The Shaded View

Chapters

Chapter 1: My Name is Featherdrop and I am an Orphan
Chapter 2: My Name is Mantodea, and I am a Changeling
Chapter 3: Featherdrop and the Hermit
Chapter 4: Rough Draft and Final Submission

Chapter 1: My Name is Featherdrop and I am an Orphan

Do I even want to get adopted anymore?

I was pondering this question when the time came to go down for dinner. As usual, I didn't really feel like eating, but I had learned from experience that if you didn't, the cafeteria ladies put it in a blender and forced you to eat it. Not a pleasant experience.
I got up from my bed; every time I did that it surprised that me there wasn't a dent where my body had lain. It just goes to show how mercilessly dense they were. I then trotted past the long rows of other equally uncomfortable beds to the door at the end of the room.

After that there was a short staircase that led to the cafeteria portion of the orphanage. Like everything else it was much too small, even though it was a relatively large room. The "kitchen" was plainly visible, as they had simply built it into one end of the cafeteria. At least it was visible when the room wasn't packed to the brim with hungry orphans.
When I'd gone downstairs and managed to find an isolated place to eat my food, I went back to pondering my question. I’d been in the orphanage a very long time… not only was I past the age that most people actually wanted to adopt a child in, but I think I was getting past the age where I even cared about getting adopted. It was no longer my dream or purpose in life; having a childhood seemed like more of a commodity now than anything.

"Feather-"

"Do NOT call me that!" I snapped and turned with a snarl to the pony who'd said my name. The orange pony took no heed of the hostility, staring at the boring grey slop in the bowl beneath my hooves as she continued.

"Sorry, Featherdrop.”

I hadn’t let anypony call me Feather in over a year—and I wasn’t about to let that change. I was still a little miffed at the slip up, but decided to let it slide for the time being. “Anyhoof… what do you want?”

“You’re not eating anything..."

My eyes narrowed on the filly, and I let my eye twitch slightly to show I wasn’t in a good mood. She ignored it though and continued. "Are you going to eat that..?"

I worked my jaw a bit as I said, slowly and deliberately "Yeah, no." Then I followed it up by dipping my spoon in the bowl and taking a bite.

The filly took the sarcasm unperturbed and turned to a shy-looking colt on her right with glasses and asked him the same question.

I snorted and turned back to glare at the wall on my left with my ears lowered, then continued to eat my food, taking slow and deliberate bites while trying to ignore the taste (or lack thereof). The food, as always, was thick yet somehow runny, and it was perfectly made to stimulate the gag reflex on as many levels as possible. If I had to name an ingredient it would be salt. Way too much salt.

With the annoying filly out of my fur I could finally take a moment or two to think to myself. I wasn’t really in any mood to keep thinking about the same old question, but I did nonetheless. Part of me blamed the other orphans, unfair as that may be. I’ve watched so many others come and go, while I’ve stayed and waited for my chance to be the one smiling, walking out the door.

"What makes me so different from them?"

I caught that thought midway and did my best to stop it. Then I shook my head violently and slammed it against the table for good measure. I was not going to let myself get caught up in that kind of thought again. ‘Cause last time you got caught in that kind of thinking…

Again with the head slamming. not going to think about that. "Hate." I answered myself definitively. "I hate them. That’s what makes me different-"

Before my thoughts could go any further I felt a hoof on either side of me grab my shoulders and pull me back. I was about to scream and go into attack mode before I realized that the two restraining me were full-grown stallions wearing uniforms. Then it quickly dawned upon me what was happening. I looked back and said with an aesthetically neutral face and tone "I was doing the head slamming again wasn't I...?"

The one I was looking at nodded his head. I gave an exaggerated sigh and stood up, my eyebrows furrowed as the two then led me across the cafeteria.

From there they took me to a small room with a light brown earth-pony mare I was all-too-familiar with at this point. I wish I could slam her head into a table.

"Hello, Ms. Coltone." I addressed her flatly as she looked up at me through those thick, ugly glasses she never seemed to part with. She had been reading a book titled "Thirty Shades of Mane," which she gently lowered to the desk she sat on the opposite side of. The sharp light divided by the blinds covering the small window in the room did nothing to help her complexion.

She put on a horrible smile as she replied evenly "Featherdrop." She gave a gesture to the two kind stallions that’d dragged me to this monster, and they both left the room. "Well then..." she shifted her gaze slightly as she continued, "head slamming again?"
"How’d you know?" I said with my trademark sarcastic tone.

"Bruise on your head." she remarked, and pulled her book back in front of her. "And I could hear the banging."

I acknowledged with a grunt and took it upon myself to sit on a chair readily available in the corner of the room. "Don’t suppose you have something new to say this time?"

"Actually, no." she looked at me past her book as she spoke. "Not unless you have something new to say?"

"I hate you."

Coltone donned a half-hearted smile and looked back at her book again. "That’s not new."

After a moment's silence, Coltone placed the book back onto the desk and looked straight at me. "However..." she began after clearing her throat, "you need to stop doing these things. The last thing we want is you hurting yourself-"

"I'm not trying to hurt myself!" I yelled and stood on all fours, cutting her off with a piercing glare of all my pent-up hatred, focused solely on her. She stared back at me calmly and stated "I know."

It took a few more moments of my glaring before I recomposed myself and sat back down. Freaking out really wouldn't help my argument here...

"Now" she began, "how do I know you aren't going to do this again?"

I shot her another vicious glare for that one. What a stupid question. "You tell me."

Coltone shifted and sighed, adjusting her glasses. "Well we have to do something, don't we?"

"Would it help if I slammed other ponies' heads into tables?"

Coltone donned another hideous smile and shook her head. "No Feather, that wouldn't help at all."

"Well then I reckon I'm out of ideas."

We both held a stare for a few more seconds. Sweet Celestia I hated that mare...
At last she broke the eye contact and went back to reading her book. "You may go back to your food now."

I got up from my seat and trotted through the door, tossing a curt "thank you, Ma’am." over my shoulder. I walked past the two stallions who'd dragged me over and shot a glare their way before navigating the sea of orphans back to my seat. I found the bowl I'd left behind somewhere between the hooves and mouth of a certain annoying orange pony. She smiled sheepishly as she spotted me and put the bowl down with the guiltiest look possible. "Um... heheh... hi there Featherdrop."

I ignored the greeting, sitting down in my spot as I dragged my near-empty bowl back over. Of course, now I felt hungry. I groaned and put a hoof to my face. If I remembered right, this annoying little pegasus was the newest orphan to be brought in. I think her name was Scoot-a-something-or-other; I never really asked ‘because I didn't really care.
But for some reason, she HAD to take a liking to me. Being the oldest orphan most ponies chose to keep their distance. but of course, little Scoot-annoying decides to learn my name, sit next to me at breakfast, lunch and dinner, and even ask the nice, quiet pony in the bed next to mine if she could have that one.

"S-sorry..." she started. “I didn't think you'd be coming back so soon."

How was THAT an excuse? "Forget it." I responded flatly.

"You can have mine tomorrow if you want..."

Ugh, why couldn't she just drop it? "I don't need anything. Just forget it." I took a bite of my remaining food at that point, hoping to end the conversation there.

The orange filly watched me chew my food for a few seconds. When I was about to swallow, she suddenly broke out into a smile and practically shouted "Thanks Featherdrop!” I felt her lean an elbow on my shoulder as she examined her other hoof. "Everyone says you're a mean pony, but you seem pretty nice to me..." I almost spat out my food when she said that. Where the hell did she get that from!? I rushed to swallow what was left in my mouth as fast as possible; downing it all with water, but the Pegasus just kept talking. "You know, it's pretty awesome being friends with a cool pony like you."

And that's all it took. as soon as she hit the word 'cool,' what little food hadn't come out the first time evacuated my mouth in a wet, greasy mess as I had my second spit-take. This pony was just digging herself a deeper rut with every word.

On the bright side, she also managed to ruin my appetite. Everyone at the table stared wide-eyed as the mist of food that'd left my mouth found a new home on the face of a very surprised unicorn colt sitting across from me.

Awkward silence proceeded. It lasted an agonizing few seconds, and would have lasted longer if Scoota-sumthin' hadn't snapped her gaping jaw shut then opened it again in a disjointed, slowly-spoken sentence. "That... was... awesome!"

The rest of the orphans gave a cheer in unison (well, except for me and that unlucky unicorn, who looked like he wanted to dig a hole and live in it for the rest of his life), while I stood up, took the bowl in my mouth, and trotted away as fast as possible without attracting any more attention. I deposited my bowl on the growing stack of used dishes and made a beeline from there to the only place it seemed I could get any privacy:

The fillies' bathroom.

The moment the door clicked behind me it was locked, and I was sitting in a restroom with my face in my hooves and a persistent blush on my face. If I was lucky everyone was too busy staring at the victim to get a good look at the perpetrator... oh, buck that! If I was lucky I'd have 5 minutes before Scoota-something told everyone I did it. So much for being cool...

~ ~ ~

I spent as much time as I could in that cramped little space until I'd been asked by 3 different fillies if I could hurry up and get out already.

I didn't give anyone any time to say anything to me as I walked past them--the ground was my only friend, and I was intent on beating it in a staring contest.

One flight of stairs later I was back in the bed room, sitting on the corner bed I'd claimed as my own almost 2 years ago.

A few other fillies had decided to go to bed early and paid no heed to me when I strode past them.

Part of what I liked about my bed was the small window residing on the wall next to it. It was a place where I could just shut out the world around me and get a glimpse of what normal life was like.

I knew the ponies pretty well, though I never said a word to any of them. Out there, I could immediately recognize everyone I saw. There was never a lot to see... but the faces out there were actually more familiar than the ones in the orphanage. Every few days I'd get to see mail-mare come and drop something off. And if I pressed my face very close to the glass, I could sometimes just barely see the sign on our building that read

Caresoar
Ponyville Public
Orphanage

"What'chya lookin' at Feather?" The sudden voice made me jump, and I swear my head almost hit the ceiling. I slowly turned to look over my shoulder, only to see that same monstrous orange pegasus on the bed behind me. And she was smiling. Ugh...
I leaned my head on my hoof and looked away self-consciously as I replied "Nothing... or everything... I don't know..."

I expected the filly to want me to explain, but to my surprise she simply gave a semi-enthusiastic "alrighty," and plopped down on her bed. When I was sure she would leave it at that, I went back to what I was doing.

I sighed and gazed out onto the far from bustling town below. I don't know how this silent outside world held so much interest to me, it just did... since I didn't really know anypony out there, I'd gotten into a habit of giving everypony a nickname. Right then I could see Pepsi and Bonnie, just sitting around and talking with each other...

Pepsi was a turquoise-pelted mare with a turquoise and white mane. She got her nickname ‘cause the first time I saw her she was just drinking the buck out of some soda... not hard to connect the dots.

Bonnie was just a close friend of Pepsi's. No real story to her nickname...

Nopony else was around. Even Pepsi and Bonnie looked about ready to head home. Dissatisfied with the events of the outside world I fell back onto my bed, content simply to stare at the ceiling.

My mind was somewhere between thinking and not thinking, and I'm not sure how long I stayed like that. It was maybe an hour or two before the feel of something soft brushing against my leg snapped me back. I let out a low groan as I slowly sat up in my bed.

"S-sorry!" I heard a whisper come from my right. Lo and behold, little Scoot-annoying let her tail drift onto my bed. Hard to blame her considering how close together the beds were, but it annoyed me nonetheless. She pulled her tail back between her legs and hugged it against her chest, but she kept looking at me.

Eventually I lay myself back down. Scoot-annoying smiled sheepishly and whispered "eheh... small beds, huh?"

