shoved forward. Rocks slipped under my hooves, but the weight of the water lessened as I struggled to the sandy shore.

Gunshots echoed from the high canyon walls. Startled, I jumped, looking to the source of the sounds far above. Up at the bridge, the slavers’ carts had all stopped. One was overturn, in shambles. Shapes of all colors and sizes dashed from the wreckage. Shouts and screams mixed in with the distant gunfire.

A sparkle caught my eye at the edge of the steelwork above. Just as I recognized the source, the crashing of the river quieted. The slave, still in chains, screamed as he fell. My mouth gaped open and I fixated on the inevitable. The low thud of his death never reached my ears, muted and covered by the struggle far above and the rushing of the waters beside me.

My body began to move on its own. Cool water lapped at my legs and splashed as I stepped forward. Ponies littered the ground all around me. Some struggled, broken and mangled limbs protruding in gross angles. Most lay still. I began to trot.

I gulped, pushing away the nausea that was welling in my throat, and trotted over the hurt and the dead, glancing at one and moving to the next. Brown coat. Chained. Shattered horn. Bit was nowhere to be seen. I kept moving.

His head is gashed wide, and he’s bleeding profusely. I wanted to stop. To help. The bleeding would have to be stopped immediately if he were to have any chance of survival. But he’s not Bit Flip.

I dashed around him.

A crash to my side caught my attention. A slave had hit the water and struggled to stay above water in the heavy currents at the far edge against the cliff. He kicked and flailed, then disappeared as the river dragged him around the bend and out of my sight.

Then it hit me—that must have been what happened to Bit Flip. She had been thrown from the cart before I had, so she probably hit the deeper water and was pushed downstream.

A breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding was released, and my shoulders relaxed. She could still be okay. The rapid pounding in my chest and echoing in my ears settled.

A rough grasp squeezed my leg, and I jumped instinctively, but the hold was firm. An unsightly copper-coated stallion held his scraped arms around my leg with every ounce of strength he could muster. Thorns dug into his face and muddy splotches dotted one side of his neck. His hind legs protruded in several unnatural joints, and splinters of blood-slick white pierced out from both.

He wheezed, coughing and spitting blood. His blue eyes were fevered, and blood vessels pulsed from the corners through the dirt-encrusted surface. Tears ran freely down his face, mixing in with the dirt and dripping from his trembling lips.

Don’t just stand there! I chided myself. He needs help! I kneeled down. His legs were in terrible shape, and based on his ragged wheezing and bloody spittle, I assumed there was more I couldn’t see.

Old habits kicked in, and I felt the tingle of magic forming at the base of my horn. Memories of the strain and knifing pain from my last attempt snapped me from my attempt, and the spell faltered.

I’m a unicorn, I cursed. I had my horn again and he needed me. I had to try.

Gritting my teeth, I strained for the magic once more, and recited the formula of the spell in my mind. If he was suffering from internal injuries, I’d need to see which so I knew what to do. The spell took shape.

I urged the magic forward and felt it course along my horn. It forced to a halt, and a torrent of agony ripped through me. My face twisted with brows knitted, and I cried out, reeling back. My spell fractured, sending sparks of pale pink wisping away.

The hold on my leg went slack, and from the spot on the ground I had fallen to, I watched the stallion’s eyes roll listlessly and his head slump. Blood ran from his mouth steadily.

“No!” I screamed. I shook the stallion. Wake up, wake up! I begged. His body rolled and slacked with my pushing, his chest still.

I slammed my hooves against the soft rocks that formed the surface of the ground, shouting and cursing myself. A unicorn that can’t use her magic, and a medic that can’t help anypony—what good am I?

A new burn came to the corners of my eyes, and everything around me shifted into blurry splotches. The muted green and greyish-brown brush soon became a blob of mud in my vision. The cream and dandelion and olive ponies all around me were nothing more than moaning and dying shapes as the tears swelled and ran from my eyes.

I’d never felt so hopeless. When Silver fled Desert’s Edge, I knew I just needed a plan, a certain readiness and I’d be able to help. When the maniacal Post loomed above me in Fleshgrove I saw a way out. Even when the suppressor was fitted to my horn and I was locked away in the cage at Old Fort Celestia, I felt like there was still something, a glimmer of possibility and a future.

But for those long moments as I sobbed on the riverbed, lamenting my own inability, I felt utterly useless. In the end, I could do nothing. I had no medicine, no tools. I couldn’t use any magic.

Useless. No help to anypony.

Warmth trickled down my chin. I shook my head, and unclenched my jaw, letting my bleeding lip slip from my teeth. I couldn’t help these ponies, but there was still someone that I might be able to.

I scraped the tears from my cheeks, ignored the sting of the frantic motion, and made to my hooves. I whispered an apology to all of the ponies that were going to die because of me, but kept my head down and eyes shut. I couldn’t bear to see them. To see all the hurt, the helpless, the lost and the dead, as they would peer at me with those eyes seeking the aid I couldn’t supply.

Head down, I turned and dashed away.

Smooth river rocks and wet clay zipped by beneath my hooves. Waterlogged branches and dried brush tendrils and thorns cracked as I dashed over them. Slimy weeds and long straws of yellow rose above the lapping riverside and were brushed aside in my escape.

I came to an abrupt stop, the side of my face and soon after the rest of my body meeting the unmovable, muscular body of something massive and orange. My hooves flailed in the air for a moment before my flank hit the ground and I toppled over.

When I turned back to the shape, I saw the enormous orange stallion from the carts making to his hooves slowly, with water and algae dripping and sloughing from his monumental mass. A bellowing, scratching roar burst from him as his chest seized and lungs expelled droplets of water.

He teetered a bit, then turned to me, his beady, brown eyes a gentle contrast to the scarred and pocked features of the rest of his enormous face.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

He nodded and sounded a deep “Ah.”

“Are you hurt anywhere?” The question came before I realized what I had asked, and chided myself, knowing there’d be nothing I could do whatever the answer.

To my relief, he shook his head.

A cicada in the distance buzzed and his song hung in the air for a moment, when a smile crested my lips. If he made it okay through this river, then Bit Flip, and Silver, they might be as well!

The air of the late afternoon day warmed, and my hooves started to tremble and move on their own. I hopped up on the steep slope beside the two of us, and stepped around a thorn bush before jumping back down on the other side of the massive pony.

My hooves dug in to the heavy sand, and I made to leap, when I stopped myself and turned back. “I’m sorry,” I told the stallion, “But I have to go—I have to find someone. You should get away from here, too.”

