On The Horizonby NormalChaptersChapter One: CalendulaChapter Two: DustChapter Three: Bright EyesChapter One: CalendulaI frown, shifting through the various jars and vials on the shelf. Eyes brightening slightly, I pull out a particular amber brown glass jar to hold up to the light of the flickering flame, only to have put it back next to several other similar jar as it proves like all others not to be the one I seek. I let out an annoyed whinny as I just face the shelf of jars that had all been searched through. None of them carried that particular yellow flower for which I was looking. Sliding the door to the cabinet closed, I only pausing to make sure it latched with a click, before I leave the confines of the crammed, albeit large, closet used to store all of our herbs and finished products. One side of the closet was just a shelf featuring various small tools we used to prepare the herbs. The shelf was the reason why I had to somewhat crouch in here; at any given moment we could have all rows up to the ceiling completely filled. At the moment,though, only one row was filled. It had been a long summer, filled with extreme heat. Many herbs were made difficult to obtain as such. Calendula would just happen to be one such herb that was completely out of stock. I blew out the lantern and backed out. Closing the door behind me to our livelihoods’ stores, I slipped the rune paper over the edge making sure to hold it down long enough so as to give it the time needed to not just seal the door away, but whisk it away too. Though it cost a pretty penny, there was no more reliable way to ensure something was safe as to not have it be there at all. Of course they worked best when not as old as I and pre-owned. Minor details. With the wall smooth as any other and the space between rooms successfully nonexistent, I walked softly to the front door. Outside the door, a soft glow was growing as the sun raised over its own threshold and greeted the day with a muted hello. Should my luck be good, leaving this early, when vendors are just setting up, would prevent them from being sold out completely. That is if anyone had any in stock. Many people, even those not skilled in apothecary occasionally, would use it to keep down infections if a wound is older or to slow the bleeding in that of a fresh wound. This made it all the more difficult for those knowledgeable about herbs to get a hold of them. First a long and hard winter, the snows lasting late into the sowing months, and now that hasty farmers try to wean their plants into growth before it is too late, a heat wave from the depths of Tartarus hits hard. When I have gone out in the noon sun I have ended up bringing back to our apothecary those with heat sickness because of how it has been. My hooves raised up plumes of dust as I plod along the yet empty street way. In no hurry I watch as the particulars or dirt dance slowly back down through the windless air to meet again with the ground from which it came. Just a small rustle of my outer flight feathers and the dust particles, so similar in hue as they shined in the light, would simply disperse. I loved the peace of these times; the hours when you might and often would be the only one on the street. It actually gave you time you wouldn't normally have to stop and enjoy the small things; the things that might go unnoticed during the scurry of the day. To enjoy the spread of one’s wings without worry about bumping into ground bound unicorns or earth ponies. With the wooden clank of wood against wood, I looked up. Already shutters were opening for the day as ponies crawled wearily from their warm sheets to drag themselves into wakefulness. If I dilly dallied anymore, I would risk other people getting to the market first and with our stores of calendula completely depleted, I had to stop my sightseeing and get moving. The streets remained quiet save for the passive trot of my bare hooves and the quiet murmurs of breakfasts cooking from homes that I passed. As I round the first street corner another sound was added to that, that of wares being set up and the beginnings of haggling. It pays to live so close to the common market place of a major town. The scent of cinnamon sticks and fresh bread wafted through the air and into my nostrils with a deep inhale. Of course in addition to the wooden stall fronts there were a handful of shops that had permanent residency there. The busiest and most popular of these would be the bakery, with fresh pecan rolls, drenched in sweet honey and sprinkled with cinnamon or the fresh breads baked with currants and glazed gently with a sugary mixture. It was typically a place for indulgence but they did have a hearty amount of the simple things such as wheat or rye bread. However, as much as my stomach wanted me to stray towards the aromatic building, I firmed my will and headed to the opposite side of the circular court like area. That area was empty yet save for a few pigeons and my sought after stall. I increased my pace. From where I was at I could see, hanging from the rafters of the stall, a few heads of yellow. I was in luck it would appear and looking around I couldn't see anyone heading this way either. I slowed down as I neared the wooden form and coming to a stop in front I reached up to finger the petals with the tips of my wings. Still fresh, it bruised slightly underneath my touch. The leaves looked just a little wilted as they drooped down almost touching the vibrant petals. Some of the flowers sported petals that almost matched the orange of my wings I noticed. I acknowledged the stall owner watching me as he prepared a strand of lavender to hang up next to the other strands with simple grey glow. I turned back my attention to the calendula, pretending I was appraising their quality though I knew darn well that I was going to be buying these few flowers while I could. I tugged at the string that was holding their stems captive and put the liberated plants down on the counter in front of the merchant’s weathered grey hooves. Just four small bundles but it’s what I could get. And if we were able to use it sparingly it could last until this heat passes over. His grizzled muzzle looks up at