My ear flicked and I laughed humorlessly. "Yeah... small as Tartarus."

She nodded her head and looked back up at the ceiling. "Yeah... at least they're soft."
I blinked at that. "... Soft? These things are hard as a rock."

I looked at the filly, and she looked back at me. "Well... I think like this a lot better than sleeping on a rock."

I had no idea how to respond to that. She was probably just making a point... but could she have meant she'd actually slept on a rock before? I wasn't sure whether to get defensive or actually feel sorry for her...

And that stupid smile on her face wasn't giving me any answers.

A few seconds later a slight bit of red entered my face as I realized we’d been staring at each other for quite some time, and I immediately snapped my head back to stare at the ceiling.

“Hey Feather…” The filly said after a few more moments of silence. I flicked my ear in acknowledgement. “Um…” she continued hesitantly, “you… don’t have your cutie mark yet, huh?” I turned my whole body to face her directly. I let my mind chew a bit on what she said before I answered.

“No, I don’t.”

She nodded her head slowly, looking a little bit relieved at the short answer. “Alright… well…”

She took another nervous gulp, examining her hooves rather shyly, and then said rather quickly “Do you wanna join the Cutie Mark Crusaders??”

My mind pulled a blank. “The Cutie-what-now?”

“Cutie Mark Crusaders…” She repeated a bit more slowly. “Me and two of my friends wanted to get our cutie marks, so we started our own little group… wanna join?”

I took a few seconds to let that run through my mind. On the one hand, I really had no interest in finding my cutie mark. It just wasn’t all that big a deal to me.

On the other hand, sitting around the orphanage and not being allowed to leave got pretty boring. Maybe if I just played along with an orphan who was allowed to leave…
“Alright” I said, extending a hoof in her general direction, “I’ll join your… cutie crusade. Or whatever…”

I think she took my hoof, ‘cause I felt it shaking violently. “Hooray!” she yelped in excitement, ignoring the other sleeping orphans. A moment later she was at least whispering again. “Wow, this is great! There’s only 3 of us and we were thinking of finding more members and I was kinda nervous ‘cause I never really asked anyone before, and I was afraid you’d think it was stupid ‘cause you’re so cool and all, but it’s not really stupid and I’m pretty sure you’ll like it so I thought I’d ask you and I did and you said yes!!”

If she could’ve squeed any louder (which she probably would if she could), she’d have woken up the other half of the sleeping fillies…

I didn’t really share her excitement, but I let her ramble on nonetheless. If all her other friends were like this…

Sweet Celestia, what have I gotten myself into?

~ ~ ~

There were plenty of places I could have expected to find myself that morning. Of all those, the only place I probably wanted to be was in the bed room, alone, by the window. I certainly did not want to be sitting in Ms. Coltone’s office, standing next to Scoot-annoying, immediately after another disgusting breakfast.

“You… want to leave the orphanage?” the monster spoke in confusion.

I nodded slowly. “Yes Ma’am.” I stopped and gestured towards Scoot-annoying with my hoof. “Well, she wants me to.” Scoot-annoying beamed at Coltone with that innocent little smile she was so damn good at. Judging by the look on Ms. Coltone's face, it had the intended effect.

Rather than trying to answer to that smile, she turned her gaze back to me and carefully said “You… haven’t left the orphanage in a long time.”

“I am aware of that,” I replied flatly.

Coltone nodded in understanding. “Yes, well… it’s just, what happened before-“

“That was more than a year ago.” Yes, a year. I hadn’t left the orphanage in over a year. “You don’t really plan to keep me locked up in here ‘till I die?”

Coltone quickly shook her head in denial. “No, no, not at all. It’s simply..." The mare paused for a moment to think of an appropriate word before settling on "Concerning, to let you leave here without someone to look after you.”

“I’ll look after her!” Scoot-annoying perked up enthusiastically.

Ms. Coltone smiled down on the filly as she replied “No darling, what I meant was an adult to look after her.”

Darling.

Ms. Coltone called everyone “darling.” Hello darling, well darling, how are you darling… darling darling darling. I’d almost forgotten that little fact though, as she’d learned some time ago that I did not like pet names. Scoot-annoying didn’t seem to mind it at all though, simply nodding in silence.

And said silence continued, just long enough to become uncomfortable, as Ms. Coltone mauled over the concept in her mind. I was almost grateful when Scoot-annoying leaned over and whispered to me “Why’s she gotta think so much about it?”

I shrugged my shoulders at the question and passively mumbled “Dunno…”

That was a bit of a lie. I had a pretty good idea why it was such a hard decision. Even despite what had happened last time I got out, there was no ignoring the fact I hadn’t left the orphanage in over a year. I’d never even asked.

Yet here I was, asking now. I hardly understood it myself. It was just last night that I’d joined Scoot-annoying’s cutie mark groupie gang or whatever. I guess today they were having some sort of group get-together (I had a vague memory of Scoot-annoying calling it a crusade or something), and I “had to had to had to” be there.

My thoughts were interrupted by the garish voice of the devil as she finally spoke. I didn’t catch what exactly Ms. Coltone had said, but based on the way scoot-annoying was bouncing around ecstatically, I took a wild guess it was something to do with the word “yes.”

I was a bit surprised at that. I wasn’t expecting her to flat out refuse, but I didn’t think she’d agree so easily. Of course, it wasn’t without its conditions.

Ms. Coltone raised a hoof to silence Scoot-annoying’s excited jabbering. “But,” she continued, “You must be back in the orphanage before sundown-”

“Got it!” Scoot-annoying interjected.

Ms. Coltone seemed to hold back an amused chuckle and managed to stick to the condescending parental tone. “… And, for the love of Celestia, stay in Ponyville.”
Alright. Simple enough.

“What about Sweet Apple Acres?” Scoot-annoying questioned. “That’s where Apple Bloom lives.”

Ms. Coltone once again broke out into a hideous grin and replied “Well, it’s not really in town, but you can go there to get your friend."

~ ~ ~

“… So your name’s Featherdrop, right?”

“Yep.”

“And you’re a Cutie Mark Crusader now?”

“I guess so.”

The young filly gave a quick bounce of glee at the confirmation.
“And… your name’s Apple Bloom, right?”

The filly nodded her head energetically. “Yeppers!”

I nodded slowly, making sure to remember it. “So… you’re from down south, right?”

Apple Bloom shook her head. “Nope! Born ‘n raised right here in Ponyville.”

I cocked an eyebrow at that. “Then…what’s with the accent?” Apple Bloom had a noticeable southern accent, which dominated her speech and basically screamed “ahm a country girl!”, so it was rather surprising to hear she wasn’t a country girl. Of course, Ponyville was more “country” than most places so close to Canterlot, and we were mostly an earth-pony based community, but we were still townsfolk for the most part.

“Apple Jack says it’s hereditary!” Apple Bloom answered innocently.

Hereditary. She had a hereditary accent.

I tried not to think of how little sense that made and just followed the filly as she led us back into town. Scoot-annoying was still with me, she and her friend flanking either side of me, a dirt path beneath our hooves that was just barely wide enough for all three of us to stand side by side.

“Alright, so where are we off to now?” I asked after I’d felt that the silence had gone on for a bit too long.

Scoot-annoying took it upon herself to answer this time. “We’re going to Sugarcube Corner.”

Apple Bloom turned to look at Scoot-annoying, a look on her face that said she clearly disagreed. “Nuh-uh, we were gunna go to th’ library to find some books on cutie marks!”
“Books?!” Scoot-annoying repeated, sounding almost exasperated. “I don’t want to get a dusty-old-book-cutie-mark!”

“The books might tell us how to get a cutie mark though!” Apple Bloom argued. “C’mon Scootaloo, we already talked ‘bout this. Or are you such a chicken you’re even scared of books?”

“I told you not to call me a chicken!” Scoot-annoying yelped indignantly.

I felt like I should have picked something up from what Apple Bloom said, but whatever it was sailed right over my head…

I let the two of them hash out the details without me, zoning them out and just enjoying the breeze against my mane. I’d actually forgotten until then just how muggy the air was inside the orphanage.

Despite my blatant annoyance, I was grateful to Scoot-annoying. It wasn’t quite the same as being able to get out and take a walk on my own, but it felt better than staring out at a world I knew would never be mine. I’d much rather be alone, but still; I’d have to thank her later.

“What about the other one..?”

Both Apple Bloom and Scoot-annoying had to stop in their tracks and stare at me for a few seconds before I realized I was the one who’d asked the question. My face immediately flushed as I stammered to explain myself. “I-I mean… you said you had two friends, right? Well, um… where’s the other one?”

I must have struck a chord, because the both of them perked up like meerkats in a spotlight.

“Sweetie Bell!” both of them exclaimed at once.

“Oh gosh,” continued Apple Bloom, “We forgot ‘bout her again.” I felt a pair of hooves wrap tightly around me, the sudden weight of another filly making me stagger. “Thank you Featherdrop!” Apple Bloom exclaimed, oblivious as I struggled to escape her embrace. “Ah’d feel awful if we’d gone ‘n left her out again!”

Eventually I gave up on escaping, patted her back and said an awkward “Err… you’re welcome.”

At last Apple Bloom let go and, after Apple Bloom reminded her which way it was to Ponyville, Scoot-annoying led us on the quickest route to Ponyville’s local boutique.
Why did I say anything..? I wondered. Do I really need another one of those things bouncing around me? I didn’t have much of a choice now though.

Before long we were standing in front of the boutique while Scoot-annoying and Apple Bloom quarreled over who got to knock. They were interrupted though when the door opened, and out came an utterly beautiful white-furred mare. I almost choked on my own tongue as I recognized her.

I'd seen this pony countless times through the window of the orphanage; trotting by, giving curt nods of acknowledgement to all the "lesser" ponies of the world. She always seemed to have a passionate air about her that just screamed of glamor and self-respect. Surprisingly enough, I found that pretty damn awesome.

Of course, all positive perceptions I'd managed to gather towards the mare were immediately broken the moment she spoke.

"Darlings! Come in, come in!" she said in an overly friendly tone as a smile entered her face to wipe away the look of 'what do you want, I'm busy right now.'

Scoot-annoying and Apple Bloom hurriedly rushed inside, though I was a little more hesitant.

The white mare looked at me and smiled. "You too, darling."

Sweet. Celestia.

"Oh, you're new right?" she continued, thankfully dropping the awful pet name. "My apologies, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Rarity." she gestured to herself in an over-dramatic fashion to indicate she was rather proud of who she was. "And you are?" she asked.

"Featherdrop." I replied bluntly.

"Well Feather--may I call you Feather? Let’s get you inside darling."

She ushered me in and closed the door behind me before I even had time to answer her question.

All positive perceptions. Crushed. In an instant. I hated that nickname with a burning passion. And I was about to say as much when Miss Rarity cut me off again.

"Can I get you something to drink? Oh I'm sure I have some lemonade left in the fridge--do you like lemonade? Here, let me go get you some lemonade."

She rushed off to what was presumably the kitchen, again leaving me no opportunity to tell her I'd never really tried lemonade. Or that she shouldn’t call me Feather.

I pushed that to the back of my mind and began to trot across the room, to a nearby door which the voices could be heard from. I was in a wide open room, carefully organized with most objects pushed off to the side, leaving a wide-open space near the center.

As I approached the door across the room from me the conversation became clearer, though I didn't care to listen to whatever they were saying. I poked my head through the doorway, which put my face squarely in the chest of somepony who'd been coming the other way.