My hoofsteps were light on the rocks and sand and I dashed onward. I hopped on rocks that jutted into the raging river, and as the heat piled on, the spray of the rapids just below me kept my coat cool. Specks of water hung on the tips of the coat on my cheeks, and my tail flicked water about behind me.

The constant sound of the crashing water grew louder as I progressed further on, and I was finding myself having to climb higher, over sharper rocks as the canyon narrowed and the river quickened. The spray shot high into the air, and soon every sound around me was drowned in the river’s crushing torrent.

Small coal-grey surfaces stood out in the violent white of the river; the current had become treacherous. Parts of the narrow channel dropped off several feet, and water splayed itself against the outcroppings and sheer canyon wall opposite me. The droplets that had not but a few hours prior been refreshing were now alarming, as they rained down on me despite my being several pony-heights above the river below.

I stood at the top of an outcropping around a bend. Light filtered through brush and rimmed rocks on the cliff opposite, far above, but the canyon itself was cloaked in shadow. I scraped my belly against the cool surface of the overhang, inching forward cautiously, squinting through the mist and spray.

There had been no shore to speak of for the last half-hour as the river cut a thin rapid through the grey and red layered rock, but I peered out, hopeful to catch sight of a tuft of a dark evergreen coat or a silver or blue streak.

But nothing, once again.

A flash of orange caught my attention from upriver. A moment later, the massive orange pony inched over the narrow ledge, scraping his burly, muscled shoulders against the wall, kicking free dust and scratching into it.

He pulled himself to the outcropping and lay flat on his stomach. “Ugh,” he sounded.

“You still okay?” I asked, moving to the center alongside him, retreating from the precarious edge.

He nodded his head, and sat upright. He towered over me, a head taller than I was, despite sitting and me standing fully upright.

“Good,” I said. “It’s getting close to being dark—we should go.” Whether it was intentional or not, the stallion had followed after me, and his expression showed no hint of malice or ill-intent, so I found myself comforted by his presence.

He nodded once more, and stood, following some steps behind me as we made our way down each hoofhold off the cliff edge.

The bend beyond widened intoa lazy shore and calm waters. Tall evergreen trees overshadowed thick bushes, and weeds and flowers grew in abundance throughout the clearing. Sharp rocks gave way to smooth river pebbles and muddy clay, and long strings of algae were being nipped at by fish near the surface in the shallows of the river.

I splashed into the water to avoid a thorn bush, and saw Silver Sheen just ahead. She lay on her stomach in thick mud half on the shore, legs submerged and tail floating in the water. She strained and pulled with her arms but didn’t budge.

“Silver!” I cried out, rushing to her.

The big orange pony thundered by me, and quickly wrapped one arm around Silver. His massive limb was nearly as large as she was entirely, and after a short flex and a loud squelch, Silver was yanked free from the river mud and settled on the sandy shore.

“Silver,” I started again, looking over her.

She moaned, and turned her head toward me, then winced.

Her eyes were responsive, but her face was scrunched in pain and she was obviously exhausted. Part of her coat near her shoulder was missing, and a tear had gouged much of her bare skin. Slivers of wood and shards of metal protruded from the bleeding flesh.

Instinct kicked in and I reached back for my saddle and the med kit that I used to keep strapped there, only to come back empty. “Damn it,” I cursed aloud. “Silver, can you hear me?”

She let out a haggard moan and nodded her head once.

I stared at my clumsy hooves. With no magic, and without a set of tools like Doc Lance and Scope had, those were the only option. Too dangerous, I thought, shaking my head. They’d simply shove the debris around, and possibly induce more damage.

“You’re a bit hurt,” I explained, “And I have to remove some slivers. I’m sorry, I don’t have anything to help with the pain. Just hold on. Please.”

I took a deep breath and leaned over. My teeth gently scraped along the tin surface of the largest scrap embedded in Silver. Pressing the tip of my hoof to the cut just below it, I pulled back. Flesh tore, Silver cried out, and the metal came free. Warmth seeped from the open cut and trickled over my hoof.

My muzzle touched once more to her bare skin, and a pungent metallic scent rose to my nostrils. My lips scraped against a rough texture, and Silver’s blood rolled along my tongue as I gently worked the shard out.

The sun had dipped below the cliff, and only a portion of daylight remained. The shadows of the evening were setting in on us, and I was unable to distinguish between the scraps lodged in her flesh and her.

“I’m sorry,” I said, pressing my face against the wound. My tongue explored her frayed and uneven flesh. The warm tinge of copper rolled in thick waves into my mouth, dripping from my lips. I closed my eyes, focusing on the sensations on the tip of my tongue. Her open flesh was slick, soft and warm, and my tongue slid across it smoothly, until I came to a sharp, cold texture. I bit into it, and separated the slip of tin from her muscle. Silver cried out but tensed and hushed herself.

I spat the slip of metal out, and sat upright. “Silver,” I said, “We can’t stay here. We have to find Bit.” I made to my hooves, wiping her blood from my chin and lips. “Please, I need you to get up.”

She moaned, but shifted her weight, and pulled her legs under her. Shaking, she rose, stumbling into the massive orange pony. Fresh blood glistened in the waning light along her shoulder, and I knew her wounds would only get worse, so I bit into the straps on my overcoat, and slipped it from me.

“Hey, uh, big guy,” I said to the orange pony, stepping up to him. I didn’t want to speak the next words, but I knew the sentiment wasn’t worth putting her in further danger. I held my overcoat out. “Help me get one of these sleeves off.”

He nodded, took the coat in his teeth, and with one single motion, tore the stitching from the material and ripped free the sleeve. A part of me ripped along with it, as memories came to me of Brightmane handing it to me. My first and only gift from the only mother I’d known, unceremoniously scrapped.

The orange stallion nudged me with the torn sleeve, and I shook away the short reverie. The fit around Silver was tight, but it would suffice for the while.

“Come on,” I urged, draping the rest of the coat around my neck, pushing further downstream. “She can’t be far.”

The cliffs along both sides of the river tapered off and the area opened up into a low basin. The sun which had dipped below the cliffs before hung brazenly above the empty horizon. Trees were rare but brush and weeds left the normally muted-brown desert textured with dark greens. The rapids of the river had all but faded entirely, and the water lapped gently against smooth rocks and brushed gingerly along waterlogged branches and logs.

“Bit,” I called out. The open horizon to the west had given me some welcomed time to search for the mare, but every step without finding her was one less chance.

I called out for her again, hopping up onto a rock at the river’s edge. Below me, a dark, muted green coat stirred, and the pegasus’ steel-blue mane sloshed around her neck.