me, grey eyes, searching my yellow eyes. “Four bits, missy.” He grunted after a few seconds. I kept my wing over my coin bag not moving to open it and withdraw any coins. I smiled as he thought that as a mare I wouldn’t know how to hold my own in haggling. “How about one bit and a half” I knew what these flowers were worth and I knew what I was going to pay. Now that wouldn’t be one bit and a half but it is better to go low. And wait for it… “ Three bits.” “Two.” “Two bits and a half.” I withdraw the coins from my bag to show my approval with the price and set down the rough copper bits down next to the plants and swept my orange feathers over the plants being careful not to break the flesh over the stem and leaves. It would be wasteful for the oil to dry up like that. I didn’t wait around for the old man to scoop up his newly gained coinage as I turned heel and with more will this time headed straight across the market place without hesitating at the scent of freshly baked rye bread. By the time I would get back to the house and apothecary Aunt Heart would have started cooking breakfast already and it will be waiting warm in a bowl at our scarred up kitchen table. I brush a strand of pale peach mane out of my eyes as I trot down the lane. I was in no hurry this time, but the breeze of the morning, not yet filled with the scent of sweaty bodies and the contents of someone’s bladder, was like heaven in my face. I make it back to our store much quicker this time, but am slowed to a halt as an unusual sight greets me. Guards, in their leather amour and wooden clubs stand outside of the doorway. The door swings slightly in the morning breeze. The two guards stare straight ahead, seemingly at nothing and neither has acknowledge my presence yet. The insignia of the Grey King, I see, is etched in the leather and painted bright with red. These are not the typical guards that patrol our streets for any two bit crook, these, though trying not to look it, are the King’s stallions and not to be trifled with. I shiver in the neighbor’s door way that I have paused within glancing up to the second floor windows of where I have lived with my aunt for whole life. I see forms moving through the open shutters but not well enough to tell what’s going on. Something nudges my leg and I look down to see a dark mutt of some sorts covered in street muck grinning up at me. I give it a gentle shove off and it just leans in farther. I look down again. The dog’s coat, though messy, is free of mats which suggests to me it is not a simple street dog looking for food. Blue eyes meet mine and I look back up. Those are not a dog’s eyes and I feel like I’ve seen that of a ghost’s, if spirits still maintained eyes. One of the guards looks over at me curiously and trying to appear casual I lean down and give a scratch behind the ears. The eyes follow me with a solemnness that doesn’t match the doggy smile on his lips with the pink tongue lolling out. I jolt though out of my study of this strange creature when a crash comes from my home and three more guards exit. But it is not the burly stallions with their rough manner that my eyes focus on. It is the person in between them with a scratchy burlap sack covering the face that I focus on, hooves tied with rawhides behind her back. Even with the face covered I would know the pelt of the one that raised me anywhere. I shove the dog away for real this time but he grasps ahold of my leg, digging in deep with surprisingly sharp canines. I struggle with the dog as the guards walk by, but the more I struggle, the tighter the grip is on my leg. I try to kick out at his prone belly but he just shifts away and my kick only serves to bruise my fore hoof against a stray rock in the road. The guards are heading opposite the marketplace and I hear the hoof beats before I see their back up. One guard, dressed richly as they all reek of, was apparently waiting just out of sight with six more stallions. These are fearsome beasts, the ponies of the Kings men and I try once more to bolt though I remember how the stallions of guards are trained to strike out with sharpened hooves at anyone who might get in their path. Unceremoniously my aunt is slung across the back of one of these brutes like she is nothing more than a bag of potatoes. Her hooves are untied briefly only to be retied in front of her, around the horn of a saddle I had previously not fully noticed. I notice as her head rolls in my direction a stain forming near where her temple is. Chapter Two: DustI slouch down low, my mane now dangling in the dust, as one more attempt to break free from the ratty dog fails to get me free. I am not giving up. This, this is simply me hating that mutt, born from the nether’s of gutter rat as he is, I will not give up. I know though blaming the little rat is irrational, as much as I feel he is responsible for the situation. Everypony in the kingdom knows not to tangle with the path of a Guard and considering what I was planning on doing just now…Had I gone through I would be lying in the very gutter in front of me, flaps of skin not glued down by coagulating blood waving in the wind like the royal flag. My body would be left to rot in the feces and discarded trash of others. No one would touch the empty shell left behind for fear of being seen as aiding an undesirable of the state. I've seen what has happened to those deemed undesirable by the state. Once, just a few years back, the body of a gambler who had a few too many hung from the market place's center. This man’s crime was a little too much cider and a little too much luck. He won a small bagful of gold bits from one of the Guard’s men, enough that could have his family eating regularly for several months. But with his mind addled with intoxication he would not just walk away with his gain. He wanted to flaunt, from the tops of tables, that he won money off of one of the formidable King's Stallions. The next morning his body swung in the breeze, the pouch of money dangling from his neck and his cutie mark flayed, then branded off. The bell-like clink of the bits could be heard by all the ponies that stepped hoof in the marketplace. No one dared try to grab those bits for