I backed up with my face flushed, stammering slightly in hopes my tongue would land on the right words to form an apology. I didn't get a chance though, as the other filly beat me to it.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" she yelped. "I heard you walking over and I wanted to say hello to our newest crusader, and..."

I stopped stammering and refocused my thoughts, less worried now about apologizing and more so with getting a better look at the filly I'd just bumped into. I noticed our faces were still a bit too close for comfort, so I backed up a bit to offer some breathing room. She was a white-coated unicorn, much like the older mare in the house. She was still, however, a distinctly different pony; her mane curled up in bright swirling colors that lacked any form of grace. Plastered on her face was a childish but adorable look of guilty concern.

What progress I'd made backing up to a comfortable distance was erased as the white filly-corn stepped forward to inspect me and ask if I was alright. Before I could answer yes she took matters into her own hooves, grabbing my face and tilting it up to inspect it before saying "Oh my, your nose is bleeding!"

Oh. Well, now that she mentioned it I could feel it trickling down my face.
Horseapples.

I tried not to look down, but my eyes wandered regardless, and I watched as a drop of the viscous red liquid fell from my chin and began to stain the elegant carpet between my hooves.

My legs began to tremble at the sight, so I closed my eyes as tightly as I could. By now the other two fillies had come to my side, evident by the simultaneous gasps of concern they threw my way. I tried to keep my voice from trembling as I assured them "it's not... a big deal..."

"Sweet Celestia she's going to pass out!"

Ok, what? It was just a feathering nosebleed for Celestia's sake; even if I was a little bit scared of the blood part.

Since I still had my eyes squeezed shut I couldn't see the white filly-corn anymore, but I couldn't help but notice she had a very beautiful voice. It had a soothing elegance that seemed to make up for her less elegant appearance. It almost made me feel better about my insides dripping out my nose.

~ ~ ~

I shivered a little as I felt a damp cloth wipe away the last remnants of blood on my face, a tiny drop of the cold water dripping down my face. "Sorry about your carpet, miss Rarity..."

"Oh it's fine darling," the mare holding the cloth ensured me, "I can assure you little Sweetie Bell here has spilt most every color of paint on that very carpet, and I'm sure cleaning out the blood won't be any harder than that. It'll just be a little more... icky."
"Oh come on!" Sweetie Bell protested, "Are you ever going to let that go? I spilled paint on your carpet one time!"

“Yes, and like I said, you’ve spilt most every color of paint on that carpet.”

Sweetie Bell and miss Rarity continued the exchange for a while, but I found myself focusing on other things. Like Scoot-annoying sitting in the corner looking all dejected. I asked miss Rarity if she was done with me, to which she nodded and continued her argument with Sweetie Bell. I trotted my way over to Scoot-annoying and gently sat down next to her.

I was hoping she’d be the one to strike up a conversation, like she usually was. I turned out to be wrong on that front, and tried my best to start the already awkward conversation. “Umm… hey, uh… Scoots.” Realizing I still didn’t know her full name I decided just to use the part I was reasonably sure belonged to her.

“Hey, Feather,” Scoot-annoying replied in a sad tone. I ground my teeth when she said ‘Feather,’ but considering the mood she was in I decided she didn’t need a lecture right now.
“You… you okay in there?” when I poked the side of her head with my hoof I got no reaction but for the orange pega-filly to sigh and lower her head even further.
“Some day this was,” Scoot-annoying whispered after the longest time.

“Um… what?”

The pega-filly finally looked at me, her eyes wide and almost on the verge of tears. “This was your first day out of the orphanage in, like, a year, and I wanted to make it special for you and I wanted to show you how cool the Crusaders were and make it the best day ever so you’d want to hang out again, but all that happened was a lot of walking and then you got hurt and now you’ll probably want to go back to the orphanage and you won’t want to be my friend anymore!”

Okay. I had no idea where all that came from. I swore to myself silently and tried to figure out how to handle this. Given the way Scoot-annoying was looking at me expectantly, I didn’t have much time to do that.

“Um… well, I, uh… I like walking. Really, the walking was… fun. Really.” Scoot-annoying did not look convinced of my excuse. I scratched the back of my head and continued “I mean… like you said, it’s been like a year since I left the orphanage. And I wouldn’t have left at all if it weren’t for you. So, uh… tha-”

Whatever I was going to say was cut off as Scoot-annoying decided to wrap her hooves around me. I wasn’t expecting that at all, and my immediate instinct was to worm my way out of it, but I stopped myself from doing that. It was hard to see with her head pressed so hard against my chest, but it looked like she was almost smiling. And instead of feeling annoyed by it, that smile made me feel like I’d done something right…
“So you really don’t hate me..?” Scoot-annoying mumbled through my fur.

I had to keep myself from rolling my eyes and simply stated “No, I don’t hate you.”
“Awwwwwh!”

I whipped my head to the side and noticed that miss Rarity and Sweetie Bell had at this point finished their conversation and were staring at us; miss Rarity holding a hoof to her mouth to cover up the smile that was still obvious regardless of her efforts. Alongside them was Apple Bloom, whom had probably been watching the whole time.
A blush immediately took over my face; I probably pushed Scoot-annoying at least halfway across the room from me in that moment.

“H-hey,” I said as casually as I could muster, “What’s up?”

“Oh, nothing dear-” Rarity began, but she was swiftly cut off by Sweetie Bell.
“We were watching you make up with Scootaloo, and Rarity said it was adorable.” I watched as Sweetie Bell was promptly smacked in the back of the head by miss Rarity.
I looked about the room frantically for a few seconds before at last my eyes fell upon a clock. “Oh hey, would you look at the time!” I perked up. “I think me and Scoots better be getting back to the…” I trailed off as I actually noticed what time it was.

“Horsefeathers!”

Miss Rarity gasped and pulled Sweetie Bell close to her, covering her ears.

“Featherdrop!” I ignored her glare and trotted over to Scoot-annoying, whom still looked like she was recovering from just how hard I’d pushed her. I grabbed her tail between my teeth and mumbled “thanksh for your thime mish Rarithy!” within seconds I’d dragged Scoot-annoying out the door and was well on my way back to the orphanage.

~ ~ ~

Scootaloo had tried to get back on her feet and keep up with me, but ultimately I was going too fast and she had to make herself content with simply being dragged by the tail. “Where are we going?” I heard her whine.

“Back to the orthanage!” I said through her tail.

“Why are we in such a hurry then?!”

“Becauth the mailmare’th coming!”

“What?!”

I didn’t care to explain and simply trudged on, the orphanage nearing on the horizon. By the time I’d actually gotten there I was exhausted, but I didn’t even care. I dropped Scoot-annoying off at the front door, her rump hitting the floor with a loud ‘smack’ and startling the mare who’d been waiting behind a desk just inside.

I skirted past anything and everything in my way, flew up the stairs with careless haste, and flopped onto my bed, looking out the window expectantly.

I waited like that; just staring out the window, waiting for her to come.

Author's Note

It's finally here! I've been planning out and drafting this story (and especially this chapter) for months; I kid you not, MONTHS. but here it is, the glorious introduction to the glorious tale of star-crossed friends! yes, friends, there will be little to no romance involved in this story, so sorry y'all. but hey, some of you have got to be tired of that by now.

I should also mention that despite the first-person perspective in this story, it will take place from multiple points of view. you'll meet our next vessel of storytelling in the next chapter, but to keep things as unconfusing as possible I've decided to title each chapter after its point of view, so keep your eye out for that, though I'm sure you're all smart enough to tell who's eyes you're looking through.

I may decide to start a blog detailing some of the more interesting details of the writing of this story, so if that happens I'll post a link. also, jobs are available for anyone who wants to be a part of the writing team. more details in the story's description, so go ahead and check that out if you're interested.

Editor's notes:
Finally, Flux has been working on this for a while and it's awesome to see it finally up! Also, first editing/co-authoring/whatever thing I’ve done, so this is made even more awesome by the fact, WOOP! Everyone go congratulate Flux!
~ Professor Stiltstrider

Chapter 2: My Name is Mantodea, and I am a Changeling

“I am a changeling. That is what I am, and this I know for sure. But to be a changeling, I first must find a way to forget I am one; to let the dark magic pour over me, warming my cold, hard exoskeleton and turning it into a soft pelt. Let it grasp my long, sharp fangs; sand them down. They are no longer meant to break bone, but to chew through foliage.

“I must let it engulf my whole self; my mind, my body, my soul. I am a changeling, but to be a changeling I first must become a pony. So no longer am I Mantodea, the changeling. I am Blubbernote, the fat, singing pony.

“I am not just a fat pony. I am the fattest pony that ever lived. The other changelings… I mean, other ponies… hate me. I have no friends. My only talent is that I can sing. I can sing so well, in fact, that that the queen… the princess… herself asked me to sing for her at her birthday party. But she… I… ate all her cake, so she exiled me from the hive… E-equestria… for 1000 years. That… isn't that kind of overkill?”

I felt the dark magic drop from around me like a heavy stone brick, along with whatever progress I’d made. I wasn’t a pony.
And Tamite wasn’t pleased. “Dude… you don’t question the character!” his hoof met his face just before my gaze met the floor.

“I can’t help it…” I tried to defend myself. “I mean, she wouldn't even live another 50 years, let alone 1000!”

“That’s not the point!”

“I know, I know…” I scratched the back of my head in shame. “My mind just wanders…”

When I looked back up, I saw Tamite rubbing his temples in anguish, leaning back in his chair. “You know I’m taking time out of my training to help you learn one of the most basic of changeling skills?”

I nodded my understanding. “Yes, I know...”

Tamite took a moment to relax a bit. “Ah… well… I’m sorry for snapping like that…” He sat up in his seat to look straight at me. “You have to get this down though! How are you ever going to get through your training if you can’t even shape shift?”

“B-but…” I stammered my uncertainty “isn’t it easier to do with a real pony…?”

Tamite shook his head. “They won’t give you a real pony if you can’t do it right.”

I groaned in defeat and sunk down to the floor, bracing my back against the rounded wall.

The room in which we sat, like every other room in changeling culture, was round. This made it pretty hard to pin anything down as a floor or a wall, especially when they were designed to be walked on regardless of gravity. I could have been bracing my back against the roof for all I knew; but I wouldn’t know unless I took my barbed hooves off the ground and noticed which way I fell. I felt Tamite walk over and lay a hoof on my shoulder. “I know it’s hard the first time… especially at your age. I swear, drafting changelings any younger than 130 moon-cycles is crazy talk.”

Less than a moon-cycle ago our Queen, Chrysalis, announced that changelings 110 moon-cycles and elder would now be drafted into the army in preparation for our invasion. I happened to be 146 moon-cycles old at the time, so I ended up being drafted. My friend Tamite was 162 moon-cycles in age, so he was drafted much earlier than I was. That’s why I was asking him for help.

Of course, they didn’t really plan on drafting us into soldiers at such a young age. We were horribly underdeveloped for combat (a changeling’s exoskeleton usually isn’t fully developed until they reach 130 moon-cycles in age), and as such we would be slaughtered when the time came for a fight. Instead, they started training us to be hunters. That way they could get elder hunter-changelings off of the field and train them for combat instead.

Unfortunately for me though, I was… less than suited for the job. I studied and trained as much as I could, but there was no getting around the fact that I just wasn’t skilled in that area. And on top of that I still had to make a living casting mabone. I was hoping to start up my own little business making quality items, but as it was I had to make do with the low wages and monotony of the typical mabone casting most changelings were stuck with until they completed training.

I acknowledged Tamite’s support with a pat of his back. I gave a half-hearted smile and spoke quietly

“Can you imagine something like that? Being exiled?”