“Bit!” I jumped off, and rushed to squeeze her, but halted. She was lying awkwardly on her belly, with her harness and jacket shifted around uncomfortably.

She rolled her head toward me, eyes half-open, and slurred her words. “Oh…Hey Vish,” she started, trailing off. Streaks of red had dyed the side of her face, and a fresh trickle seeped from a wide gash over her brow.

The orange stallion leaned down, pulling Bit from the thick mud and onto the soft shore. He sat back down some steps away, letting Silver lean against him.

I yanked the torn overcoat from around my neck and thrust it at him, “Give me another sleeve!”

He nodded and effortlessly separated the material, gently holding out the dingy yellow strip.

I snatched the sleeve from him and kneeled down to Bit. I cradled her head gently and wound the dingy yellow cloth around her face, pulling it tight.

She shifted unevenly, and stumbled to her hooves, falling against me on her wobbling legs, grunting and wincing with each forced motion.

I could see her jacket had been skewed, but the underbarding beneath was twisted unnaturally.

“I need something sharp,” I said, thinking aloud. “Uh, big guy, do you see something sharp around here? A good rock or something?”

He grunted, then with a grace unbefitting his massive form, stepped up without disturbing Silver, and made to a rising slab of a sandy stone. He took a long breath, tensed his muscles, and turned with raised hind legs. Heavy shadows fell where his muscles bulged, and thick veins rippled beneath his coat. He bucked once. Dust flew from the rock, and the basin was swallowed in an explosion of sound.

He tossed several shattered shards of the once-standing slab to my feet, then snorted and nodded with a big grin.

“Th-thank you,” I stammered in awe. I don’t think even Steel Arm or Greenhooves could have done that, I gaped inwardly.

The rock’s edge made its way through the thin and worn leather with some effort. I tugged on the cut straps, and pulled the sliced coat to the ground.

What greeted me beneath sent a shiver down my spine. The barding was twisted and skewed. Feathers rose against each other in forced angles. The spine twisted and wrapped in on itself. The rest hung limp at her side.

The staggering pegasus looked to the wing, and gasped, slumping to her knees just at the hooves of the behemoth pony. I wanted to cry for her, and felt bile bubbling its way up my throat. I pleaded to the goddesses unseen that her state of shock kept her sense of pain dulled.

I held the wing to Bit’s side, and whispered an apology, shaking my empathy away. “We have to set, and splint this.”

I looked to the orange stallion, and he snorted. He kneeled down and pressed onto Bit, forcing her into the ground.

I peeled away the wing and ran the inside of my leg along its spine, feeling snapped and splintered bone beneath. Each prod brought a wince and a grunt or a cry from Bit. Each whimper and cry made me cringe, but I had to continue searching for breaks. Without magic, I could only do so much. Tears formed at the corners of my eyes, but I tried to push down the emotion.

I pulled a strap of her torn coat, and folded it, forcing it into her mouth. “This is—I’m sorry. Bite down on that…As hard as you can.”

I pressed a hoof deep into the sinewy flesh at the base of her wing, and with my teeth biting hard into her silky soft feathers above, I strained and yanked. Bit Flip screamed a muffled cry into the leather bit. The bone jerked into place with a sickening wet squelch. Ammonia saturated the air, and her body’s response to the excruciating procedure rushed from her.

I pulled again, and the wing straightened with a sucking pop. Bit fell silent and her body went limp.

The thin bones slid into alignment with a tug or a yank and some harsh presses of my hoof, but with Bit unconscious, the work went quickly. There was just time enough to splint the wing to her side, and hoist her up onto the orange pony’s back before the sun fell below the horizon.

But we couldn’t stop. Their condition would worsen before too long, so we trudged on.

We followed the river closely, keeping one hoof in the cool silt and the other on the drier surface. Low cliffs rose as we continued downstream, and vegetation dwindled, but the river remained calm.

The horizon bloomed in deep vermillion as the sun set, then cooled into a calming indigo as the stars sparkled and the full moon rose above. The glowing sphere lit our path with a soft haze.

The walking was slow, as I picked a safe path removed of thorn bushes and drops for the silent orange stallion to carry Bit over. Silver shuffled along, a half-step in front of the orange stallion, but her movements had become sluggish and she was given rest alongside Bit atop the bulky stallion. He seemed eager to assist, though he remained silent.

“I’m sorry,” I had told him, “This would be so much easier if I could even manage a cantrip lighting spell.” But my magic was still gone, and I feared the drain it would have on my exhausted body trying once more.

He hummed a response. Had I been looking back, I figured it had been accompanied by a shrug.

Wisps of clouds peeked above the cliffs and over the canyon around us, and a brisk breeze was the only sound other than the slow river in the long hours of the night.

A faint yellow glow in the distance brought with it some hope, and sounds of activity met our ears before we rounded the last corner and saw the town.

A rickety bridge floating on wooden barrels guided us to the far shore, and into a community hidden within the cove. Some voices sounded around the stucco and brick buildings, and corners were well-lit, but the town seemed to be winding down for the night.

Wooden signs with lamplights above them indicated the buildings around. Steam rose from vents just outside a grey brick building, and lights and chatter came from within. Tired Trot’s Tavern, the sign above read.

Across the street, a non-descript stucco building stood fast, surrounded by taller, brick buildings, with a sign covered in faded lettering that read Betty’s Bits. A simple foal-like picture of a smiling mare and some caps hung unevenly next to it.

Hope welled in me. I picked up my pace, moving over the uneven brick and rock surface, seeking anything that would indicate a clinic. Eyes squinting to read the signs in the tenuous lighting, I walked face first into the leather vest of a broad-shouldered griffin.

A shine glinted along her beak as she leaned her head toward me, and it shimmered at the tip. “Can I help you?” She asked in an expecting, almost-accusative tone.

I scooted back and peered up at her, finding myself half the height of the avian. “I need—my friends need a clinic,” I motioned back to the orange stallion and the two that were draped atop him.

Two other griffins stepped into the lamplight and sauntered past me, circling the ponies. I gulped, watching their sharp eyes look over my injured friends. As they circled, the distinct impression of a scavenger pack came over me, and my ears drooped and body felt heavy.

They turned back and nodded, and I sighed in relief.

“Well then,” the female griffin said, “Follow me.”

Streetlamps stopped a block from the main road, but at the end of the unpaved street we had turned onto was a large building with a lit board painted in sharp yellow and pink stripes. A warm orange light glowed from within, and silhouettes of plants along the sills inside and out became visible as we approached.

