Subdivisions

Ezekiel huddled close to his knees, his body buried in ankle-deep snow, and nerves numb with the cold. The march had stripped from him the final gasps of his strength, and for what it seemed, had done them all little to no good. The marchers had arrived at the noble walls of what Ezekiel assumed to be an immense fortress like a viscous stream of syrup, pouring into a puddle along its edge, and grouping into a large mass of depressive immobility. As the walls appeared in the distance, Ezekiel remembered having been astonished at their magnitude in the primary moments of revelation, but was quick to erase the thoughts from his mind. They were little when compared to the impregnable entanglements of impressive starbases that defensively besieged every Federation planet, and even further paled in comparison to the immaculate site of the walls of the fathomless Omak Military compound. He had seen the walls with his very eyes once, and considered these but a pile of brick by comparison.

That had happened what felt an eternity ago, the passage of time made insufferable by the suspense of waiting in stark hope of a gradually altering situation. The groups flooded in from afar at a slow but unfaltering rate, and seemed as though they would never end. Ezekiel became convinced that in the time he had sat and watched the crowds, he had vaguely observed the faces of at least three thousand individuals rise from the mists of the blizzard, and fall into place somewhere with him. It was less than half of all he had expected to be well of enough to march after the crash, and soon believed he would see a gradual shift of the marchers to become a long line of stretchers and vehicles for carrying the wounded. After all, it had been many hours since he had last left the ship; surely by now the rescue teams must have arrived to save the lives of the ones too hurt to walk, and give respectful burial to the dead, even if it was on unclean soil.

Ezekiel was once again reminded of an old pain, and clutched his stomach regretfully. With a white-elephant tone of sarcasm in his own thoughts, he began to wonder if the feeling of being starved was becoming a theme. The pain of the hunger had spread to his legs, and now contracted the muscles to drive them even closer into himself. Ezekiel bore himself through the agony of the moment, and waited for the hunger pang to pass. The further migration of the pain had inhibited his ability to breath momentarily, and had driven him to wrap his arms about his own legs. He began to bitterly resent their captors to an even larger degree with the onset of the revelation that he was, without a doubt, not the only one to feel the pain of hunger at this point in time. If he, one man among countless were so easily able to come to that conclusion, it must have been a given that the leaders of those pony creatures would know of their collective suffering. Why wouldn't they let them into the fort? At least allow them some reprise from the cold! He shuddered again; not from the cold, but at the very thought of just how many of living things of his same species now lie dead in a tomb of ice among the blob of condemnation. It would not serve them right to die at the hands of captivity, being so made of purpose that they would make a living of self sacrifice to protect the lands that they loved. Insulting. It was insulting just how openly they treated he and his fellow men as cattle! Ezekiel made a silent vow to himself that without exception, he would make good to kill the next pony he saw, in any way that he could manage. It was only justice.

A young mare struggled through the mounds of snow that packed itself tightly between the wreaking huddled bodies of the aliens that surrounded her. The snow had an odd color to it, one that she hadn't seen snow take before. In places, there looked to be a thin coating of pink dye that had been dropped into the snow, and let to soak in. It was the least she could say to lie to herself, and give indefinite conviction that what she saw in the snow was pink dye, and not in fact what she knew it in her heart to be. Each and every one of these aliens, no matter how much they smelled of things she dare not speak of in context, and no matter how ugly they did look as a general idea, they were all hurt, and without a thought in her mind, starved beyond anything she thought to even be right. It was why upon her saddle pack, she carried with her a basket of bread as she shuffled through the snow, and with gracious affection, handed out entire loaves of the stuff to those she felt looked to be in the worst shape. She had only been among them for minutes, and already by now her supplies were running low.

Lost in the sea of flat and consolidated faces, The young mare found herself intrigued by each individual. As alien as they were, they seemed to look so personable, their faces reminding her in a vague way of ponies she knew. She knew the expressions on their faces by heart, which exploded out her chest with panic at the understanding of those expressions.  Countless looks of confusion and loss beckoned to her, and she answered each, as with all her might she concentrated on the motion of retrieving one of the bread loaves from her saddle pack, and providing it for one of the clearly starving creatures. Magic was relatively new to her, and she could already tell that she was not meant for it. Other looks were less clear than others, displaying a sense of self-loss, and almost looking to be unconscious. They didn't seem to see her, but in fact see through her, into a place even beyond the night stars. It was, after all, where they had come from, wasn't it? These were aliens, and aliens had to come from somewhere. Maybe the looks in the eyes of the ones she couldn't understand were looks reserved for creatures who had seen their own homes from beyond the sky. Maybe it was that they were seeing their homes?

The mare refused to let the question further provoke her, she carried on with observing the looks of the aliens, when her eyes came to fall upon a rather small alien looking directly at her. She at once recognized there to be something particularly wrong with this creature, and decided it to be in much worse condition than others she had seen. This one was smaller, almost her size, and shook like a leaf in winter. Because of its small size, she began to wonder if this was only a child. How terrible of her would it be to pass this one by? As she neared the seriously emaciated alien, she began to realize that it in fact was not a child, but instead a fully grown creature, just smaller than all the others. It shared obvious signs of age with many older ponies she knew, and almost looked to her to be middle aged. The appearance of being a child only came about when she noted the malnourished face and upper legs, which were so absent of strength that they looked to be like a child's.

As well different about this one was the way in which it looked at her. Despite its deformed and damaged appearance, it's face gave a look of being fully alive, and expressed nothing but what appeared to be ill-intent and anger. A sudden feeling of sorrow for the creature replaced her existing thoughts, as even before reaching it, she focused hard on the action of getting it some bread. As she neared, she noticed the expression on the alien's face darken further, and with a slow and weak motion, it reached out one of the disturbing overgrowths that grew on the ends of its upper legs toward her, seeming to strain itself with the action. The expression seemed uncharacteristic of the motion, but none the less quick to oblige the obvious hunger it looked so stricken with, she placed the loaf of bread in the grip of the creature, which clenched hard at the food, and slowly brought it back close to its face.

For a while it stared at her as she passed, and continued to keep its focused trained on her for as long as she could pick it out in the crowd. Every time she turned her head, it was glowering at her with the same stark bitterness that it had since her first meeting it. Maybe that was just the look of its face? She felt that even though she had never spoke to it, she knew it better than any of the others she had come across. Such a sad thing too; she had heard that they spoke Equestrian rather fluently. Maybe the guard was just trying to make a joke to lighten the mood.

Rage enamored Ezekiel's heart as his eyes remained focused without distraction on the slowly fading figure of his target, and his conscience without mercy. In his hand he clenched the symbol of his captivity, and to his disgrace had already tasted of the bread. He had let the damned thing slip by him this time, but with more than merely subtle assurance, he knew he would not do it again. He only wondered how it had managed to go by him so fast before he could reach to grab hold of it to seek his revenge.

End Part I