Tamite gave an even shallower smile. “Hardly. But what I can imagine is horrible.” He hit my shoulder gently before continuing. “But you ain’t no Blubbernote, bub.”

I smiled a bit more genuinely before changing the topic. "Hey, how about we ditch this and go do some dueling practice?"

Tamite shook his head at me. "Mantodea, what are we ever going to do with you... fine, but we go to an eatery afterwards."

Now it was my turn to shake my head. That request wasn't at all surprising; Tamite probably ate more than ponyfolk on a regular basis. "Alright, deal."

~ ~ ~

Dull thuds and grunts echoed in the dark cavern. Small arenas all around me were filled with changelings, dueling under the eyes of trainers for the upcoming invasion. The dueling grounds were massive--by far the largest part of the hive's training quadrant, which was the second largest quadrant of the entire hive. The large, flat, hollow underground outcropping was once the proving grounds of the Lochra swarm; a changeling swarm driven from their hive centuries ago by the pony princess Celestia. We connected our hive to this and many others through tunnels which now span all of Equestria.

It was the perfect place for us to begin training soldiers for the invasion; during the midnight hours it would be packed with far more changelings than it was now. Even with soldiers and trainers littering the cavern floor there was still plenty of space for two changeling drones to touch up on their combat skill. Tamite stood at my side, the both of us observing a particularly interesting duel.

Two seasoned changeling soldiers stood hoof-to-hoof, locked in intense melee combat. Every movement was sharp, precise, elegant, and deadly. The one discernible by his torn ear had lunged and locked fangs with his opponent, fighting to overpower him and move into a better position. The changeling's opponent was not letting up though; the changeling’s every move to twist his opponent to the ground or flank him easily countered. The one with the torn ear had clearly grown impatient, his jaw no doubt sore from locking fangs for so long, and this drove him to his defeat. He made a simple move to drive his opponent's head to the ground. His opponent took advantage, rolling away and in turn twisting his opponent's neck, forcing the torn-eared changeling to roll with him. From there the opponent was two easy steps from holding his fangs to the torn-eared changeling's throat; steps which he executed perfectly.

The match was now over, and the small crowd that had begun to gather dispersed, though not without occasional acknowledgements of both duelists' skill.

Tamite looked at me; his shoulders slumped as he tore his gaze from his preferred fighter. "Damn it, I was really sure of that guy. Personally I think he should have backed off; given his fangs a rest and used his hooves, or his horn… Well Mants, that's why you never gamble. You always lose."

"No Tamite, YOU always lose." I reminded him. "I honestly couldn't be bothered."

Tamite grinned sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head in shameful self-consciousness. “Hehe... speaking of gambling, I bet you if I challenged you to a round of hoof-to-hoof combat like that I’d beat you to a pulp.”

“Yeah Tamite, you probably would.” I turned away and strode towards the armory before Tamite had a chance to look at me all slack-jawed.

“Oh c’mon dude, that’s the part where you come up with some cliché comeback and challenge me to a match!” Tamite complained as he followed me.

“And then I’d lose. You know I don’t have any training in that kind of thing. Besides, we’d both probably just embarrass ourselves trying.”

A lack of response from Tamite told me he’d probably figured I was right about that.

Tamite and I both entered separate parts of the armory; a proper duel demanded neither of us know our opponent’s weapon of choice until we were both out on the field. The armory itself was a simple box-like structure with several rooms, each filled with the same broad selection of death-tools for any aspiring killer to practice with.

Obviously, none of the aforementioned death-tools were actually deadly. Most were carved from the screaming oak wood native to the Everfree Forest; perhaps to a pony they could still be dangerous, but most changelings could take consecutive blows to their exoskeletons and escape with no injury.

There was a very wide array of weapons to choose from; everything from standard straight-swords and war-hammers to some of the more advanced weapons such as hoof-scythes and wing-blades. Almost every weapon had multiple copies; all except for one.

I ran my eyes along the sea of battered and beaten blades, thinking carefully which one I ought to pick. As I searched my gaze lingered momentarily on the only weapon in the room so rarely used that there was only one copy: an elegant, beautiful Lochrian claymore.

The Lochra hive’s casting and blacksmithing skills were renowned throughout all of changeling society, so such a weapon was not easily replicated. Rarer than the blade itself, though, was a changeling with both the strength and skill to use it. The blade was as long as a full grown changeling drone and quite heavy, though contrary to what one might expect, the blade relies less on strength and more on pure, elegant technique. Wielders of the claymore were like water dancing over pebbles—rushing under, over and through the opposition with mesmerizing beauty matched only by the dancing of the stars and the very eclipse of the sun.

Regardless, one like me could only dream of the ability to wield such a blade.

Resuming my search, I found my eyes drawn to the lighter weapons on my right side.

I then found myself torn from the deep abyss of though at the sound of a sharp crack; one—two—three times. The deafening sound continued to echo after that, but it became inconsequential as I managed to pinpoint its location: the opposite end of the cavern, and more precisely the training grounds for changelings specializing in magic.

I wasted no time at all rushing outside. Cooler air greeted me, rushing over my face as I ran. I quickly located Tamite and cantered over, all the while never tearing my gaze from the opposite end of the cavern.

“It looks like there’s a serious fight going on.”

Nodding in agreement, I sat down next to him.

“We really should check it out,” Tamite reasoned. “In the event someone’s gone on a rampage. Might need us.”

The air in my lungs grew heavy, and I heaved it out in a sigh. Tamite was right, as usual. That didn’t make me any less reluctant to go anywhere near that damn place.

I felt a hoof drape over my shoulder and Tamite pulled me closer, spreading his wing across my back.
“Hey, I haven’t forgotten what it was like for you over there,” Tamite ensured. “And I swear if we run into any of those stuck-up assholes they’ll have a whole lot of me to go through before I’ll let them anywhere near you, ‘kay bro?”

I knew it would only make the moment about a hundred times sappier than it already was, but I leaned into the embrace and closed my eyes, pushing all my reluctance and nerves to the lowest part of my gut in hopes I could focus on the more present matters.

After a while I lifted my head and spoke softly. “Okay...”

Tamite’s hoof and wing left my back, and moments later he buzzed into flight, hovering just over my head and awaiting my pursuit. Wasting time on just one more deep breath, I soon followed his example, buzzing my wings and hovering just behind Tamite.

Every changeling near enough to hear the sound (which was a pretty large-scale radius) had flocked to the magic-wielders’ training facility. The training grounds was very small compared to the rest of the quadrant, due both to the lack of space required to train and the rarity of changelings specializing in the art. As a result, by the time we got there it was packed with changelings. We tried our best to gather information on what might have happened, but it was too crowded and chaotic to figure anything out. Only once the looming crowd of curious changelings thinned a little did we stay behind to sate our own curiosity.

The occasional helpful changeling would tell us something like they heard a spell they were testing had gone wrong, but they managed to contain it.

That partially confirmed our fears. Sometimes if a changeling is trying to create a spell and something goes horribly wrong, dark magic could grasp their minds and force them into a rampage. Tampering with magic is always a bit of a gamble in that fashion.

There was once a changeling whom had found a way to recreate the process and force any changeling into an artificial rampage. That was many, many years before the extermination, when changeling society was still in premature development and rebellions weren’t uncommon. Ironically enough the extermination had united our kind, under the one thing we now had in common: a searing hatred of all pony-kind. It was a short-lived unity, as one by one each of our hives were crushed until ours was the only one to remain.

It just so happens that our hive was the one that had originally developed this artificial rampage, which many now dubbed the “hive mind.” In fact, we were most famous for it back in the day—to the point of which our swarm had developed the name of “hive.” It’s said that the knowledge of this spell was passed down only between queens, and even to this day the queen could very well bend the whole hive to her will using it, though no record exists of such an event ever happening.

Natural rampages however were much more dangerous and destructive, and it stood to reason that it wasn’t at all likely that’s what had happened here.

I don’t know when I and Tamite got separated, but it became evident to me that we had when no reply came to my inquiries regarding whether we ought to leave. I looked all about me, but all there was to be seen was the gradually thinning but still crowded gathering of changelings.

I cried out for him, but the voice that met the cry was not his.

“Well, there’s our little test dummy!” No matter how many years I went without hearing that voice, there was no way I could ever forget it.

I didn’t turn to look. I knew who it was, so turning was pointless. All I could do was stare dead ahead, frozen stiff, wishing Tamite would swoop in right then and drag me away.

I felt a weight on my shoulder and light breath on my ear, which twitched at the sensation.

“We all been lookin’ for you.”

The weight lifted, and a black form stalked into my vision, followed by another on the opposite side. Finally, the ringleader and previous speaker of the group circled around and stood just in front of me.

“Hello, Mantodea,” Thoris spoke once more, his condescending voice scraping through my ears and into my head, which gave no consent but was helpless to stop the more powerful force. “We’ve missed you an awful lot. It just ain’t been the same since you left. I’m sure you missed us too, didn’t you?”

I gave no response.

The other two now began to throw in their two bits, giving mock expressions of emotional pain.

“Aw, don’t be like that!”

“Just ‘cause you’re a failure doesn’t mean you’ve got to take it out on us.”

“Garin, we haven’t seen him in, like, twenty moons. Be nice.”

Thoris stepped closer to me, analyzing my face with his deep blue eyes and lifting a hoof to his chin, pretending to think.

“Ohh, I know. It was that experiment we did, that one that made him mute! He’s makin’ a joke about it, ain’t he? Oh, that’s so cute!” The group burst into violent guffaws at the distant memory.

Once upon a time, before I knew Tamite and the impending invasion was hardly a rumor on the horse’s lips, I was actually a trainee under the magic wielders’ wing. For changelings like me who had difficulty shape shifting, often the only hope was to run them through rigorous magic training in the advanced league, where the constant exposure to dark magic could eventually unlock the talent in their minds. Most managed the feat after a moon-cycle or two in training. I was there for much longer: nine moons and a few days.

I don’t know how, but eventually I got caught in with these three assholes: Garin, Jok, and their inherent leader, Thoris. Being young and ignorant at the time, I actually believed them when they said that “testing” their various spells on me might speed the learning process along. Sometimes the effects were harmless pranks, like the aforementioned temporary “muting” spell. Sometimes they were… well, more serious. I spent nine moons in that horrid place, until one day I met a changeling from the physical training division. His name was Tamite.

It wasn’t the best way to meet a life-long friend, but the gang and I were going through another “experiment.” By that point I had learned to dread these experiments, but I didn’t have the will to walk away from it all. This time though, they were testing out an unsuppressed combat spell.

Magic suppression is the defensive action of softening the blow of a combat spell by countering it with magic. All magic duels were held under a strong suppression field, making sure no changeling ever got killed in training. Dueling with unsuppressed magic was illegal; probably why the gang was so curious to find out what would happen to me.

Luckily enough for me, Tamite was there. He never explained to me just why he was there in the first place, but I don’t complain about that. He stopped the gang before any serious damage could be done, and dragged me away from them.

From then on out Tamite went to work helping me set my priorities straight. I learned for the first time that I could support the hive without magic; the invasion had just then begun proper preparation, and he told me that if I trained with him then by the time I was old enough to join the army I’d be ready. With his help I managed to tear myself from the magic training wing, and I learned that I not only had a knack for dueling, but a passion for it. Tamite tells me that if the provings still existed, I’d rock at them in my age division.

I wish I could say I never had to think about it again—I really do. But the truth is that I still thought about it, almost on a daily basis. I never realized just how miserable I was until I left. Having to start training as a hunter again didn’t help much either, though, Tamite promised me I’d never have to go back here.

And yet, here I was, standing back in front of those monsters, reliving every miserable moment of those nine moons in only a few seconds. It took every bit of the will I had left not to break down right then and there.