A noticeable heat emanated from the building, and the soft aroma of bark and fresh dirt drifted through the air. Inside, a simple wood floored room with a marred oak counter greeted us. Plants hung from the ceiling in vases of earthen tans and decorated with swirls of grey. Different colors peaked from the green foliage in each of the numerous pots and the scent of mint and sharp spices tinted every breath with an exotic touch.

The clicking of hooves on the wooden surface announced the humming zebra before she rounded the corner. “Who is it that comes to my humble clinic at these late hours?” she asked with an upbeat tone as she stepped to the counter.

A creak from behind me turned my attention from the zebra to the door. Two of the griffins stood outside, and the female leader nodded to me. “Nevermind that she’s a zebra,” she said. “Xanti will fix your friends up, if you can afford it,” she laughed. The door clicked shut behind her.

I looked back to the zebra mare, but words hung in my throat and uncertainty held my hooves to the marred floor. Brightmane had long ago hammered it into my head that zebra medicine was superstitious nonsense. Deals with spirits and favors from unseen creatures, using unscientific methods and relying heavily on approximates—nothing like the kind of medicine a pony needs.

Xanti had worked her way around and was leading the orange stallion and the two pony load he carried to a room to the side. “You may follow, arcane one,” the zebra hummed back at me.

She walked with a confidence in her step and with a patience and certainty that left little doubt to her experience. But I still felt uncomfortable. Brightmane's warnings repeated in my mind, and my limbs shook in uncertainty.

With careful movements she slid Silver from the orange stallion onto an earthen-dyed cot. He kneeled down next to another, and Bit shifted precariously. Whether or not Brightmane was correct, and regardless of what might happen, the consequences of refusing the zebra’s aid would certainly be worse. I jumped forward and steadied Bit Flip, helping to ease her onto the cot, mindful of her wing.

“This is your coat, then?” The zebra asked. She nudged the sleeve from Bit’s wound and peered beneath for a brief moment.

Averting my gaze, I nodded.

“Then why is it you seek my aid, when you are trained?”

I felt a pang of embarrassment and foalishness from her remark. From the corners of my eyes I watched Bit's chest rise and fall in steady but labored breaths, and swallowed down the knot in my throat. “Because I can't,” I admitted. Anger edged my words when I continued, “Because I can't use my magic, and there is nothing I can do right now. I can’t help them,” I whinnied. My voice cracked and the bravado I sought to muster never came when I continued, “I don’t care what you mix up, or at what cost—just, please, do anything you can.”

“Then I have a deal that I shall offer you, in exchange for the recovery of your companions.”

I stood in dumb silence for some long moments. The zebra's words weighed on me ominously, but I couldn't see any other choice. I had no money, nothing to barter with, and we were in a town I had never been to. I looked up at her sharp eyes and nodded weakly.

“As I had thought. You have hesitation, in seeing me, in knowing of my kind of medicine, and trepidation shakes your hooves even now.” She walked around me, speaking with a rhythm in her voice that matched her hoofsteps. “But your eyes are sharp, and you are genuine in your desire to help. It is for that which I offer you this deal,” she said.

Stopping in front of me, she bent down and locked eyes with me. I stared deep through the shimmer of candles that flickered in her wet eyes, and nodded.

“You shall remedy that which ails your companions this night.” Her eyes narrowed and her lips curved up in a sly smile. “Learn from me well, and I shall do my part, but triumph or fail, it’s all on your heart.”

She turned and walked to the far door without hesitation. Looking over the room, I saw Silver sleep soundly, Bit feverishly, and even the orange stallion had found a corner to lay in.

The zebra glanced back from the arch, then disappeared into the unlit room beyond.

Parasprites danced in my stomach, and I shivered despite the warmth of the building. I shuffled to my hooves and trotted after her.

Through a short hallway, the zebra led me to a room of wonder. Twinkling stars and the soft glow of the distant moon shone through the glass panels high above, illuminating the world of life around me in a soft blue haze. Short, trimmed trees were grown in wide vases decorated in stripes and swirls, with fruits and seeds in all colors hanging from their branches. Great wooden tables stretched the length of the room, with rows of flowers, herbs, spices, and many variety of common desert weed filling every bit of open space.

The zebra continued walking, heedless to the dazzling array of color and life all around. We passed cabinets filled with intricate bottles labeled with various spices, foreign words for plants and herbs scribbled on placards beneath. Drying, hanging grasses dangled from the rafters above, and the fresh scent of dirt and herbs hung in the air.

“This is astonishing,” I said. “You grow everything yourself?”

“This, and more.” She never turned as she continued walking. “The cost of my learning is in keeping all of this.”

We made a single turn and the thick vegetation suddenly gave way to tables covered in books, urns, and bowls. Tattered sheets of paper sifted through the air as the zebra walked past.

She turned to me, and raised her hoof slowly. Moonlight filtered in through the glass and shone on her coat, making the white stripes glow in the dim midnight. “The first thing one must know,” she started, the words flowing like a song. She motioned her hoof toward a single thick book on a table to the side, and continued, “Is that all things done come with a cost.”

She smiled, crossing her legs and leaning against the wooden table, “I mean for you to learn ways to be of help to those you care about, and to assist me.”

“But there isn’t time for me to learn that!”

“Then how shall you match the price of my services? Have you any money? You say yourself you have no skills, no magic. That you are of no use.” She lowered and shook her head, “Is your determination so pitiful as this, to see your companions’ lives forfeit?”

My brows furrowed, and I scratched at the rock flooring. Her words filled me with shame, and I tapped at floor in silence.

“The night will be long, that is certain, but before the next day is lit you shall have mended your friends. If,” she said, dropping her tone and leaning toward me, “We can begin.”

I took a deep breath, and raised my head to hers. I nodded.

“Very good,” she grinned. “Zebra medicine is balance,” she said, running her hoof along the edge of the large book. “One cannot grow new flesh without flesh and nutrients to work from. What herb might reduce fever may also induce nausea. What mends bone may sap one’s strength and will.

“No doubt you were instructed that zebra medicine is primitive, dangerous, and mired in myth and fantasy. I can only say that this is the view of those who refuse to understand that which is unseen and that which is felt.” She closed the book and placed her hoof on the jagged spiral embellishment in its center.

She nipped a dried tendril of a leaf from a hanging plant, and laid it atop the book. “This is what you ponies refer to as Anne Belle. It is known to reduce fever when the stem is chewed, but is also sure to upset one’s appetite. This leaf, should you consume it now, would leave you delirious and convulsing in a puddle of your own sick.” She looked at me, squinting her large, blue eyes. “Do you see the possibilities?” she asked.

The implication in her words was clear. “It can be made into a treatment or a toxin.”