themselves and the body hung from that rope until the peckings of the crows severed it. It took longer though for the scent of decay to fade away. And that was simply a case of a Guard demonstrating his power, letting loose like a rabid dog. When on official business, like I suspect this is, the dogs are not only given free rein but completely let off their leashes. These are blood thirsty ponies with no care for others. They see others a mean to the ends and that is it. In truth there is a little voice in the recesses of my mind that is telling me that the dog just saved my life. Chances are unlikely I would’ve met quite the same gruesome end but dead is dead. And if I live there is still a chance that my aunt will meet a similar fate. Despite being a dictator in all but name, the Grey King likes to keep up appearances. Any one that is formally seized has to get a trial. True, they are one sided trials time and time again, but if one wishes to take the risk and gamble, yes I realize the implication, you can. Of course they are just as likely then to deem you an accomplice to said crime and execute you alongside your loved one… Most ponies won’t even bother anymore when they lose a family member to the King anymore. The will continue with their lives, heads hung low, pretending nothing ever happened. But I won’t let that happen. I’ve always been told I was too headstrong by half and I guess everypony was right about that. But, by Equestria green fields, that is my aunt they took. She raised me since I was a tiny foal, still mewling from the loss of my mother’s warm womb. She taught me all I knew. She taught me to be strong in the face of others. And I will be. I realize with a loud rumble that it simply would not do to forgo food though. One cannot think clearly after all through the fog of hunger. Another thing Aunt Heart taught me young. Since one is not allowed to enter the home of an accused until they have been convicted and executed, I slip the calendula underneath my wing. I was regretting not bringing a saddle bag and more coin with me now, but had I been able to foretell this happening I wouldn’t have left the house. With my wits closer to home now I reach for my coin bag. The faint jingle tells me I only had, at best, five copper bits left. My hand freezes there as a revelation swims its way through to the fore front of my mind. There is something that I can do. And I should have thought of it sooner. I waste no more time with my flank in the dust and get promptly to my hooves. There is someone that can help me, a someone that should have come to mind as soon as I saw the Guards. I try to brush as much of the dust off from around my flank and tail, though the quick brush down leaves much behind. If I get time later I am going to have to take a curry brush to my hide. Already the itch of dust is biting at me and when the noonday heat hits, my coat will mat down with sweat-made mud. I give one more shake, the slight muscles under my withers rippling in response. I shift the feathers slightly in one wing, careful not to jostle the plants loose. It would admittedly be quicker to get to my destination with the use of my wings but I would rather not risk running afoul of any Guards doing so. Another aspect of living in the unicorn capital of Equestria that rubbed many, mainly the pegasi, ponies the wrong way. I notice absentmindedly that the dog has left now, the only sign he was there marks in the dust where his tan tail dragged in pleasure. A though flits through my mind wondering when he left. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Author's Note Sorry for the rather short chapter, been suffering from a brain fart. Actually completely rewrote this chapter twice already not including the editing that has occurred phrasing wise. Chapter three is already in progress though and hopefully, should I overcome the brain fart, it will be uploaded by or before the twentieth. And that should be longer for sure. Feel free and unafraid to comment on grammartical errors or suggestion as to anything I can fix within this chapter. My editor is currently sleeping on the couch. Chapter Three: Bright EyesThe trot down the streets of Roan was fairly conventional. Other ponies were now actively on the streets, their day to day business unhindered the way mine was. The dust lifted from the force of my hooves hitting the ground was no longer alone, instead it mixed with the clouds of many other ponies. Individual clouds were obscured, a solid fog thus coating the floor. I however did not have the time to notice this. What I had to do was now firmly in my mind and nothing could slow me down now. “Horizons!” Of course thinking such thought was sure to draw forces that would have their sole aim to slow me down. I slow down letting slightly and sure enough alongside pulls up an older Pegasus. A certain Pegasus I preferred to avoid even when not in a hurry to ensure the life of my aunt. Emerald Flight is relatively new still to Roan and has yet to make many friends among most of the hard working families that live around here. He was raised in one of those pegasi cloud cities and has the beliefs like so. The Grey King can do no wrong. Chocolate rations have gone up, did you hear. We should do everything to help the Guards. Peh, I will never understand the beliefs taught in cloud cities and whenever I run into this green pain in the flank I am glad in many ways that Aunt Shining Heart is a unicorn. “Horizon, it is good I caught up to you. It appeared you were in a hurry so I’ll try not to delay you. I was simply wondering if you and your aunt might have food you might be willing to spare.” I spare Emerald a withering glance, my hoof kicking up a spark as it hits a loose rock. He means well but he truly has no idea some days what might be considered insulting among some ponies. This may be a neighborhood of hard working ponies but even if a pony is working as hard as their body will allow does not mean that they will not spend spans of time with stomachs rumbling for food. Drought, famine, winter, even boundary skirmishes with the Griffons to the north; for various reasons families will go hungry. I let my hooves pick up a little