Vitia's Tale, Part 1: Desert's Edge Junction

Author’s Notes:

This is the revised and complete version of Desert’s Edge Junction, posted originally as a side story to Medicine & Mail. No significant changes have been made since it was included with M&M, so if you've read the revised version there, you've read this one.

This is part one of the side story that chronicles the life of Vitia before M&M. It is not required reading for the main story, but is meant to provide additional background information for her.

Rating: Teen

Contains: Blood; Drug use; Strong language; Light sexual themes.

Genres: Slice of Life

Vitia's Tale, Part One

Desert’s Edge Junction

“Take it slowly, do it slowly, be patient.

It’s okay to ask for help.

Things are only as bad as you let them be.”

I rushed from one cot to the next, running my magic quickly over their bodies. I sought out injuries inside while I looked them over for external ones. Ten seconds, I reminded myself, then move on.

Brightmane called out over the cries of pain that echoed throughout the clinic, “Vitia!” Her voice was excessively gritty, a combination of the morning’s Rum ’n’ Sparkle and constant yelling. “We got another group comin’ in! Get d’em stable, y’hear?”

I nodded inwardly, acknowledging the doctor mare’s orders.

My spell lit the blue stallion’s body in a light pink hue, as I looked for damage. The spell finished, and I turned to the volunteer at my side. “No major internal bleeding. A concussion, and scrapes. Bandage him.”

I rushed through the chaotic crowd, taking care to not bump into any of the cots with injured, and moved to the group now being nudged in to the cramped space.

Two stallions, one filly, and a griffin. All were capable of standing, but the griffin was bleeding profusely, dripping from a gash across his face down over the black mercenary armor across his chest.

I trotted up to him and called out across the crowd, “Need gauze here!”

The griffin lowered himself to my level as I made my way up to him. “It’s not bad,” he grimaced. “Help the little one first.”

My eyes glanced over the young silver-coated filly, but I could see no signs of bleeding, swelling, or discoloration, and she just looked confused. I turned back to the griffin, “You need it more now.”

I floated a swatch of cloth doused in a cleaning alcohol to the griffin’s face, and dabbed lightly across and around the wound. Blood seeped out slowly from the ragged skin. “It’s going to leave a noticeable scar.”

"A trophy."

A colt rushed up to me, holding a small medical kit in his mouth. I floated it from him and pulled a roll and pad from it. I began bandaging the griffin and asked, “How many more were injured?”

A stallion in dusty, grimy leather stepped forward, and answered, “There’s only one other wagon that ah know.”

I nodded to him and knotted off the wrap. The griffin stood and stepped back.

I focused on my spell, and my horn flickered to life. A light pink haze surrounded my horn, and a light shone from it over the griffin, moving over his large body. Information flooded into me in bits and pieces. Burnt flesh. Torn feathers. From what I could piece together, the wound was caused from a large bullet that, luckily for him, only grazed instead of penetrated.

I moved my spell over to the filly and over the other two. No injuries. Confusion, shock, and maybe some dust or smoke in their throat or lungs, but nothing major.

A light-blue mare trotted up to me. She wore the light white coat of a volunteer assistant. “Anything?” she asked.

“Thankfully no,” I said to her as much as the group in front of me. “Other than that head wound,” I motioned to the griffin, “Nothing serious.”

She smiled weakly. Her eyes were heavy, and her coat matted in sweat and blood.

“Has anyone taken a look at those outside?”

She shook her head, then followed after me as we trotted toward the door.

I stepped out into the afternoon air, and was hit immediately by a suffocating heat. Where the clinic had been outfitted with ventilation, no such luck was afforded out in the dry desert heat. Standing in the sun, the heat was heavy, and stifling.

But it was fresh, mostly free of sweat and blood and grime and anguish. I took a deep breath, and for just that moment, all the cries and whimpers around me vanished. All the chaos and confusion faded away and I felt almost serene. Content.

“It were a hunnered o’ em, there was! Ridin’ straight from th’ side o’ the cliff, shoutin’ Celestia knows what!”

The shouting shook me from my moment of peace, and brought me back into the heat and into my sweaty body.

Makeshift tents were being set up by volunteers in orange construction vests, and more cots rolled out. Around them, some more of the caravanners stood or prattled about, holding injured limbs and crying and wailing.

Six injured, two not moving. I turned to the volunteer at my side. “Come on, they still need help.”