The overwhelming tide of cruel laughter eventually subsided, and Thoris stepped forward to speak once more.

“Oh, it just ain’t been the same at all without you around, little dummy,” he repeated. “What do you think about us, maybe, havin’ another go? For old times’ sake?”

Almost before he finished speaking I retaliated unwillingly with a single syllable that had been burned into my mind at that point.

“No?” Thoris echoed, trying to act surprised but still making it very clear he was not. “Well, looks like that popper managed to build up a spine in you. Is that asshole still around?”

I grated my teeth at that. “Popper” was a derogatory term used by magic wielders to insult changelings who learn physical combat over magic. It’s not commonly used, as the magic wielders are generally a minority, but it was popularized by the Keilth swarm before the extermination and is still used as a dirty sort of between-the-legs insult on rare occasion. Not to mention he also called Tamite an asshole.

I stepped forward and thrust my snarling muzzle right up close to Thoris’, which managed to draw a genuine look of surprise from the drone.

“If you’re going to insult someone, insult the one who’s here to defend himself you coward.” My voice was even and absolutely teeming with hostility, and I recognized a hint of reluctance in Thoris’ eyes. Just a hint, though; not nearly enough to override the headstrong personality I was hoping would drag him into a fight.

He was silent for just a moment. Thoris then proceeded to flick his ear and tell his two henchmen to give them some room.

“I never did get to test that combat spell on you, little dummy.” Thoris’ voice was perfectly level, which told me he was concentrating deeply—that scared the Tartarus out of me.
I moved into a battle-ready position. If he was readying up a spell, which he probably was, I’d have to get in there and bop him on the horn, hopefully hard enough to break his concentration, if I wanted even a chance of this fight lasting more than a few seconds.

We both held our positions. I kept my gaze locked on Thoris’ eyes, searching them for any tiny hint as to what he was thinking. He stared back at me much the same way, running his eyes over my slimmer figure—likely judging the best way in which to bust it open.

I was so fixated on trying to read Thoris that I didn’t notice a large changeling hurtling our way until it was too late.

I scrambled back in fear and surprise as a broad-shouldered drone dropped from the sky, landing hard on Thoris.

“Sweet queen of the Fae, have I wanted to do that for a long time!” Tamite’s voice echoed through the empty circle that the changelings around us had now formed, each one quiet as death in cold-hearted observation.

From where he stood Tamite had Thoris pinned to the ground beneath his hooves. Through his legs I could just barely see the side of Thoris’ face; his exoskeleton was cracked along his cheek, down to his chin and perhaps further. It had already begun to bleed, trickling viscous green liquid that spilled out over his face. The liquid mabone in his blood would eventually fill the cracks in his cheek, harden and turn black; the wound would likely be healed this way in a few hours.

“Get off me you bastard!” The tip of Thoris’ horn began to glow, and was followed by a bright flash that demanded everyone look away. The moments thereafter took on a sort of silence beyond silence; a place where everything that needed to be said was already known, and no one dared to break the heavy veil of remorse, practically tangible in its intensity.

I opened my eyes.

Thoris was just starting to get up, touching his wound and wiping the blood from his face. A bit closer to me, lying limp on the ground, was the other changeling. There was a crack in his exoskeleton that went from his shoulder to his flank, and branched in several directions. Unlike Thoris’ wound, this one was very serious. Blood poured from the crack in copious amount, staining the ground and slowly spreading closer to my own hooves.

Thoris was now standing fully erect, looking out over his work and bearing a dumbfounded expression while doing so.

Several changelings from the crowd were tending to Tamite. Despite my immediate fears, he was alive. Not one drone lifted a hoof towards me or Thoris, though several onlookers met my eyes and nodded to me. At this point, the scuffle had become a matter of honor and dignity, and no one seemed hesitant to let it play itself out.

My hooves were grappling for Thoris’ throat before I even realized it. Thoris stumbled back, still a bit in shock from what he himself had done. I didn’t care how he felt though. I didn’t care if he was sorry, if he had meant it or if it was his fault. All that pent-up hatred for Thoris was bubbling to the surface of my mind, and from there to my hooves, which had all intentions of injuring their target as badly as he had Tamite, or worse.

Despite Thoris’ desperate scramble in the opposite direction, my hooves eventually struck their target, digging hard into the crack in his cheek and drawing far more blood than before. From there I took the chance to smack his horn, hard, before he could even think to conjure up a defense.

There was nothing graceful about this fight; No elegant movements, no strategic thought. All I had to offer was pure anger, and I let that out in droves. By now my onslaught of full-strength blows had knocked Thoris to the ground, where I pinned him and continued to beat his face to the ground. Thoris was helpless beneath me, and I loved it.

I loved it, right?

My hooves slowed. They hammered away still at Thoris’ face, but not quite as ferociously.

No, I didn’t love it. Tamite was horribly injured, painful thoughts were coursing through my mind, and a massive crowd of changelings was watching me beat—actually beat—a fellow changeling’s ass into the ground. How could any of that possibly feel good?! It didn’t. In fact, it hurt.

My punches gradually slowed, becoming weaker and weaker, until I no longer had the will to lift my hooves up for another attack. In fact, I found myself lacking in any serious will to do much of anything but leave. My hooves hurt. My eyes hurt. My chest hurt. Everything hurt.

Continuing to follow the now established pattern, everything was quiet. I didn’t look at any of the faces in the crowd as I stood up and walked away, quiet steps made deafening in the overwhelming silence. I didn’t meet Tamite’s barely conscious gaze as he watched me draw closer, shoulders slumped and ears lowered in shame. And I most definitely did not look back at what I had just done, or the growing pool of blood on the ground that was resulting from it.

Author's Note

Well isn't this a lovely way to kick off a new character? Well, I hope you all like him. It was kinda hard writing this chapter, what with all the complications of changeling society (the way I see it)... It's finally here though! So, quick update:

Chapter 3 will likely be done much quicker than this one, but I'm afraid y'all gonna have to wait, 'cause I'm busy writing a little halloween special for The Shaded View which will likely air this weekend (working without an editor or any pre-readers on this one, so go easy on me). So if anyone likes this story so far then keep an eye out for that one!

A note from the editor: I just want to say that Flux has done an incredible job world-building here. The Hive society seems very realistic and fleshed out, and I'm loving the Changeling characters (Possibly because I have a slight obsession) The fight scene was very well written and gave us even further insight into how the culture works. I'm pretty sure I won't be alone in saying we can't wait to see more Mantodea and co.!

Chapter 3: Featherdrop and the Hermit

It was the last time I cried; the first time I met her. I was upstairs, alone. Everypony else was downstairs, likely still congratulating or bidding farewell to the colt who’d just been adopted.

It was rare, after all, that a colt got adopted.

As hard as I pressed my face to the pillow it could not stop nor even slow the escape of tears and the occasional sob emanating from my snot-sullied face. I held that pillow closer to me, hard enough to strangle any living creature. I wished it were one though. Because sometimes, if I hugged that pillow hard enough to my chest, I could almost imagine it were the soft, warm hoof of a loving pony, or at least someone who cared enough to be there.

But not this time. This time it was just a pillow, and I was just a pathetic filly, crying, as if crying could do something to give me a taste of the “normal” that everyone in Equestria seems to take for granted, yet all it could do was take me ever further from it.

A bump resonated loudly from my right. I’d scrambled up, rushing to wipe the evidence of my break-down from my face and pillow, but doing a pathetic job of it. But when I looked to my right I found nothing but an empty window to meet my confused expression, until a tiny grey feather gently tumbled from the top of the window,

All…

The way…

To the bottom.

The feather was soon followed by a pegasus, identical in color, whom dropped down from the same place and began to inspect the window for damage.

I dove to the floor, hiding behind the opposite side of the bed from the window. Temporarily forgetting my sorrow and finding myself overcome with the innocent curiosity of a filly, I warily raised my head back up past the sheets.

The mare was still hovering by the window. Her grey fur and feathers were contrasted by her dirty blonde mane and beautiful golden eyes (which, to my understanding, was a very rare color).

I then noticed that those eyes were… unaligned. One was staring upwards, towards the rim of her black and blue mailmare cap, while the other one was looking directly at me.

I properly realized that last part a second later and swiftly ducked back behind the bed, hiding from the mare’s gaze.

Seconds later a gentle pair of knocks emanated from the window. Somehow slightly reassured by this, I raised my head back up. The Mailmare was still there, looking at me and smiling gently now as I climbed back up onto the bed. I stared back at her, a carefully blank expression on my face as I regarded her with hidden curiosity.

She then began to make small gestures. I gave her a confused look, and she thought for a moment. She began now to re-enact what had happened a few moments ago, and looked at me sheepishly.

I tore at that in my mind momentarily before I realized she must be trying to apologize for startling me. Finding myself at a lack of gestures representing “it’s ok,” I gave her a shrug in return.

The mare seemed as content with that as I was, and looked about ready to take back off. She didn’t, though. Instead she turned back and pressed her face a little closer to the glass, inspecting me. I only had to feel uncomfortable about that for a few more seconds, after which she pointed at me, then raised a hoof to her eye and slowly trailed it down her cheek, mimicking a sad expression.

Again, I shrugged.

She didn’t seem as satisfied with that this time. I left her gaze, repositioning my eyes to stare longingly at the ground. What was I supposed to do? How could I express how I felt? What it was like trapped in this wretched place, my only escape a hopeless, foalish dream? How could I possibly express my anger for the staff, the orphans, the orphanage, and the world outside it? What could I possibly do to show her any of that? Why would I even want to?

Another rap against the window brought my attention back to myself, and I was… well, surprised at what I came back too (and a little disturbed). It turns out the whole time I had been making gestures and re-enacting each of those thoughts as they came, and I came back to find myself repeatedly hitting the pillow beneath my hooves. I looked up also to find the mailmare still looking back at me, with a foreign look that must have been concern. I released the pillow from my grasp and straightened it back out on the bed.

Mailmare laid her hoof against the window. She made no further gesture, aside from her constant, steady, one-eyed gaze. I looked from her eyes to her hoof, then back to her eyes. When I realized she wasn’t going to take it away, I inched myself closer and hesitantly reached my hoof towards hers. I stopped, just before the glass, for whatever ridiculous reason was running through my mind—but only for a moment.

I pressed my hoof against the glass, at the same place where the mailmare’s was. It was cold… like always, it was cold. Yet… barely noticeable, almost invisible, I could feel a warmth. Somehow, through that cold barrier, the mare found a way to seep a little bit of warmth into my world. I could feel my then-weak eyes begin to tear up again; through the tears I could still see the mare, and on her face was the most perpetually kind smile any living creature had ever shown me. It was the kind of smile that demanded a smile in return.

Perhaps, for the first time in my life, that mare made me truly smile.

“Featherdrop!” I turned to see Scoots standing by the door across the room from me, a degraded expression on her face to match its flush. “What the hay was that all about?” she whined.

I dropped my gaze to the ground, unwilling to explain the memory that had just been running through my head. “Yeah, um… sorry ‘bout dragging you halfway across the town ‘n stuff… I was in a hurry.”

“In a hurry for what?” Scoot-annoying was still whining, trotting across the room to sit on the bed next to mine. I spoke more quietly now, a bit of the filly’s embarrassment seeping into my own cheeks.

“… The mailmare’s coming today…”

Scoot-annoying didn’t seem any less confused at the statement than the first time I had made it. Still lacking in the will to explain it properly, I continued with my quiet rambling.