more speed, my feathers flaring slightly as his question got to me. I remember more than a few empty bellies from my childhood. I remember afternoons on the streets looking for work, trying to help out the family. Most foals did. Emerald Flight, however, doesn’t. “Bright Horizons, I asked you a question.” I turn slightly facing this older stallion. He tries, some days he really does. But when one grows up in a learned household it is hard to be truly feel what others have felt. My yellow eyes stare into his green. “No.” I do not mean what I said harshly but I say it with a bluntness that makes it clear I am not in the mood for idle chatter . With that said I face forward once again, and let anger drive my hooves. I have a mission to do and a pony to reach. I leave Emerald flight behind in my dust, him satisfied that at least I gave him an answer. Steadily the neighborhood is losing its shine as I trot. Houses that strived to be well kept and perhaps well presented, these house have shutters at an angle and not even rice paper in the frames of windows. The traffic previously forming on the prior streets has now been vacated. The ponies that live here, if they work at all, work odd hours and odd jobs. These are ponies that were dealt an unfortunate hand in life and have done nothing whatsoever to improve it. These are ponies who cause you to peer behind you, expecting a knife in the dark. I round one more corner and the building I seek is right in my sights. This building dwarfs the ramshackle homes around it, its shutters straight and painted a dark navy blue. Property of the King, this building is one of the many Guard stations in Roan. Not one of the King’s Guards, there is one and only one station for them in Roan. No, this is for the Guards that provide protection to the populace. These are the ponies that will barrel into a thief or break up fights between rowdy stallions. These are ponies that I trust. The door stands open, letting the heat of bodies within and the heat outside escape together into the scant breeze present. It is through this door way that I make my way through, my gait now slowed to just a pleasant walk. I walk up to the stallion at the desk, a pleasant enough expression on my muzzle. The burly rock gives me the once over. I do not recognize him and nor does he, I. I clear my throat, while taking a step closer to the desk. “I’m looking for Bright Eyes, he’s my brother.” Brother of a sorts. We are technically cousins, but growing up under the same hay thatched roof together by Shining Heart as both of our mothers has blurred the line between the difference for both of us. In fact, until I was eleven I thought he was actually my brother. Despite having not being born siblings, our feelings for each other have never wavered. We are as close as any brother and sister out there most days. The guard’s facial expression has not shifted a notch at what I have just requested. I sigh. “Tell him Bright Horizons needs to talk.” He moves now, shifting his bulk. I hear the creaks of protesting wood as he does so. “Sorry miss, but Heart’s out raight now,” He grunts out, just the hint of a country accent entering his speech, “Ya could wait, he should be almost back.” A brown hoof gestures over to where benches are nailed in along the wall. I sigh. At least this stallion is letting me wait indoors. I really do hope what he said is true and that Bright will be back soon. Patience is not one of my virtues. Though the benches look very appealing with splinters I can see from here poking out I decide against sitting my rump down there. Instead I make the decision to pace the small hallway that I have access to, the only sound the metal clunk of horseshoes against well-worn wood. Needless to say the volume of noise within did not rise above that of a whisper. The grey eyes of the desk stallion follow my movements, not in a suggestive manner, nor a malevolent way. No, was I to presume that the expression on his face is that of boredom, there are not any going-ons currently within these confined halls of the Guard Stable. It was minutes later, mayhaps a half hour at most, when from outside noise started to grow. First the faint echoes of an unheard joke, then the ever closer laughter of three different stallions’ voices. Finally the door swings slightly in a breeze as the force of the leather bound guards came through. Between them is a dirt covered earth pony, looking like he was dealt a piss poor set of cards in life. I noticed that already blue green bruises were showing in patches of missing fur. He had resisted. One of Bright Eyes fellow guards notices me standing there first, and with the slight nudge of a hoof draws his attention. I wonder why at first his eyes widened, but then I realize. I must look a sight. Coat sweaty and full of dust, mane flying every which way. I wouldn’t doubt tear stains ran down my face but I’d deny those. I awkwardly shift my hooves. Then Bright is next to me, drawing me away from the watching eyes of his peers and the desk stallion. He drapes a leg across my neck, hoof brushing gently against my withers. I lose myself now. This has been all too much, all too quickly. The dam I’ve been forcing up lets loose and emotions pour forth. There are no more maybe tear stains now, any that were there are quickly washed away with a flood. Beneath me my brother stiffens. I know this deep down to be because, like most stallions, he has no idea what to do with a bawling mare. I don’t think anypony does. He tries petting my mane, running his hoof through snags and overall straightening it out and when that doesn’t work he pulls me in front of him. A cream colored hoof, dry with dusts of the street, forces my head up, so that my eyes met with his. “Come on, what’s wrong?” I stare through wells of tears at his pale yellow eyes. I feel like I’m swimming in pools of pale gold. I sniffle a little, feeling just a smidge ashamed, it has been years since I last truly cried. “They took Aunt Heart, Brighty.” Author's Note So I am still unsure about the name Bright Eyes,I had originally felt like his name should have the word Mettle in it. If I come up with a better name I might change it yet. I feel like its weird having him having such a similiar name.