She nodded, and brushed the papery leaf into a small clay mortar, and ground it around. The pestle scraped clay against clay and the scratching permeated the room. “Such is the nature of these brews, should you harm or help.”

She pulled bottles of spices from shelves, dried roots from wooden containers, and snipped grasses from pots. For each esoteric ingredient she pulled, an equally enigmatic description of its myriad of potential uses accompanied it.

We carried the ingredients, bowls, and trays to a smooth stone workbench. Glass bottles containing blue and purple bioluminescent plants lit the crowded workspace in subtle lights. The cool shades glinted off glass containers, and dyed the iron pots. A small chemical fire burned within a ceramic container, and the dull green flame kicked about tufts of smoke that singed the air with a sagebrush scent.

Xanti turned to me, “Before we can begin,” she said, lighting candles and placing them gently in large, circular paper bags, “It is a custom in my tribe to introduce ourselves before sharing in our work.” She pulled a string, and the paper lanterns rose high above the table, filling the area with a warm orange light.

“I am Xanti, third of my name, succeeding Xerone as brew master, and sage within my tribe. How shall I call you, arcane one?”

“I’m Vitia.”

The morning light shone through the glass above, and Xanti snuffed out the candles. A light haze and wispy clouds slowed the approaching heat long enough for Xanti to leave the windows around the workbenches open. The cool morning breeze was refreshing after the long night of brewing.

Xanti filled a small pouch with the various poultices, ointments, and brews that we cooked up throughout the night, and slipped it around my neck. “It is time that we aid your companions,” she said.

The orange stallion was no longer asleep in the corner, but Silver and Bit Flip both lay under the sheets as we had left them earlier, and the faint smell of the minty salve I had applied to their open wounds still hung in the air.

Silver was breathing normally, and the gauze pad Xanti had placed over her wound earlier still held firm. I peeled it away gingerly, trying to not wake the sleeping mare. While the first pad Xanti applied in the earliest hours of the night was quick to soak in blood and gooey salve, this was clean and clear. The wound had long stopped bleeding, the zebra ointment applied congealing cleanly in place.

I pulled one of the patches Xanti had instructed me in making out of the small bag and pressed it against the wound. Silver stirred, but remained asleep.

Bit Flip had been given a stronger version of the same salve, owing to the location and severity of the wound over her brow. No bone had been chipped but she was definitely bruised, and had swollen quickly throughout the night. But I breathed a short sigh of relief when I saw her resting face, free of swelling.

With a new patch applied, she was given a light dose of an anesthetic that Xanti had prepared. We pulled the covers from the cot, and carefully slid her onto a cart, which we used to shuttle her to one of Xanti’s steel tables. The makeshift splint was peeled from her wing, and her swollen wing slunk to the table. I ran the side of my hoof along the spine, and whispered thanks for the lack of any apparent malformations.

With a proper splint and holster, Bit’s wing was secured to her side, and she was given the last of the medicines Xanti taught me to prepare. “Bone-knit brew is not a beginner’s brew,” she had told me, when I botched the last step for the third time. “You are too focused on exacts, when you need to discard those thoughts, and trust in the brew,” she had said, repeating the statement for what had to have been at least the fifth time.

We wheeled Bit Flip on Xanti’s gurney back to the cot, and slid her into place, pulling the beige cloth curtains closed around her space.

“Vitia?” I heard from behind me.

I turned to Silver, who squinted at me through tired eyes. She rubbed them gently, and yawned. She raised a hoof as if to cover her face, but winced and quickly dropped it.

I was glad to see her awake and moving, and gave her a gentle hug.

“What happened?” she asked. Her voice was raspy and her words slow. “Where are we?”

I stepped back from the embrace and shrugged. “I’m not entirely sure,” I said. “You and Bit both took a nasty fall, and you’ve been out of it for a little more than half a day.”

“It is good for you that your companion is still well,” Xanti said, stepping up to Silver from across the cot. “You are in a little town known as Thieves’ Bend.”

Silver looked at me, an unspoken question in her puffy, tired eyes. I shrugged.

“Okay,” she whispered, trailing off. She rested against the pillow on her cot and drifted to sleep.

“She shall be fine,” Xanti said. “Thanks to you.”

I shook my head. “All I did was what you said to do.” I sighed, “And even then I still ruined a lot of your ingredients.”

“No, no,” she interrupted me. “For seeing someone so eager to help those she cares about, that trade is of no consequence. You learned well,” she said, opening some frilled curtains on small windows above sills of plants.

“We were up all night,” I argued.

“All things have a cost,” she reminded me, another of the phrases she repeated throughout the night. “You have done that which I have asked of you.” She continued in her rhythmic words, her eyes heavy and voice deep, “It is late. We are both in need of rest. You may stay here today, with your friends.”

I tried to stifle the yawn that came over me, but to no avail. “Thank you, Xanti,” I called out to her as she stepped through the doorway.

I slumped into the nearest cot, and closed my eyes.

Shouting and screeching woke me from my sleep. I slipped off the cot, and stepped up to Silver. She rested soundly, oblivious to the yelling in the room one door away. Slipping the curtains aside, I looked over the sleeping pegasus for a moment, then turned, satisfied with her stable condition.

Several cots were full now that had been empty the night before. Ponies in scraps slept, or perhaps had been induced into slumber, but Xanti was nowhere to be seen.

“Not havin’ no zebra curses!” a stallion’s voice screamed through the door as I opened it.

Two earth ponies in rough leathers and worn breeches held one mud-encrusted stallion by his front legs and shoulders. One of the stallion’s back legs kicked out and flailed around, flinging the thick chain clasped around his ankles against the floor. His other leg hung from him, mangled and lifeless.

Xanti sighed from behind the oak counter. “If ever you wish to use your leg again, I am your only choice. I cannot say this any more clear for you.”

“You threatenin’ me?” the frightened stallion yelled.

Xanti slipped a cotton ball on an elastic band around her tail and nodded to me once as she walked around the counter. The stallion pulled his head back as the zebra approached. She spun, flicking her tail and connecting with the wad flat against the stallion’s nostrils. A puff of blue rose from the contact and dissipated in the air as the stallion’s eyes rolled back and he slumped.

“Any empty cot in the room beyond,” she instructed the two.

I stepped out of the way, letting the two carry the unconscious stallion through the open doorway. Turning to Xanti, I asked, “What’s all the activity about?”

“It seems a number of ponies were found upstream,” she said. She slipped the cotton boll back into its powder-filled glass bowl and carefully set a wooden lid on top of it. She looked at me with one eyebrow raised, “Though I suppose you would not know the why of this?”