“She comes around every week…”

Speak of the devil and she will appear… I never thought that old saying was relevant to anything other than Ms. Coltone. Emanating from behind me was a knock, tugging my ears taught and pulling my eyes to look behind me. My face immediately burst into a smile, and forgetting about Scoots I swivelled all the way around to face the window.

Mailmare smiled at me and waved, her shoulders rising gently in an inaudible giggle. I waved back, my smile growing the tiniest bit wider, and sat now with my legs hanging over the edge of the bed.

Since the first time we’d met, we slowly became better at making and understanding each other’s gestures, and in a way we had formed our own language with them.

“How’ve you been?”

Just about every conversation we had started out this way, but unlike with most ponies I didn’t mind. I thought for a moment, and then replied with further gestures.

“Nothing unusual, I suppose” I thought further. “I went outside today.”

Mailmare smiled proudly and clapped her hooves together. She followed with a more complicated series of gestures. “Yesterday I delivered a package to…” The mailmare paused, and then pointed to the hill in the distance atop which sat the town of Canterlot.

I repeated the earlier gesture of clapping my hooves together.

It didn’t matter to us how little or insignificant the past week’s events had been for us; if there was something to share, we shared it every week. I guess it wasn’t much, but it was something to look forward to in life…

“Who’s…?” Mailmare pointed behind me.

I looked back, and saw a confused looking Scoot-annoying left abandoned on the bed behind me. That look only lasted a moment though, and was soon replaced with a shy blush as she realized both me and the mailmare were looking at her. She waved, and I looked back at Mailmare thoughtfully.

“She’s…” I stopped abruptly as I realized I didn’t have a gesture yet that represented the word “friend.” Hesitantly, I reached back and put a single arm across Scoots’ shoulder, smiling sheepishly.

Mailmare looked from me to Scoots several times. When it looked as if she'd gathered her thoughts, she pointed at me and Scoots, then made a heart shape with her hooves on the glass that, from her perspective, likely encompassed both me and Scoots.

For the second time that day Scoot-annoying found herself thrown all the way across the room from me.

My head was shaking so violently it likely distorted the massive blush on my face, and I made frantic crossing motions with my hooves.

Mailmare burst into guffaws that were almost audible in their intensity. She seemed to forget about her wings, as she proceeded to fall a few feet and then catch herself, stifling her laughter into mere giggles, grinning as she gestured to assure me she was only joking. I continued to blush despite myself, but at the very least the consolation helped to lower my sense of embarrassment.

Glancing behind me I managed to spot a very peeved-looking Scoot-annoying blushing and glaring at me from across the room. My apologetic half-grin seemed to stifle her frustration but replace it with a look of confusion and curiosity. When another knock came sounding from behind me I quickly waved her off and turned back to Mailmare.

She told me she had to go early, because of a special delivery or something. I was disappointed at her swift departure, but I understood. After expressing such with a solemn nod, I came up and pressed my forehead against the glass. Mailmare did the same, paused to lend a wave of “goodbye” to both me and Scoots, and then soared off into the now-setting sun.

School. What can I say? I love it. I never understood how the vast majority of the orphan populace could hold such resentment for it. Even the perpetually exuberant Scoot-annoying couldn’t seem to stand it.

“Come on, be one o-clock already!”

Come to think of it, Scoot-annoying was probably the worst of them all.

I was hoping Scoots would catch my piercing glare of “shut the hay up already,” but as always during the last ten minutes of class her eyes were glued to the clock.

Finally little Scoot-annoying’s wishes were granted; all at once the clock hit one, our lesson on the agricultural history of Ponyville ended, and the whole class heaved a relieved sigh as one massive organism that I was not a part of.

Still moving as one, the whole class made its way to the classroom exit. As usual I waited until the majority of the chaos had waned before I sat up from my seat. All the usual ponies were left in the classroom: the Caresoar Orphanage’s personal school attendant (no, they didn’t just call her a teacher), a filly named Screwball, and of course little Scoot-annoying waiting for me by the door.

I tried my best not to look directly at Screwball. She was… well, let her name do the talking. If there was a single filly in the whole orphanage that could match my lack of chances at being adopted, it was Screwball. Nopony could really tell what was going on in her head, behind those lopsided, swirly eyes of hers—and that smile. Scoots at the very least had an innocent sort of permanent smile. Screwball’s…

Yeah, I wasn’t the only one who liked to give her a wide berth when walking past.

Once I dealt with that hurdle, I made my way to Scoot-annoying, who, as expected, immediately began to talk.

“Ugh, that was horrible. Ms. Cheerilee was a way better teacher!”

Oh yeah, that. Apparently before Scoots came to the orphanage she went to a school with her friends Sweetie Bell and Apple Bloom. Since she came to the orphanage she’d begun taking school with me instead, but she still mentioned it a lot.

Suddenly that got me thinking, and I was overcome with the rare urge to ask Scoot-annoying a question.

“Scoot-ann… er, Scoots, where were you staying before you came to the orphanage?”

Scoots’ mouth still hung halfway open, making me fear I may have interrupted something I hadn’t been listening to, but if she was bothered by it she sure as hay didn’t show it.

“Oh, I just, you know, hung about… my friends had to convince me to come stay here.” Scoots’ eyes were focused on something inconceivably further away than the wall she was staring at. “I guess I’m glad they did… I’d heard so many horrible things about the orphanage; I guess I was scared to let anypony know I didn’t have a home…”

It wasn’t very often Scoot-annoying fell silent the way she did just then. The last time she did was back at Miss Rarity’s, when she’d thought I didn’t want to be her friend anymore.

I looked around to make sure Nopony was looking at us, hoping to avoid a repeat of the incident at Miss Rarity’s, and when I was sure no one was doing so I reached over and gave Scoots a quick, gentle one-legged hug.

I must have been getting good at that, ‘cause Scoots immediately perked back up and changed the subject.

“S-so… um—oh—yes! I was going to ask you if you wanted to hang out again today? We were going to ask Fluttershy later if she wouldn’t mind us having another sleepover at her place.”

“Fluttershy?”

“Oh, she’s uh… Applebloom’s sister’s friend.”

“Friend of a sister of a friend? That doesn’t sound sketchy at all.”

“Oh, it’s okay; she’s a friend of Ms. Rarity too.”

“… Are all normal friend circles this complicated?”

The seriousness of my question was lost in the sort-of-forced laughter that proceeded. When Scoot-annoying calmed herself, she tapped my ear and said nervously “I uh, got to go… do something. By myself. So uh… at three we can go an’ hang out, ok?”

I nodded my head in silence and watched the little orange filly scamper off to places unknown. It was only then that I vaguely noticed the filly hadn’t smiled at all since I’d asked her about life before the orphanage.

I didn’t see her again until a little after three o’clock that afternoon.

The proceeding afternoon was… well, interesting. First I had to apologise to Miss Rarity for the last little thing I graced her and her sister’s ears with before I rushed off the other day. After she was convinced I wasn’t a foul-mouth and a fiend (a ruffian… a savage… an anarchist…) she finally let Sweetie Bell come with us. We still had one tiny problem to work through though.

“Fluttershy came by the boutique earlier; she already said she wouldn’t mind if we had a sleep-over at her place.”

“Ah still think we ought to go to th’ Library though. Maybe we could borrow some books on cutie marks.”

“I already told you, I don’t want a dusty-old-book cutie mark! Let’s just skip the Library and go to Fluttershy’s already. Hey, maybe we could ask her how she got her cutie mark!”

“We already tried that!”

I kept myself a few paces behind the small-scale argument, quietly observing my surroundings and trying my best to learn the layout of Ponyville. Despite all objections from Scoot-annoying we were already making our way to the library, which was now visible at the end of the road. As usual I’d tuned out the chatter to the best of my ability, so I didn’t notice Sweetie Belle slow to match my pace until she spoke to me.

“Hey, um… I’m sorry about hurting your nose the other day.”

I could’ve sworn I’d already said it wasn’t a big deal.

“It’s no big deal.”

Sweetie Belle looked about as convinced as I’d expected her to be. She dropped the subject though, focusing back on Scoots and Applebloom. Without meaning to, I did the same.

“Do they always argue like this?” I inquired.

“Sometimes. Applebloom usually wins though, and Scootaloo doesn’t really mind.”

Our little discussion was abruptly stopped when Scoots called my name. The both of us trotted back up to join her and Applebloom, and I was met there with a sharp inquiry.

“What do you think Featherdrop; do you want to go to the library?”

I looked discreetly ahead of us; we were practically already at the library. “Well… I uh, wouldn’t mind seeing if they have any good books…”

I liked to read. I wasn’t some sort of massive book nerd or anything, but it was kind of nice to read about what life could be if you weren’t… well, me. The orphanage has its own little collection of books for any adventurously bored fillies who might be interested in the simple-minded literature, but never anything worth reading more than once. As a result, I was genuinely interested to see what I could find.

“See?” Applebloom raised her snout pointedly, “Ah told you she’d want to go. And look at that, we’re already there!”

True to her word, Applebloom gestured to the innovative structure towering above us. And by innovative, I mean it was built out of a tree. An orchard granted by the royal sisters themselves was impressive, but that must have been one for the agricultural history books.

The Library stood out from the gingerbread urban sprawl that was Ponyville, not only because of the unusually large amount of space granted to the perimeter of the building, but because of its distinct color pallet. It also smelled of spring, had birds swimming and singing throughout its many thick branches, and cast a welcoming shade over the entrance of the structure. It was a welcome change of scenery from the orphanage, which looked just like every other building surrounding it.

Scoot-annoying conceded at last, trotting with the others towards the entrance of the library with me in tow.

A familiar problem began to surface as the three began to argue over who would be the one to knock. I found that absolutely ridiculous; it was a library! Who knocks before going into a public establishment?

Deciding to take that point and prove it, I stepped past the scuffle of young ponies and walked through the door. A surprised “eep” and a flash of flame followed, fuelling an urge for me to look past the door.

The interior of the library, I noted, was just as nice as the exterior; as one might expect the walls, floor, roof, and furniture were all solid wood. Shelves were carved into the walls and lined neatly with books which added a splash of color to the otherwise monotone view. The room was very spacious and had little else in it—certainly not anything that could have conceivably created flame or an “eep.”

I was the first to step through the doorway, followed hesitantly by the rest of the crusaders. The four of us peered about the space cautiously, and when it seemed clear nothing was around Applebloom cried out a pair of syllables.

“Twilight?”

Some movement was audible from above us, and I noticed just then a wide spiral staircase lining the far wall and leading to a second floor. Moments later a unicorn, purple in both fur and mane, came trotting down said staircase.

“Oh, hi girls! I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you knock.”

“This is a library,” I spoke curiously, “why would we knock?”

Scoot-annoying decided to answer for the unicorn. “Twilight lives here actually—sorry, should’a told you that.”

I was starting to notice an odd pattern of mares choosing to live with their craft. It’s not all that unusual that somepony like Miss Rarity might start up fashion as a home business, but a librarian living in a library? What’s next, a baker living in their bakery’s attic? A weather manager living in a cloud? Ponyville is a feathered up place.

No wonder I live in it.

The librarian named Twilight finished coming down the staircase and came trotting towards us.

“Ugh, girls, learn to close the door when you come inside.”

Miss Twilight trotted past us and towards the open door, grumbling to herself something about horses and apples.

From behind us the sound of a door closing could be heard, followed by yet another new name.

“Spike!”

Twisting my head I saw now that there was a small dragon stuck to the backside of the door—limbs spread out and face trapped in an awkward expression—likely due to my earlier abrupt opening of the door. Miss Twilight helped to peel the creature off, letting him fall with a thump to the floor.