Chapter One: CalendulaI frown, shifting through the various jars and vials on the shelf. Eyes brightening slightly, I pull out a particular amber brown glass jar to hold up to the light of the flickering flame, only to have put it back next to several other similar jar as it proves like all others not to be the one I seek. I let out an annoyed whinny as I just face the shelf of jars that had all been searched through. None of them carried that particular yellow flower for which I was looking. Sliding the door to the cabinet closed, I only pausing to make sure it latched with a click, before I leave the confines of the crammed, albeit large, closet used to store all of our herbs and finished products. One side of the closet was just a shelf featuring various small tools we used to prepare the herbs. The shelf was the reason why I had to somewhat crouch in here; at any given moment we could have all rows up to the ceiling completely filled. At the moment,though, only one row was filled. It had been a long summer, filled with extreme heat. Many herbs were made difficult to obtain as such. Calendula would just happen to be one such herb that was completely out of stock. I blew out the lantern and backed out. Closing the door behind me to our livelihoods’ stores, I slipped the rune paper over the edge making sure to hold it down long enough so as to give it the time needed to not just seal the door away, but whisk it away too. Though it cost a pretty penny, there was no more reliable way to ensure something was safe as to not have it be there at all. Of course they worked best when not as old as I and pre-owned. Minor details. With the wall smooth as any other and the space between rooms successfully nonexistent, I walked softly to the front door. Outside the door, a soft glow was growing as the sun raised over its own threshold and greeted the day with a muted hello. Should my luck be good, leaving this early, when vendors are just setting up, would prevent them from being sold out completely. That is if anyone had any in stock. Many people, even those not skilled in apothecary occasionally, would use it to keep down infections if a wound is older or to slow the bleeding in that of a fresh wound. This made it all the more difficult for those knowledgeable about herbs to get a hold of them. First a long and hard winter, the snows lasting late into the sowing months, and now that hasty farmers try to wean their plants into growth before it is too late, a heat wave from the depths of Tartarus hits hard. When I have gone out in the noon sun I have ended up bringing back to our apothecary those with heat sickness because of how it has been. My hooves raised up plumes of dust as I plod along the yet empty street way. In no hurry I watch as the particulars or dirt dance slowly back down through the windless air to meet again with the ground from which it came. Just a small rustle of my outer flight feathers and the dust particles, so similar in hue as they shined in the light, would simply disperse. I loved the peace of these times; the hours when you might and often would be the only one on the street. It actually gave you time you wouldn't normally have to stop and enjoy the small things; the things that might go unnoticed during the scurry of the day. To enjoy the spread of one’s wings without worry about bumping into ground bound unicorns or earth ponies. With the wooden clank of wood against wood, I looked up. Already shutters were opening for the day as ponies crawled wearily from their warm sheets to drag themselves into wakefulness. If I dilly dallied anymore, I would risk other people getting to the market first and with our stores of calendula completely depleted, I had to stop my sightseeing and get moving. The streets remained quiet save for the passive trot of my bare hooves and the quiet murmurs of breakfasts cooking from homes that I passed. As I round the first street corner another sound was added to that, that of wares being set up and the beginnings of haggling. It pays to live so close to the common market place of a major town. The scent of cinnamon sticks and fresh bread wafted through the air and into my nostrils with a deep inhale. Of course in addition to the wooden stall fronts there were a handful of shops that had permanent residency there. The busiest and most popular of these would be the bakery, with fresh pecan rolls, drenched in sweet honey and sprinkled with cinnamon or the fresh breads baked with currants and glazed gently with a sugary mixture. It was typically a place for indulgence but they did have a hearty amount of the simple things such as wheat or rye bread. However, as much as my stomach wanted me to stray towards the aromatic building, I firmed my will and headed to the opposite side of the circular court like area. That area was empty yet save for a few pigeons and my sought after stall. I increased my pace. From where I was at I could see, hanging from the rafters of the stall, a few heads of yellow. I was in luck it would appear and looking around I couldn't see anyone heading this way either. I slowed down as I neared the wooden form and coming to a stop in front I reached up to finger the petals with the tips of my wings. Still fresh, it bruised slightly underneath my touch. The leaves looked just a little wilted as they drooped down almost touching the vibrant petals. Some of the flowers sported petals that almost matched the orange of my wings I noticed. I acknowledged the stall owner watching me as he prepared a strand of lavender to hang up next to the other strands with simple grey glow. I turned back my attention to the calendula, pretending I was appraising their quality though I knew darn well that I was going to be buying these few flowers while I could. I tugged at the string that was holding their stems captive and put the liberated plants down on the counter in front of the merchant’s weathered grey hooves. Just four small bundles but it’s what I could get. And if we were able to use it sparingly it could last until this heat passes over. His grizzled muzzle looks up at me, grey eyes, searching my yellow eyes. “Four