Before I could catch myself, I turned away and pinned my ears back, but the zebra seemed to not need a response and had stepped into the room beyond.

A rush of stale, hot air came over me as the door to Xanti’s clinic was flung open. The orange slave squeezed through the doorway, and grunted once, tilting his head back. Three ponies lay slumped on his back, one still with the slavers’ chains clasped around his legs.

I looked through the door behind me, but Xanti was walking through the far door into her garden. “Uh, just—Bring them in here,” I said to the stallion, “And let me help you.”

With the three ponies settled into the cots, the orange stallion smiled at me, nodded once, and trotted off back out of the clinic.

“Your overly large companion has been quite a help to everyone this morning,” Xanti said. She ran the tip of her tail, covered in a blue-ish powder, across the pony’s nostrils, and after a few moments, the slave’s whimpering and shaking settled, then stopped altogether as he fell into a light sleep.

“He’s not—” I started to say, then stopped myself, and shrugged.

Xanti moved away from the cot, and to another. The beige stallion with the shattered leg lay in it, quiet. Xanti felt along the breaks in his leg.

“Are they always like that?” I asked. “Like him, I mean. So afraid.”

“It is not the first time,” she answered coolly.

I watched Xanti finish her preliminary check and felt increasingly useless as she moved to the next pony. I stepped to the foot of the cot, “What can I do to help?”

“Your companions are healed,” she said, keeping her attention on the scrapes and gashes she was applying an ointment to, “So what reason have you to help now?”

Because this is partly my fault, I wanted to tell her, but the words hung in my throat, and silence was my only answer.

“But I shall accept your offer,” the zebra finally said.

I nodded, and a tickle of warmth spread through me. She and I checked the remainder of the ponies, and the two others that came in some minutes later. Most were minor injuries that had been made worse by a day and night of neglect in the harsh desert conditions. Fevers had begun to develop in those with open wounds, and a combination of dehydration and pain left most delirious when they were conscious, or simply comatose.

Xanti brought a saddlebag of components from her storeroom, and I worked on grinding down leaves and peeling stems from the long blades of river grasses. I mixed up ointments to reduce fevers and made a mush of cacti pod and desert fruit to alleviate dehydration and hunger, all under the instruction of the zebra mare. She watched over me at first, then turned to her own concerns as I became more confident in the low-grade mixtures.

The hours piled on, and it was not long before the sun was directly overhead. The heat of midday beat down on the roof, and radiated into the building. Windows were opened and the light breeze was barely able to keep away my sweat.

With the last of the ointments applied and gauze pads affixed, I slumped onto a low stool against the nearest cot, and let out a long sigh. I sipped on the cup of cool tea Xanti had given me, and savored the faint mint flavor, which helped give it a chilling taste.

“Hey Vitia,” I heard from the cot across the way. Silver Sheen was sitting up, her eyes no longer swollen and had regained their normal luster.

“Good morning, Silver,” I said, smiling. “Are you feeling okay?”

She nodded once, and fell silent, gazing into her sheet covered lap. I offered a cup of Xanti’s tea and handed her a jerked strip of cactus from the small bundle Xanti had given me. “It’s not the best,” I told her, “But it’ll be easy on you. You haven’t eaten in, what, two days?”

She nibbled a small portion off the end of the cactus jerky, and scrunched her nose slightly. We sat in silence for a few minutes, sipping tea and finishing the chewy jerky.

“You sure you’re okay?” I asked again. “I don’t mean just physically.”

She looked at me with upraised eyebrows and a frown. Her eyes were languid, and she turned away and sighed. “I don’t know. I’m fine, I guess. Tired.”

I leaned on the cot slightly, and rested a hoof on hers. “That’s to be expected. You’ve been through a lot.”

“So have you,” she argued, “And you’re still here, doing something.”

I shook my head. “I have my own reasons, but it doesn’t mean I’m not tired, too.” I forced a light smile, but her frown deepened.

“I’m such a foal,” she spat. “Ever since I left Desert’s Edge, I’ve done everything wrong.” I pressed my hoof harder against hers, and wanted to offer words of encouragement, but she continued, “I’ve made a mess out of everything, and I wanted to just give up.”

She sighed and hung her head. “I didn’t even put up a fight,” she moaned. “I thought, since I had no family, since I had pushed everypony away, and since I couldn’t do anything right, that maybe if they’d just take me away, it’d be better.”

“You know that’s not true,” I said.

She sniffed and rubbed her wet eyes. “I know. I know that.” She lifted her head and took a deep breath with closed eyes. She shuffled slowly off the side of the cot, and smiled when she stood stable on her hooves. She walked around the cot slowly, then rested her head against my shoulder. “Thank you.”

I wrapped both of my arms around her neck, pulling her tight against me, and squeezed gently. “Of course, dear.”

She pulled back from the hug, and smiled. “I’ve decided,” she said boldly. “You are so much different than you used to be. I don’t know if it’s because of Bit, or just because of everything you’ve done now, but you’ve changed. And you’re able to keep going despite everything.”

“Silver,” I started.

She raised a hoof and shook her head. “Sometimes, things suck. But you just have to trudge through it, not sink into it. I’m not going to let these things overwhelm me. I’m going to pay you two back.”

I made to my hooves, “You don’t have to pay us back.”

“I have to do something,” she said, turning to the zebra who was stepping up to us. “I don’t know anything about medicine—is there anything I can do in town?” she asked her.

Xanti cocked an eyebrow, then looked at me quizzically. When I shrugged, she turned back to the earth pony. “Perhaps, after a bath, you could try your hoof at Gold Star, perhaps delivering beverages, chip dealer, or a greeter? Fresh faces are always in demand.”

Silver smiled and ticked her hooftips on the floor in excitement.

Xanti chuckled. “Then let Vitia assist you. Come, both of you, follow me,” she said, turning and walking back toward her garden.

“Your favorite,” she said, setting down an unopened bottle of Red Rivulet.

I looked away from the bustle of the crowd to Silver. She cleaned up nicely, and looked wonderful in the dark uniform she was given to work in. It was tight to her body, and I couldn’t help but follow her delicate curves from her slender collar down. My wandering eyes fell to the lace-fringed mini-skirt that frilled up along her flank, just barely concealing her modesty beneath slim black panties. Her silken hair flowed down one side over her shoulder, and her velvety coat shone in the strong overhead lights.

Memories of my desire had begun to dance around in my head, but I found myself unusually calm. She was still certainly attractive, possibly the prettiest mare in all the Marejave, with only Willow and the Littlest Daughter Spice coming to mind as exceptions, but there were no urges or desires welling up within me.