“Is that… a dragon?” I didn’t realize how quivery and nervous my voice sounded until I asked the question.

Miss Twilight nodded, punctuating the motion with a “mhmm!” After helping him up, she nudged the dragon my way.

“Don’t worry; he’s just a baby dragon. He helps me out around the library.”

The dragon shook his head and at long last seemed to get back his bearings.

“Nice to meet you too…” he spoke, to my own surprise. “I’m Spike. Who are you, a new cutie mark crusader or something?”

I nodded. “Yeah, pretty much. My name’s Featherdrop.”

“Featherdrop, huh? Well, why don’t we just go ahead and shorten that to Feather. Nice to meet you, fea-“

Spike’s mouth was abruptly covered with a hoof, namely Scoots’. Good thing too, else I might have done the same thing—only much harder.

“She… would rather you just call her Featherdrop, ok Spike?”

Looking passively confused, Spike nodded and nonchalantly shrugged his shoulders.

“Ok then, Featherdrop. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to write the princess a letter asking her to send me back the book I accidentally sent her when I got squashed against the door.”

Spike furthered his point by walking away, heading towards the staircase across the room. I self-consciously scratched the backside of my head and bade him farewell. His departure was followed up by a familiar, drawn out silence.

“Well…” Miss twilight cleared her throat, “now that that’s over with, what can I help you girls with?”

Applebloom was the first to speak up, but the others chimed in moments later.

“We’re here to ta find some books on cutie marks!” came the badly synchronised cry.

The librarian’s eyes gleamed, obviously proud at the eagerness of (most of) the fillies to invest time in literature.

“That sounds like a great idea! The books you’re looking for should be under ‘C,’ of course.”

As soon as they knew where to look the fillies scampered off. I didn’t follow suit, and Miss Twilight took note of this.

“Aren’t you going to go with them?” Twilight scratched her ear, frowning.

“Nah, I’ll uh… let them do their thing. I was hoping to find something else to read…”

Miss Twilight immediately perked back up, excited at the prospect of introducing another young filly to the wonders of fiction.

“Great! What do you like: Fantasy? Romance? Adventure? Or are you hoping to try something new?”

“I, uh… well, what would you recommend?”

Another dangerous gleam entered the librarian’s eyes.

“Everything! Oh, well, not the Crepuscular trilogy by Stephanie Mayor… we burn those.”

I shied away slightly at the thought. “Oh… well, what are you reading right now?”

Bad question. Really bad question. Looking back I probably should have seen it coming, but now that I’d asked there was no turning back.

“I’m so glad you asked!” The Librarian became positively giddy as she began to list off the names of the many various works she was currently in the process of reading—“Daring Doo: Raiders of the Lost Element,” “Falling Feathers,” “The Famine Games” and “Olive Twist” to name a few.

Needless to say, I was sitting there for a very long time.

Eventually the Crusaders finished with their research and rescued me from the throes of the rambling purple unicorn, whom I left with feelings of awe, fear, and respect towards. We left the library hastily, the crusaders with a resentful disappointment at the lack of progress and myself with a fresh copy of “Olive Twist” held under my wing. I found the Librarian’s prime recommendation almost unbearably ironic, being as she didn’t even know I was an orphan.

As the sun set towards the outer edges of the horizon, so did we towards the outer edges of ponyville on the last leg of our journey, to a secluded cottage in the woods.

“Ok, are you SURE this Fluttershy fella is… safe?”

Scoot-annoying nodded her head for the third time as I asked the same question for the third time.

“A’ course she’s safe,” Applebloom chimed in. “Fluttershy’s really nice—she takes care of lost animals n’ stuff. Jus’ don’t get on her bad side, or she’ll give ya th’ stare.”

New images of a hermit-like mare with rats running through her mane staring at me the way screwball stares at her food before eating it ran through my mind at the new information, forcing a shiver from my spine and only reinforcing my reluctance.

“Look, I really don’t know about—”

I was interrupted as Scoot-annoying abruptly stopped walking, holding a hoof out to stop me.

“Listen” she said, almost menacingly “we’re going there. Alright? So stop acting like a diamond dog in the rain and keep up with us.”

Yikes. Scoots was… almost kind of scary there. Her frown proved just as strong as her smile, and I wasn’t in a mood to try to argue with it.

It was only a few minutes from there to Hermitshy’s cottage-of-death, but I spent them keeping up with the group and occasionally contributing to the pointless bantering. None of that kept my mind from envisioning the worst out of our venture when we finally arrived. I was surprised to find we were headed towards another house made out of a tree.

Okay, I’ll admit, first impressions were already far better than I’d been expecting. It wasn’t a dark, damp, crudely-hewn cabin overrun with rats and insects. It was a quiet place; cute, bright, secluded. That’s not to say my nerves were calmed. Still, I felt just a little more inclined to trust Scoot-annoying about this.

I was relieved to find that the crusaders made no argument as to who would get to knock—all made way for Sweetie Belle as she approached the door and did just that… I think.

Actually, after a few seconds I began to think she hadn’t knocked, or if she had it was so quietly I could hardly hear it, much less somepony inside. Yet, once again, my expectations shattered as the door opened a crack.

Some mumbling…

“It’s just us Fluttershy—me, Scootaloo, Applebloom and Featherdrop.”

The door opened further, and from within I could just make out half the face of what looked like a yellow Pegasus mare. The other half of her face was covered by either the door or the shadow it created. Warm light came from within, only making the mare’s face that much harder to see.

“It is you. Hi Sweetie.” the mare spoke up, just loud enough to hear. “But who’s Featherd—”

The mare froze when her eyes met mine. I was equally frozen, but unwilling to back down my gaze.

“Um—” The mare hid a little more of her face “—y-you didn’t say y-you’d be bringing an extra friend…”

Sweetie Belle rubbed the backside of her head. “Yeah, I kinda forgot to mention her… she’s okay though.”

Fluttershy looked back at me, unconvinced. “Uh, I mean no offense, but you… seem a bit old to be friends with them.”

“Funny” I retorted, “I was thinking the same thing about you all day.”

I was surprised to find that drew a snicker from the cripplingly shy mare.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you Featherdrop. C-come inside, it’s getting cold out.

All the other fillies were happy enough to obey, I, however, still had my doubts. I waited, but as soon as that hint of fear flashed over my face I saw all the fear wash away from Fluttershy’s, and underneath was a look of… well, it was the kind of look I’d only ever seen from Mailmare.

Fluttershy stepped out past the doorway and into full view, about as calm and unmenacingly as possible. Now that I could see her in the quickly diminishing sunlight I could tell that she was actually a rather beautiful mare. Even without the door her pink mane naturally covered one side of her face, whilst the other side stared at me with all the kindness a face could muster.

It was creepy.

Fluttershy draped one hoof over my shoulder and gently began to guide me to the doorway.

“There there,” she said calmly, “come inside. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

I was terrified; as I inched towards the door my mind began to race, looking, figuratively and literally, for a way out. I began to stammer, formulating my words as I went along.

“Um… h-hey, girls?”

Closer to the door.

“horsefeathers,” I mouthed silently. “Um… hey girls, who wants to go camping?

CUTIE MARK CRUSADERS CAMPING AT FLUTTERSHY’S, YAY!!

I didn’t hear those words so much as feel them coursing through my mind and body. I guess Fluttershy had much the same experience, as I noticed her shy away, much like a balloon in the wind held down by a weight just barely substantial enough to keep it tethered to the ground.

Fluttershy began to open her mouth. “Girls, I’m not sure that’s—”

A flash of yellow, white and orange and the crusaders were out in the yard with sheets that were originally meant for celestia knows what clasped between their teeth, trying to prop them up with sticks.

“G-girls, I… oh no, that’s not right at all.” Fluttershy left my side to try to correct the Fillies’ lumpish wreck of a shelter. I heaved a heavy, heavy sigh of relief at her departure. Okay, I’d managed to avert having to enter the cottage-of-death. At least that was something.

My nerves piqued back up when I felt another pressure on my shoulder, but this time I looked to find Scoot-annoying tugging at my leg. Deciding to follow her lead, I came over and watched as the crusaders piled up on a marginally better looking tent, which collapsed in a giggling colorful heap of enthusiastic fillies. They invited me to join them, and I realized this was going to be a long night.

Yet… somehow as I contributed to the pile of young fillies I also realised that, perhaps for the first time in my life, I actually felt like a young filly myself.

This was going to be a very long night… but maybe I wouldn’t mind that so much.

Author's Note

Well well, look at me. I was going to make y'all wait a bit before I posted this, but I can't make myself wait. I hope this chapters as good as I felt it was while writing it. things are starting to come together, slowly...

Chapter 4's gonna be celestia knows how long. I'm sure I've gained the loyalty of at least a few of you though, and you must know by now I'm not going to abandon this project any time soon.

Anyways, I hope you all enjoy this chapter. It's hard to tell with so few comments outside of people who're working on the story with me... I appreciate those too of course, just hard to tell sometimes if I'm actually writing for anyone other than myself here.

Editor's notes: Hello and welcome back to my chapter-ly talk show! I'd like to say that this chapter was a pretty fun one to go through. I think we can all agree that the CMC are pretty cute, and Featherdrop's reaction to Fluttershy was, well, unexpected. Anyways, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter because I know I certainly did, I'll see you all next time!

Chapter 4: Rough Draft and Final Submission

Wooden Pillars of screaming oak continued to rise up in the distance, everlasting, no matter how long I walked amongst them. The frozen faces for which the oaks were named glowered at me from their wooden bodies, and I imagined the disapproving leer of every changeling in the hive behind me. I tried instead to focus on the trail laid out before me, but looking down all I could see was Tamite’s dead body, entombed in stone somewhere deep, deep beneath my hooves. I could still hear, long behind me, the risen voices of the mob come to see me off; Chants of “exile” shattering the otherwise still night air.

I would have flown, flown away from it all, but my wings had been clipped. All I could do was walk ever further from the only home I’d ever known; a home I’d never had the chance to give back to.

All at once the voices behind me grew louder, and I turned my head to see the mob had now taken chase. Panic struck me at the sight and I began to move faster, until my hooves flew beneath me as if they weighed nothing, yet the burden of my wrong-doings kept them from leaving the ground. As I ran the oaks I passed gained their own voices, wings, hooves, pursuing me with growing bloodlust, and the chant behind me changed from “exile” to “traitor.”

“No” I screamed, my own insignificant voice lost amongst the combined efforts of those behind me. “No, no, no!” in the distance, betwixt the chanting trees, I could see an object taking form as I drew near. The form grew wings, hooves, a horn, sharp fangs, emerald eyes. And then that form, too, began to mouth the bloodthirsty chant.

I burst awake in a flurry of sweat, tears and gasps. It was dark, but I was used to that; we all were. I must have slept for a long time; as a changeling I had an innate sense of time, and right then that sense was telling me it was early evening.

I had already rolled out of the ball-like position I usually slept in, and the throbbing in my forehead combined with the blurry sight of a bedpost suggested I had done so in a way that had caused my head to make rough acquaintance with the aforementioned bedpost. I was rather thankful for that.

As I stood shakily and the last remnants of my dream fled my now-conscious mind I trailed my eyes along the length of the leg to the bed it belonged to, and from there to the unconscious changeling in its embrace.

“Tamite…”

My hoof brushed against his, causing him to stir. That wasn’t my intention, so upon doing this my tongue began to wag of its own accord.

“Oh—I—uh…”

The pointless stammering did nothing to slow Tamite’s ascension into consciousness. He tried to move his body, but that elicited a painful groan and nothing more.

Gathering myself, I put my words to proper use. “Hey, Tamite, don’t move okay?”