bits, missy.” He grunted after a few seconds. I kept my wing over my coin bag not moving to open it and withdraw any coins. I smiled as he thought that as a mare I wouldn’t know how to hold my own in haggling. “How about one bit and a half” I knew what these flowers were worth and I knew what I was going to pay. Now that wouldn’t be one bit and a half but it is better to go low. And wait for it… “ Three bits.” “Two.” “Two bits and a half.” I withdraw the coins from my bag to show my approval with the price and set down the rough copper bits down next to the plants and swept my orange feathers over the plants being careful not to break the flesh over the stem and leaves. It would be wasteful for the oil to dry up like that. I didn’t wait around for the old man to scoop up his newly gained coinage as I turned heel and with more will this time headed straight across the market place without hesitating at the scent of freshly baked rye bread. By the time I would get back to the house and apothecary Aunt Heart would have started cooking breakfast already and it will be waiting warm in a bowl at our scarred up kitchen table. I brush a strand of pale peach mane out of my eyes as I trot down the lane. I was in no hurry this time, but the breeze of the morning, not yet filled with the scent of sweaty bodies and the contents of someone’s bladder, was like heaven in my face. I make it back to our store much quicker this time, but am slowed to a halt as an unusual sight greets me. Guards, in their leather amour and wooden clubs stand outside of the doorway. The door swings slightly in the morning breeze. The two guards stare straight ahead, seemingly at nothing and neither has acknowledge my presence yet. The insignia of the Grey King, I see, is etched in the leather and painted bright with red. These are not the typical guards that patrol our streets for any two bit crook, these, though trying not to look it, are the King’s stallions and not to be trifled with. I shiver in the neighbor’s door way that I have paused within glancing up to the second floor windows of where I have lived with my aunt for whole life. I see forms moving through the open shutters but not well enough to tell what’s going on. Something nudges my leg and I look down to see a dark mutt of some sorts covered in street muck grinning up at me. I give it a gentle shove off and it just leans in farther. I look down again. The dog’s coat, though messy, is free of mats which suggests to me it is not a simple street dog looking for food. Blue eyes meet mine and I look back up. Those are not a dog’s eyes and I feel like I’ve seen that of a ghost’s, if spirits still maintained eyes. One of the guards looks over at me curiously and trying to appear casual I lean down and give a scratch behind the ears. The eyes follow me with a solemnness that doesn’t match the doggy smile on his lips with the pink tongue lolling out. I jolt though out of my study of this strange creature when a crash comes from my home and three more guards exit. But it is not the burly stallions with their rough manner that my eyes focus on. It is the person in between them with a scratchy burlap sack covering the face that I focus on, hooves tied with rawhides behind her back. Even with the face covered I would know the pelt of the one that raised me anywhere. I shove the dog away for real this time but he grasps ahold of my leg, digging in deep with surprisingly sharp canines. I struggle with the dog as the guards walk by, but the more I struggle, the tighter the grip is on my leg. I try to kick out at his prone belly but he just shifts away and my kick only serves to bruise my fore hoof against a stray rock in the road. The guards are heading opposite the marketplace and I hear the hoof beats before I see their back up. One guard, dressed richly as they all reek of, was apparently waiting just out of sight with six more stallions. These are fearsome beasts, the ponies of the Kings men and I try once more to bolt though I remember how the stallions of guards are trained to strike out with sharpened hooves at anyone who might get in their path. Unceremoniously my aunt is slung across the back of one of these brutes like she is nothing more than a bag of potatoes. Her hooves are untied briefly only to be retied in front of her, around the horn of a saddle I had previously not fully noticed. I notice as her head rolls in my direction a stain forming near where her temple is.
Chapter Two: DustI slouch down low, my mane now dangling in the dust, as one more attempt to break free from the ratty dog fails to get me free. I am not giving up. This, this is simply me hating that mutt, born from the nether’s of gutter rat as he is, I will not give up. I know though blaming the little rat is irrational, as much as I feel he is responsible for the situation. Everypony in the kingdom knows not to tangle with the path of a Guard and considering what I was planning on doing just now…Had I gone through I would be lying in the very gutter in front of me, flaps of skin not glued down by coagulating blood waving in the wind like the royal flag. My body would be left to rot in the feces and discarded trash of others. No one would touch the empty shell left behind for fear of being seen as aiding an undesirable of the state. I've seen what has happened to those deemed undesirable by the state. Once, just a few years back, the body of a gambler who had a few too many hung from the market place's center. This man’s crime was a little too much cider and a little too much luck. He won a small bagful of gold bits from one of the Guard’s men, enough that could have his family eating regularly for several months. But with his mind addled with intoxication he would not just walk away with his gain. He wanted to flaunt, from the tops of tables, that he won money off of one of the formidable King's Stallions. The next morning his body swung in the breeze, the pouch of money dangling from his neck and his cutie mark flayed, then branded off. The bell-like clink of the bits could be heard by all the ponies that stepped hoof in the marketplace. No one dared try to grab those bits for themselves and the body hung from that rope until