I was just happy to see her active and safe.

I smiled, and pulled the new bottle and whiskey glass to me. I wasted no time in pouring the delightful russet to the absolute tip top of the glass, and let it fill my mouth and work its way down my throat. Warmth spread everywhere it went, and my body shuddered. I let out a long breath, letting my mouth fill with the strong vapor, and whispered to the bottle, “Been too long, old friend.”

I settled onto the stool and let my shoulders and muscles relax as the drink worked its magic. The noise of the bar quieted for the moment as I entered my own little world. All of the stress and headaches and hunger washed away as the whiskey worked its way through me.

I leaned back onto the bar, and looked around. Bit Flip had been a step behind me but vanished into a jeering crowd and I’d not seen her since.

“Hey Vitia,” Silver said to me as I turned back and started to pour another glass. “I don’t know anything about Bit—how can I, or…What can I do to pay her back?”

A few drops of the red liquid fell from the lip of the bottle and fell into the newly-filled glass. “Are there any games going on back there?” I asked, motioning to all the cheering on the far side of the bar.

“Uh, yes, there’s Dealer’s Die, Bloody Gambit, something, um, roulette something,” she trailed off. “I’m sorry, I forgot all of the names. But yes, there are some. Why?”

Ah, I nodded to myself, that’s probably where she went. “We don’t really need anything, Silver. I wanted to help you for my own selfish reasons, and Bit’s just…She’s a good pony.”

“But you put yourselves in danger and she almost got herself killed for me. Let me do something.”

I sipped on the drink, starting to feel the first sway of the alcohol on my empty stomach, and looked over Silver again. A small velvet pouch with a simple drawstring hung from her side. “Alright, I understand. She probably wants to stay busy, until we get our hooves under us again. A little distraction,” I intoned, nodding to the far side of the bar as it erupted in a round of cheers, “Will probably be great.”

“Oh,” Silver said, glancing at the pouch. “It’s not much.”

“The best thing you can do is what you’re doing right now. Don’t get stuck, and just keep going. If you want to thank her, then don’t let all of this be for nothing.”

She nodded.

“Oh, and a glass of Black Pony might help, too,” I smiled.

My stomach grumbled, and an ache made my brows furrow. I downed the rest of the glass, and reached for the bottle again when Bit Flip took a seat next to me. She sighed lightly, then glanced at my half-empty bottle of whiskey and cocked an eyebrow.

Silver set the glass of black pony in front of me and scurried off. I slid it toward Bit, and nudged her lightly. “Come on, a glass of black pony will do you good.”

She glanced at me briefly then took the glass in her hooves, and lifted it to her lips. But her face scrunched, a light shudder ran over her, and she set it back down. “Thanks, Vitia,” she said, “But after last time, I don’t think I’ll be drinking for a long while.”

She flashed a quick smile at me as she hopped off the stool and made her way back into the crowd.

I shrugged and spun back around on the stool. A dark uniform with silver accents stepped up to the space in front of me. “She didn’t want it?” Silver asked.

“No,” I said, pulling it to me. “That was stupid of me.” I raised the glass to my lips and tossed my head back, gulping down its contents in a single breath. I should have thought a little more about that, I chided myself.

I set the glass back down and slid it toward Silver. “Now would be a good time,” I told her.

“Oh,” she said, rubbing one hoof nervously. “Okay.” She took a deep breath and walked around the bar, and stepped through the crowd and out of my sight.

I took the glass and bottle and carefully hopped down from the bar and made my way to an empty table.

A young mare with a bright pink coat and a deep red mane stepped up to the corner of the table. She pulled a pad of paper from the front pocket of her black uniform, and looked to me. “What can I get you?”

My stomach grumbled, but I shook my head. “Nothing, thanks.” I had nothing to pay her, and didn’t want to indulge myself on Silver’s earnings. The red whiskey would suffice.

As the minutes passed, I sat in the chair, watching Silver rush to and from tables and the bar, carefully balancing glasses of liquors and trays of food. I giggled to myself when I caught some younger stallions and one mare cock their head and watch Silver trot off to the next order.

Cheers erupted, and crowds jeered beyond the railing separating the sides of the bar. Thick throngs gathered around tables and shuffled about as ponies won or lost. The flow of the bar was constantly changing.

A thin wooden bowl clacked down in front of me. Silver slipped into the booth across from me. “You need to eat something. You can’t just drink.”

I smiled, and swayed a bit as I straightened. The whiskey had been quick to take hold and I’d been eager to keep the feeling going, which left the bottle nearly empty.

I pulled a strip of lettuce and bit down into some crisp spinach greens. Carrots and radishes were diced and mixed about, with a sweet, fruity glaze poured over everything.

Silver sat in silence as I emptied out the bowl, and had a half frown on her lips.

“Are you sure you can just sit here?” I asked.

“On break,” she chuckled. “Besides, I need to talk to you.”

“Oh?”

“I don’t know how to say this, so I’m just going to. I think I’m going to go back to Desert’s Edge.”

The bar shook at what must have been the entire gaming side all roaring in jubilation at once. Laughter lasted long after the cheers calmed down, and when the deafening sound quieted, I turned back to Silver.

“I think that’s best for me. It’s the only place that’s really home,” she said.

“That’s a great idea,” I said. “It’s not going to be the same, but it’s a good place. You will do fine there.”

“Why don’t you come back with me?”

I sat the half-empty glass of Red Rivulet down and looked at her. Her ears drooped slightly, and she averted her eyes slightly, a light flush forming across her features. “I’m sorry,” I told her. “I don’t think I can. It’s not what I can call home anymore.”

She sat, with her gaze affixed to the empty salad bowl, then spoke softly, her voice barely above the chatter of the bar, “Because of Bit?”

I swirled the last sip of whiskey in its glass, then pushed it aside and corked the bottle closed. “Yes, sort of.” All the booths and ponies around us in the bar began to tip and swirl in my vision, and my head felt light. Thoughts jumbled together loosely, most falling apart half-formed and never reaching my lips.

“What does she have that I don’t—or that you can’t find in Desert’s Edge?”

I half-leaned onto the table and looked at the fuzzy outline of the silvery mare. “You don’t feel for me the same way I used to want you,” I said, squinting. “Why are you saying this?”

She gazed away, watching the other workers shuffle about, or perhaps just staring blankly. Turning back, eyes on the last swill of whiskey in my glass, she spoke, “I’m going to be lonely if you’re not there. Even if we can’t go back to how we were, you were my friend. My best friend.”