I walked over the warm pathway, looking out over the horizon beyond the junction. The last of the evening rays were shining over the clouds and distant mountains. Everything was rimmed in a red hue.

Around town, lights flickered to life, casting orange light against the silhouettes of travelers, workers, ponies and griffins alike. The day was coming to an end, and everyone was ready to settle in to the evening.

I pushed open the door to my favorite spot, the local tavern, and stepped through into the dank, sweaty air. Every table was full, as well as most of the bar. I scanned the faces on my way past, seeing familiar residents and unfamiliar travelers. Many were wrapped in bandages or showing signs of recent damages fixed up by a few stitches and a dose of healing potion.

Conversations hit my ear from all angles. “—Straight down the cliffs!” ended one. “Raiders, screaming, crying, rushing!” came another.

At the end of the bar, I spotted an opening and made for it, sneaking into the shady alcove. My energy was faltering, and I slumped over on the stool. My head was craned uncomfortably, but was the only thing keeping me from falling to the floor completely.

“Hell of a day, huh, Vish?”

I opened up my eyes and turned to the voice. The lead barstallion’s voice matched his countenance perfectly: gravelly and rough but with a sort of kindness. I sighed, and looked up from my deflated spot. I let out a little squeak of a whimper.

He simply nodded and walked off.

“GYA-HA-HA!” roared a voice from the entrance to the bar. Greenhooves burst through, brushing his horns against the rafters. His thick braids hung from his head down to his defined chest, and swayed as he lumbered in.

A bottle of Sparkle-Cola clinked down in front of me. A few drops fell from it and rolled in with the others at the base, forming a wet ring at its base against the marred mahogany counter. I floated it up and took a sip. I closed my eyes, savoring that sweet carroty flavor on my tongue.

Just as I swallowed, I felt a strong slap across my back. I coughed and sputtered, breathing in deeply. Breathing in Sparkle-Cola, not air.

My body heaved and screamed out in a burning fit. Even louder than the bellowing of the minotaur beside me, my small body cried out a haggard cough. I couldn’t hear anything over the sound of myself.

When it finally settled, I lifted my head slowly. The bar was notably quieter, save for a few conversations near the back and a thin song of music laced with static from the radio.

My eyes watered, and my cheeks were wet. My face, ears, and chest burned. Wet snot ran from my nose and mixed with spittle and the day’s earlier sweat against my lips. I must look ridiculous.

As I turned up to Greenhooves, the minotaur craned his head back and roared in laughter once more. And with him, so did many immediately surrounding us. Then, myself.

When the laughter died down, Greenhooves made himself some space by sliding most of the bar out of the way, and sat down. “A mug,” he told the barstallion. He turned to me, “And three shots of Red Rivulet for Snot Nose here.”

I squeaked, and clamped my hooves over my face, wiping furiously. Four shot glasses filled with a dark red whiskey were tapped down in front of me. When I looked up, the lead stallion merely winked and trotted off as another patron called out an order.

“So what ah heard,” Greenhooves started, gulping down his ale, “Is that some of those raiders out here are gettin’ smart.”

I flipped back my head and the shot glass in my lips with it. The drink flushed over my tongue, bringing a deep mesquite flavor to it. Warmth spread throughout my body as it worked its way down. I floated the glass down and sat there, taking in the first drink slowly.

Greenhooves tapped his empty mug down, called for another, and continued, “And they hit that caravan from both sides.” His voice was low, quiet for the minotaur, directed at me only. “Thankfully they wasn’t so dumb as others, despite not bein’ official Carmine types.” He gulped greedily at his freshly filled mug, “And they fought back and pushed ’em off.”

I looked around at the crowd. Several griffins with the black armor were sitting at tables or standing at the edge. One’s face was wrapped in cloth.

The second shot went down as smoothly as the first. “They hired protection?”

“Ah think ol’ Dusty is gonna hire up some for us here, too.”

How many lost? How many did I miss, did I let die because I didn’t see, didn’t know how badly they were hurt?

If I could help and they were hurt, and they were dying, and I didn’t see it—are my hooves any less bloody than those that pulled the triggers in the first place?

Of course not. I was helping.

I saw injured faces peer out from the darkness at me. Their eyes were wide, searching. They cried out, “Why are you leaving us?” as I turned and walked away.

Ten seconds. Check, stabilize, move on.