the peckings of the crows severed it. It took longer though for the scent of decay to fade away. And that was simply a case of a Guard demonstrating his power, letting loose like a rabid dog. When on official business, like I suspect this is, the dogs are not only given free rein but completely let off their leashes. These are blood thirsty ponies with no care for others. They see others a mean to the ends and that is it. In truth there is a little voice in the recesses of my mind that is telling me that the dog just saved my life. Chances are unlikely I would’ve met quite the same gruesome end but dead is dead. And if I live there is still a chance that my aunt will meet a similar fate. Despite being a dictator in all but name, the Grey King likes to keep up appearances. Any one that is formally seized has to get a trial. True, they are one sided trials time and time again, but if one wishes to take the risk and gamble, yes I realize the implication, you can. Of course they are just as likely then to deem you an accomplice to said crime and execute you alongside your loved one… Most ponies won’t even bother anymore when they lose a family member to the King anymore. The will continue with their lives, heads hung low, pretending nothing ever happened. But I won’t let that happen. I’ve always been told I was too headstrong by half and I guess everypony was right about that. But, by Equestria green fields, that is my aunt they took. She raised me since I was a tiny foal, still mewling from the loss of my mother’s warm womb. She taught me all I knew. She taught me to be strong in the face of others. And I will be. I realize with a loud rumble that it simply would not do to forgo food though. One cannot think clearly after all through the fog of hunger. Another thing Aunt Heart taught me young. Since one is not allowed to enter the home of an accused until they have been convicted and executed, I slip the calendula underneath my wing. I was regretting not bringing a saddle bag and more coin with me now, but had I been able to foretell this happening I wouldn’t have left the house. With my wits closer to home now I reach for my coin bag. The faint jingle tells me I only had, at best, five copper bits left. My hand freezes there as a revelation swims its way through to the fore front of my mind. There is something that I can do. And I should have thought of it sooner. I waste no more time with my flank in the dust and get promptly to my hooves. There is someone that can help me, a someone that should have come to mind as soon as I saw the Guards. I try to brush as much of the dust off from around my flank and tail, though the quick brush down leaves much behind. If I get time later I am going to have to take a curry brush to my hide. Already the itch of dust is biting at me and when the noonday heat hits, my coat will mat down with sweat-made mud. I give one more shake, the slight muscles under my withers rippling in response. I shift the feathers slightly in one wing, careful not to jostle the plants loose. It would admittedly be quicker to get to my destination with the use of my wings but I would rather not risk running afoul of any Guards doing so. Another aspect of living in the unicorn capital of Equestria that rubbed many, mainly the pegasi, ponies the wrong way. I notice absentmindedly that the dog has left now, the only sign he was there marks in the dust where his tan tail dragged in pleasure. A though flits through my mind wondering when he left. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Author's Note Sorry for the rather short chapter, been suffering from a brain fart. Actually completely rewrote this chapter twice already not including the editing that has occurred phrasing wise. Chapter three is already in progress though and hopefully, should I overcome the brain fart, it will be uploaded by or before the twentieth. And that should be longer for sure. Feel free and unafraid to comment on grammartical errors or suggestion as to anything I can fix within this chapter. My editor is currently sleeping on the couch.
Chapter Three: Bright EyesThe trot down the streets of Roan was fairly conventional. Other ponies were now actively on the streets, their day to day business unhindered the way mine was. The dust lifted from the force of my hooves hitting the ground was no longer alone, instead it mixed with the clouds of many other ponies. Individual clouds were obscured, a solid fog thus coating the floor. I however did not have the time to notice this. What I had to do was now firmly in my mind and nothing could slow me down now. “Horizons!” Of course thinking such thought was sure to draw forces that would have their sole aim to slow me down. I slow down letting slightly and sure enough alongside pulls up an older Pegasus. A certain Pegasus I preferred to avoid even when not in a hurry to ensure the life of my aunt. Emerald Flight is relatively new still to Roan and has yet to make many friends among most of the hard working families that live around here. He was raised in one of those pegasi cloud cities and has the beliefs like so. The Grey King can do no wrong. Chocolate rations have gone up, did you hear. We should do everything to help the Guards. Peh, I will never understand the beliefs taught in cloud cities and whenever I run into this green pain in the flank I am glad in many ways that Aunt Shining Heart is a unicorn. “Horizon, it is good I caught up to you. It appeared you were in a hurry so I’ll try not to delay you. I was simply wondering if you and your aunt might have food you might be willing to spare.” I spare Emerald a withering glance, my hoof kicking up a spark as it hits a loose rock. He means well but he truly has no idea some days what might be considered insulting among some ponies. This may be a neighborhood of hard working ponies but even if a pony is working as hard as their body will allow does not mean that they will not spend spans of time with stomachs rumbling for food. Drought, famine, winter, even boundary skirmishes with the Griffons to the north; for various reasons families will go hungry. I let my hooves pick up a little more speed, my feathers flaring slightly as his