Seeming to remember now the condition he was in, Tamite ceased struggling to move his body and instead twisted his head to face me.

“Mantodea,” His voice croaked. I froze as he said my name. No doubt he was remembering everything that had happened to put him here, and what came next was completely up in the air.

Tamite cleared his throat weakly. “H-hey… look at you.” He put on a ghastly impersonation of a smile. “Waiting at my bedside in a hospital. Those books are making you more like a pony in everything but shape.”

I visibly sagged in relief. Tamite hadn’t mentioned the fight. I should have expected as much from Tamite; he knew I didn’t feel very good about it, and I doubt he wanted to add to that. Tamite was very understanding in that way; I think the pony folk called it “empathy” or something like that.

“I had to carry you here yesterday. I must have gotten you to the hospital and passed out,” I explained.

“Shut up.” The words lacked any sense of authority due to Tamite’s weak voice. “You were worried about me and you know it.”

I just smiled gently. A few moments passed, and Tamite averted his eyes.

“Well” He spoke up, “if you’re just here to look at me like that then I’m sure you have more productive things to do.

I stopped smiling and looked to the side, realizing that by doing so I was probably just making him feel more like what he was: weak. He brought up a good point though.

“I’ve sort of been thinking about that.” I looked at the ground, observing the way the dust moved around my hooves when I waved them. “I… well, I feel like I need to start really giving back to the hive, the way they want me to—”

“You’re not going back.” I didn’t need to look at Tamite to tell he was staring at me very firmly. “Especially not after this. They’d kill you.”

“I don’t plan on going back to the magic wing” I assured him, “I just… I feel like I need to start taking my training more seriously.”

I was hoping Tamite would say something, but the silence said enough. I tore my gaze from whatever pointless speck of dust it had been following and instead focused on Tamite. I needed to look at him for this.

“Tamite… what if I were to kidnap a pony?”

Tamite’s mind would likely need time to properly chew on the implications of what I’d just said; I know I gave my mind plenty of time to do so. Tamite never chewed much before swallowing his food.

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

“I think the root of my problem is that I just can’t imagine it in my head, I just can’t turn into something I’ve never seen or been around—”

“Mantodea.”

“If I could just spend time with one, learn how they think, maybe I could finally—”

“Stop.” Tamite had barely whispered the word, but it struck me just as hard regardless, and I obeyed. I was expecting perhaps he would be angry, or confused, but the look in his eyes told me something else. The look—the quiet disbelief—in his eyes told me that he was afraid.

“Listen” he continued, as if trying to calm a rampant drone. “If you went through with this and the hive found out, they’d kill it, then they’d kill you. But forget that even, what if it escaped? Our whole invasion could be jeopardized. Your training isn’t worth all that.

I tried to argue, but Tamite cut me off before I could even start. “No, don’t talk about it. Don’t even think about it. And do not—” Tamite stared very sternly into my eyes and repeated himself for emphasis “—do not tell anyone about this. Okay?”

Some part of me still wanted to argue the points I’d thought I had planned out in my head, but even as I searched my mind for those points I found myself with nothing. Tamite clearly wasn’t going to back down, and it would be very hard to do without his support…

“Okay.”

“Good,” Tamite concluded. “Now, if you’re on your way out, I think I could use a little more mabone here.” He prodded the still-gaping crack in his exoskeleton, crusted at the edges with drying mabone.

“I’ll tell the doctor to give you a fresh coat on my way out,” I assured.

The rest of the hospital’s rooms were empty of patients, as they just about always were. At least, all save for one other, indicated by a closed door. I tried to steer clear of that as I walked past, knowing full well who was inside.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t find the doctor anywhere else in the hospital. That meant there was pretty much only one place I could find him, and that was the one place I wanted to avoid.

Okay I thought, maybe I can just wait for him outside the room. That pursuit quickly proved fruitless however as my patience soon ran short, leaving me pacing and gritting my teeth in front of the door.

I briefly considered just leaving. The doctor would check up on Tamite eventually. I couldn’t bring myself to do that either though, leaving me stuck between a rock and a hard place. I had to do something though.

It occurred to me that for all I knew, Thoris wasn’t even conscious—it wouldn’t surprise me—and all I needed to do was speak with the doctor quickly. Simple enough.

My hoof quivered at the door as I raised it to knock. It was already part-way open though, so I simply ended up opening the door myself, and I was greeted with two sets of eyes.

Okay, so Thoris was conscious. Good to know.

“Ah” the doctor greeted me, “you. I was just going to check up on the patient you brought in.”

Despite the awkward nature of being in the same room with Thoris at the time, I tried to make the best of the situation and get it over with as quickly as possible. I relayed Tamite’s request as quick as I could, tripping over myself once or twice as I did.

“Indeed,” the doctor acknowledged, “We’re going to need a good bit more of that once we’re done with your other friend here.” That drew a wince out of me. The doctor squeezed past me and out the door, leaving me alone with Thoris, who had never stopped staring at me since I’d walked in.

There were bandages over most of his face. I don’t know if not being able to see the injury helped or hindered my resolve, but either way it was crumbling fast. I didn’t want to wait around for it to fail entirely, so I turned to leave the room.

“Mantodea.”

That stopped me alright. I could have ignored him; his voice was weak and muffled by bandages, and it wouldn’t be all that hard to believe I simply hadn’t heard him. I couldn’t ignore him, though—I’d done enough to him already. I shakily flicked an ear to indicate I was listening, but otherwise I was absolutely frozen.

“I…” Thoris gurgled, and then coughed. He hesitated, likely out of pain, but continued regardless. “I thought you were going to kill me.”

“…”

I fled that hospital faster than I’d ever fled anything in my life.

I lived in a part of the hive known as the Everfree quadrant; as you might expect, it resided beneath the Everfree forest. The hospital was in the training quadrant, a few miles away. Despite that, I was still flying at full speed by the time I got home.

I hit the door head on, not slowing my pace a bit and not stopping to close it behind me. I had two rooms in my house: one for sleeping and one for whatever the hay else I wanted. The first room after entering was the one I slept in; there was a chair, a space on the floor to curl up and sleep, and a cabinet for weaponry. I was more interested in the other room though.

Carrying my momentum from the first door all the way into the second, I burst into the other room. In this room, a bit more crowded, was a pile of books. They were piled up on the floor, as their shelf space was taken up by little mabone carvings, facing me like an army. There were effigies of many things, including dragons and mythical creatures, but most prominent were carvings of changeling warriors.

I knew what I wanted. I picked off a carving of myself from the shelf, reared back, and threw it with all the might I could muster at the wall. Being made of fully hardened mabone the effigy was tough enough to easily withstand the blow, and it fell noisily to the floor. UI didn’t pause to watch it as I picked off another statuette of my likeness and hurled it at the wall to join the other. When at last there was nothing left to throw I slammed my head against the wall and fell.

I landed amongst the books, which scattered across the room, pages turning as they flew. By the time it all settled down I lay panting heavily in a broken, semi-conscious heap. An educational text lay open in front of my eyes, which barely managed to focus on it. The title read: Changelings and Pony Culture Adaptation.

“I’m sorry Tamite,” I sobbed. “I have to do something. I have to…”

Changelings don’t cry. Those emotions—sadness, fear, heartbreak—those belonged to ponies. Changelings don’t cry… so why was I finding myself on the verge of tears? My eyes were glazed. I could feel them spilling over…

I felt useless. No… I felt worse than that. I was a burden. All that the hive asked of me was that I hunt for them, yet I turn around and injure likely one of our best magic wielders. I’d do everything I could to make up for that, but first I had to stamp out the problem at the source. And if I had to do something a little dangerous to get that done, then so be it.

The world around me began to grow dark and silent. I lay there, a sniveling useless wreck as I whispered apologies that would never be heard. Eventually those too died out, and I slipped into a dream no more restful than the last.

“Traitor,” The voices screamed.

“Traitor, traitor… murderer.”

My wings took me high above the Everfree forest. It was dark, so my black exoskeleton hid me well against the night sky. In the far distance I could see a pony settlement growing more detailed, while the contorted scowls of the screaming oak passed by.

“Stupid,” I whispered to myself.

All I needed was to study these creatures myself—from afar, of course. Only so much you could learn from a book, right?

“Stupid.”

It was a stupid idea. I was desperate though; to do something, pull my own weight. If all I could do for my hive was cause chaos from within, I might as well be a traitor and a murderer.

“Stupid.”

“Shut up,” I told myself.

The settlement was nearing in the distance, and I could now see the last stretch of barren land separating it from myself. A bit closer than that, though, was a small cottage on the very edge of the forest. Intrigued by the structure, I veered off my planned course to fly a bit closer.

The cottage was made from a large tree, and around it were smaller structures containing smaller animals.

“Wonder which one the pony lives in,” I scoffed.

The cottage had a very large backyard and in it was what looked like a very poorly constructed tent, and a fire surrounded by ponies. Confident in the night sky and the ponies’ weak night vision to hide me, I approached and made my landing just behind the treeline.

There were four ponies; three small ones and one bigger one, standing outside the tent around the fire. The stupidity of ponies never ceased to leave me with a hoof to my face. There was a perfectly sound-looking structure right beside them with more than enough room for all four. But instead they chose to stay outside in the cold, trying to stay warm around a crude fire. How these dull creatures managed to eradicate nearly my entire race a thousand years ago was beyond me.

“Just watch,” I commanded myself quietly. If I wanted to succeed in my learning I had to understand these things. “This is what you have to be. This is what you have to do…”

I tried t listen more closely, swiveling my ears in their direction, but the first sound I heard was much closer than I’d expected. I scrambled back as a thump came from my side, causing me to trip and hit my head noisily on the ground.

All went silent but the sound of my breathing, but in a few moments the thumping continued. Climbing to my hooves, quietly, I pushed past the undergrowth towards the rhythmic noise. It was coming from the other side of a tree, which shook a little with each thump it made. The source was a small pony with beige fur, a short red mane, and a bleeding head which it repeatedly slammed against the trunk in front of it.

My breath caught as I watched the creature. I’d never actually seen a pony before. I guess I was expecting one to look somewhat like a changeling, just… uglier. There was nothing ugly about this one though. In fact, it was almost kind of cute.

That’s not to say I was in any way attracted to it, but there was a beauty to the creature, like a bird or a flower. Still, my instinctive hatred of the species kept me eager enough to watch the creature smash its own face in.

I noticed the pony was saying something, but most of it was muffled by the repeated thumps it made. I tried to listen closer.

“—loo,” I began to make out. “Her name is—”

The pony’s head snapped towards the bush I hid behind at a startling noise from my direction. My own head snapped downwards as I too heard the noise—a menacing growl emanating from my gut.

“Damn Celestia,” I cursed silently. It had been some time since I’d last fed. My eyes shot back up to meet the pony’s. A brief flash of determination ran through me at the eye-contact; if I could do this, perhaps my next meal would be my own. I had no choice now. Before the pony could make a sound I grabbed it and stuffed my foreleg into its mouth, muffling any possible cries for help. Using my other leg to hold the pony up, I buzzed my wings and began to fly back to the Everfree forest.

Everything Tamite had said to me ran through my mind once more and just then I began to truly agree with him. This was stupid. This could get me killed. But what choice did I have now; the pony had seen me. Standard protocol demanded I took it prisoner. That’s all I was doing really.

Only instead of taking it to the guard, I’d be taking it home.

Author's Note

This chapter hereby marks the end of The Shaded View. One day I will cut half this fic's content and rewrite the other half, then return to it under a new premise, but until then, this is it. I thank anyone who was kind enough to follow this, and I hope you enjoyed what I had so far.