vignettes

a battle-scarred pegasus filly - cold, weary, and weak, un-shoulders her obstinately large lasgun from her battle saddle and sets it down. the floor tilts upward at a precarious angle, as all the contents of the room which aren’t fixed, lay piled towards one side. ruined pre-war books filing cabinets, chairs are nothing but a mess. the door is locked tight from the inside, but nothing she can’t handle if it doesn’t come open when she needs it too

using her mouth, she pulls a small worn combat blade from it’s sheath on her left foreleg, and uses it to slice open the hard, possibly petrified cushions. a copious amount of stuffing spills, out which she carefully, quietly arranges a small bedding spot for herself. the filly lets her heavy saddle bags drop to the tilted floor with a soft thud.

this building is buried betwixt two canyons, and is the only route she could manage to find since she could not bear the blistering hot winds and ash of the surface. she is making her way across the Divide, towards the west.. towards… she did not know. but something was compelling her to go.

stifling a yawn, the filly unpacked one of the last cans of potted meat she had. it was… the texture was awful, compared to some of the 20 decade old junk food she has happened across - but since it was (hopefully) synthetic, it was still good.

she eats her small meal in almost absolute silence. there is a haunting stillness here in the divide, punctuated by the creaking sounds of steel and stone. she tried hard not to think about the incalculable tons of rock hovering over her head. the silent digging fiends that lurked in labyrinthine  car tunnels behind her.

slowly, she fell to sleep. sleep well, sleep fast, my little pony, this is no place for you.