question got to me. I remember more than a few empty bellies from my childhood. I remember afternoons on the streets looking for work, trying to help out the family. Most foals did. Emerald Flight, however, doesn’t. “Bright Horizons, I asked you a question.” I turn slightly facing this older stallion. He tries, some days he really does. But when one grows up in a learned household it is hard to be truly feel what others have felt. My yellow eyes stare into his green. “No.” I do not mean what I said harshly but I say it with a bluntness that makes it clear I am not in the mood for idle chatter . With that said I face forward once again, and let anger drive my hooves. I have a mission to do and a pony to reach. I leave Emerald flight behind in my dust, him satisfied that at least I gave him an answer. Steadily the neighborhood is losing its shine as I trot. Houses that strived to be well kept and perhaps well presented, these house have shutters at an angle and not even rice paper in the frames of windows. The traffic previously forming on the prior streets has now been vacated. The ponies that live here, if they work at all, work odd hours and odd jobs. These are ponies that were dealt an unfortunate hand in life and have done nothing whatsoever to improve it. These are ponies who cause you to peer behind you, expecting a knife in the dark. I round one more corner and the building I seek is right in my sights. This building dwarfs the ramshackle homes around it, its shutters straight and painted a dark navy blue. Property of the King, this building is one of the many Guard stations in Roan. Not one of the King’s Guards, there is one and only one station for them in Roan. No, this is for the Guards that provide protection to the populace. These are the ponies that will barrel into a thief or break up fights between rowdy stallions. These are ponies that I trust. The door stands open, letting the heat of bodies within and the heat outside escape together into the scant breeze present. It is through this door way that I make my way through, my gait now slowed to just a pleasant walk. I walk up to the stallion at the desk, a pleasant enough expression on my muzzle. The burly rock gives me the once over. I do not recognize him and nor does he, I. I clear my throat, while taking a step closer to the desk. “I’m looking for Bright Eyes, he’s my brother.” Brother of a sorts. We are technically cousins, but growing up under the same hay thatched roof together by Shining Heart as both of our mothers has blurred the line between the difference for both of us. In fact, until I was eleven I thought he was actually my brother. Despite having not being born siblings, our feelings for each other have never wavered. We are as close as any brother and sister out there most days. The guard’s facial expression has not shifted a notch at what I have just requested. I sigh. “Tell him Bright Horizons needs to talk.” He moves now, shifting his bulk. I hear the creaks of protesting wood as he does so. “Sorry miss, but Heart’s out raight now,” He grunts out, just the hint of a country accent entering his speech, “Ya could wait, he should be almost back.” A brown hoof gestures over to where benches are nailed in along the wall. I sigh. At least this stallion is letting me wait indoors. I really do hope what he said is true and that Bright will be back soon. Patience is not one of my virtues. Though the benches look very appealing with splinters I can see from here poking out I decide against sitting my rump down there. Instead I make the decision to pace the small hallway that I have access to, the only sound the metal clunk of horseshoes against well-worn wood. Needless to say the volume of noise within did not rise above that of a whisper. The grey eyes of the desk stallion follow my movements, not in a suggestive manner, nor a malevolent way. No, was I to presume that the expression on his face is that of boredom, there are not any going-ons currently within these confined halls of the Guard Stable. It was minutes later, mayhaps a half hour at most, when from outside noise started to grow. First the faint echoes of an unheard joke, then the ever closer laughter of three different stallions’ voices. Finally the door swings slightly in a breeze as the force of the leather bound guards came through. Between them is a dirt covered earth pony, looking like he was dealt a piss poor set of cards in life. I noticed that already blue green bruises were showing in patches of missing fur. He had resisted. One of Bright Eyes fellow guards notices me standing there first, and with the slight nudge of a hoof draws his attention. I wonder why at first his eyes widened, but then I realize. I must look a sight. Coat sweaty and full of dust, mane flying every which way. I wouldn’t doubt tear stains ran down my face but I’d deny those. I awkwardly shift my hooves. Then Bright is next to me, drawing me away from the watching eyes of his peers and the desk stallion. He drapes a leg across my neck, hoof brushing gently against my withers. I lose myself now. This has been all too much, all too quickly. The dam I’ve been forcing up lets loose and emotions pour forth. There are no more maybe tear stains now, any that were there are quickly washed away with a flood. Beneath me my brother stiffens. I know this deep down to be because, like most stallions, he has no idea what to do with a bawling mare. I don’t think anypony does. He tries petting my mane, running his hoof through snags and overall straightening it out and when that doesn’t work he pulls me in front of him. A cream colored hoof, dry with dusts of the street, forces my head up, so that my eyes met with his. “Come on, what’s wrong?” I stare through wells of tears at his pale yellow eyes. I feel like I’m swimming in pools of pale gold. I sniffle a little, feeling just a smidge ashamed, it has been years since I last truly cried. “They took Aunt Heart, Brighty.” Author's Note So I am still unsure about the name Bright Eyes,I had originally felt like his name should have the word Mettle in it. If I come up with a better name I might change it yet. I feel like its weird having him having such a similiar name.