“Sorry,” I said, leaning back against the booth, “But things are different now. I saw so much and met so many wonderful people. It’s like all those tales of the travelers we would listen to,” I said, smiling. She had a frown on her face when I continued, “I left because I was afraid.”

Then the words just kept tumbling from my lips, faster than I could think to stop them. “You left, you abandoned me and you broke my heart, but stupid me still loved you, and still wanted to do anything for you. So I left, you know, giving up everything I had.” I spoke faster and faster, slurring words together and snipping with anger, “I don’t even really know what happened.” My eyebrows creased and I regretted ever opening my mouth. I bit my sore lip and forced myself silent.

I stood from the table, shaking my legs out one at a time, taking a few deep breaths and stretching, before turning back to her. She was slumped down in the booth and stared blankly. “I didn’t mean that,” I said. I wrapped my arms around her and squeezed hard. The sharp but sweet scent of Xanti’s soap was still fresh on her coat, and mixed in with the smell of liquor vapors and light sweat. I breathed in deep, letting the pleasant mixture settle in me, and found myself fondly remembering the moments long before when I held her like that.

A strong flush came over me and I withdrew from the long embrace. A smile trembled on my lips, and I swished my tail around, trying to dissipate the alcohol-induced excitement that had bloomed within me.

She turned to me, with a sad smile, and slid off of the booth. “I guess I should get back to work.”

“Wait, before you do,” I interrupted her. “I want you to know, I still care for you. But I owe Bit Flip more than I can ever repay. I will do whatever I can to help you, but I cannot stay with you at Desert’s Edge. I’m going to go with Bit.”

She nodded absently, and took a step away.

“Thank you, for everything, Silver.”

She walked past the next few booths and around the tables, the entire bar filled with diners and drunks, and disappeared from my sight. I sighed, and kicked myself for blathering so many unnecessary things.

I looked around, and just realized how busy the place had become in the last while. Every table, booth, and bar stool was filled, and the throngs of ponies herding between tables had settled as the crowd thickened to the point where many games all had the same cheering and jeering.

A heat had fallen over me but I just then became of aware of it. I wiped my sweatless brow, decided to step out for some fresh air, and slipped my way between the patrons and out into the evening.

The moon far above shone brightly in the dark lavender shades of the beginnings of nightfall. The air was still hot, but a gentle breeze that brushed across the town hidden in the cove carried away the heat, leaving the tips of my coat cool.

The nightlamps were flickering to life above the street, and ponies were packing up their stalls and wares, probably eager to return to their homes for the night or a hot meal. I stepped down the street, watching small groups in heavy leather slops and shaggy woolen vests saunter by.

I turned to my left and walked through the last few open streets and wide areas toward the river. Makeshift stalls I hadn’t noticed the night before rimmed the circular area, and dozens of mats and blankets were being packed into crates or overstuffed saddlebags. Ponies secured their wares for the night, or took them back with them. Some counted out the caps they’d made in the day or chewed on stale cactus pods, but none seemed to pay me any mind as I made my way through.

The worn walk had given way from stone and became soft and sandy as I approached the riverside. The river here was wide, but moved slowly. A few fireflies flickered to light and flew in uneven rings between the reeds on the shore some twenty yards from me.

Upriver, crossing into town on the rickety wooden planks, another group of ponies were chattering loudly, laughing and taunting one-another. When they stepped into the light underneath one of the path’s lamps, I recognized the brutishly-oversized orange stallion. He stood several heads above the other stallions, and was twice-over as wide as any of them, but he seemed to be more of a colt just then, with the way he laughed with the others and the wide smile that adorned his scarred face.

He looked up from the crowd and locked eyes with me for just a moment. He turned back, nodded to each, and grunted, motioning to me. The other stallions looked at me, then sneered and nudged the orange slave with teasing expressions. He shook his head, laughing, and clambered up to me.

“You didn’t have to,” I started.

He shook his head, and sounded an uh-uh, then tilted his head, motioning into town, and started walking off.

He led me through the quickly-emptying streets and up to a scraggy building. Two griffins stood tall with heavy rifles strapped across their broad chests. They nodded to the stallion as he stepped to the doorway, and he grunted at me with another flick of his head.

While the orange stallion stood the same height as the avians, as I walked by, I was eye-level with the large rifles. Both were spotless, and the distant streetlights glinted off the pungent oil they were cleaned with.

The interior was as decrepit as the exterior, with stucco falling from the walls and holes everywhere. Distant lights were visible through the foggy windows and the various breaches, but tables, chairs, books and liquors were scattered all throughout. Ponies and griffins looked to us and nodded as the orange stallion led me through a hallway barely wide enough for him, and into a single unassuming room.

The single light flicked on, a lamp on a marred dresser, and cast the room in a yellow light. On each wall were bolted two beds. A single table and three chairs sat in the middle, and there was a lone window, too murky to see through, secured with rebar.

“Not the warmest place,” I muttered. Turning to the orange stallion that stood near the doorway, I asked, “What is all this?”

He scrunched his eyebrows up and skewed his lips in an exaggerated pensive fashion. He pointed to each bunk, then to me, to himself, and motioned twice to his back.

I chuckled at his motions. “You don’t talk much, do you?”

He shook his head, and frowned.

“So we’re staying here, I take it?”

He nodded and smiled.

I stepped into the room cautiously, expecting the floorboards to squeak even under my small frame. I was further surprised when I peeled back the covers of one of the bunks. The sheets were thin and obviously worn, but it all seemed fairly clean. A light film of dust covered the sparse furnishings, and the air was stale, but it had a touch of homeliness to it.

I turned back to the stallion. “Thanks for getting us a place,” I said.

He shook his head, then raised up slightly on his hind legs, bending his front legs at his sides and flicking the hooves out to his sides and up.

I tried to catch myself but my inebriated mind was too slow and I chuckled. I tried to stifle it, but it only made it worse, and I snorted, then fell back onto the hard mattress and laughed.

When the fit subsided, I rolled off the bunk, and looked up at the stallion, who simply shook his head. “Sorry, sorry,” I said, rubbing at my wet eyes. “I take it Bit Flip got us the room, then?”

He cocked his head and arched an eyebrow.

“The pegasus.”

“Ah,” he sounded, nodding. He raised a hoof to his brow and pushed it out, mocking a griffin salute, then turned and heaved his weight through the hallway.

I bit down on the chain to the lamp, and clicked the light off, then closed the door and made my way to the common room. The night was young and though I didn't care to spend time with strangers, an uncomfortable longing for a personal touch had settled in me, and so I took to waiting for my pegasus friend, to keep my mind off it.

——