A colt galloped up to me. As he moved closer, his body fell away. Skin sloughed off him. His hooves fell apart. An eye melted and oozed down his face. I screamed, and ran, but everywhere I turned, I could see him.

I opened my eyes to an unfamiliar ceiling.

I rubbed my brow and felt it slick with sweat. The room was warm, and my body was blanketed in an unfamiliar heat.

I looked down to the pressure on my chest, and saw a sleeping mare, nuzzled up to me. Her coat was grey, and her mane silver. It shined in the dusty moonlight, and—Silver Sheen!

My heart jumped, and my body flushed. No way, did we really..?

My mind raced as it tried to put together the memories of the night that could have ended up like this. I knew it couldn’t be real. I had to still be dreaming.

Even if I had fancied the demure mare for years, she didn’t share in my preferences, and never returned any of my affections. We were always close, but I had convinced myself we’d only ever be just friends.

So what could possibly have happened?

I pieced together hazy memories through a fog of hazy emotions, culminating in the soft-spoken mare’s playful demeanor that evening. As I relived the memory, I felt a new kind of warmth, laced with a hint of pleasure and satisfaction, spread through me.

But it was interrupted all too quickly. I had to pee.

I slipped out from under Silver’s cuddling begrudgingly. She unconsciously tried to pull me back in and curled up on the spot I just lay. I whimpered. Damn you, nature.

Outside, the earliest indications of the approaching dawn began to touch at the horizon. Pale color was inching its way above the black distance. Small insects and birds had started on their morning calls, providing a much-desired companion noise to my tinkling in the bushes.

As I stepped back around the metal shack, I looked down the street toward the clinic. The light inside was still on, and I found myself walking toward it.

I walked past the tents that were set up outside Brightmane’s clinic, providing some semblance of shelter from the blistering sun during the day. Many of the cots were now thankfully empty, since most of the less injured had taken to the more permanent shelter of the inn.

Stepping inside, I looked over the dozens of sleeping ponies. Brightmane herself lay sprawled across her desk.

A light whimper caught my ear. I turned to the sound and saw a griffin sleeping, ever-stoic, looking over an olive filly.

Her injuries had been fairly serious, but not life-threatening now. What I remembered hearing was that she had been playing with one of the griffin guards up near the front of the caravan when the attack started, and first explosions rang out.

She shivered and whimpered in her sleep. Her face ran with sweat, and she murmured in pain. Her hoof had been severely damaged, and she’d likely never be able to walk with that leg again.

I touched my horn to her softly, and it glowed. I may not have been able to mend her wounds, but I could help reduce the pain and let her rest.

From the soft humming of my spell, Brightmane stirred and spoke up. “Vitia?”

She stepped from her desk and walked toward me. “What’re you doing up at this time of night?”

My spell finished, and I turned to her. “Just happened by. Did any…?”

Brightmane shook her head, bouncing her wheat-colored mane about. “Though some of these fools thought booze would do better for their wounds.” She walked up to me and squinted. “Much like you, I figure.”

I smiled. I could never hide my real expression from her, so I had given up trying long before. And besides, I wasn’t a filly anymore. I was a grown mare. I could drink if I wanted to.

“Don’t think perkin’ those big ears o’ yours will do nothin’, neither, missy. Y’reek of booze, besides.” She leaned in closer and took a quick few sniffs. “And a touch of mare, it seems.”

At that I blushed. Of course she would figure it out. She was given the affectionate nickname of Doctor Nose around town for a reason—she had an unusual ability to discern even the most hidden of secrets from anyone with just a few sniffs and a piercing glare.

Everyone figured she had a pig’s snout for a cutie mark, or something else equally nose-like. Nobody knew, however. It had been flayed off before she came to town and she’d only say raiders if anyone inquired.

She brushed past me and looked out the window to the large, glowing moon. “Thanks fer comin’ by, though. Ah know y’ mean well, and, well, thanks fer all y’do. Y’want to help, and that’s more ’n’ many folk do. So, thanks.”

Silence filled the air as I fumbled with words. She had never said anything like that to me before. She’d run her mouth and all manner of snark would come out. She constantly had snips to make regarding my flirts. The closest she ever came was saying that I did a good job, but that may have just been confidence in her training.

She never thanked me for it, though.

I raised my hoof up as I opened to speak, but still nothing came to mind. I set my hoof back down and whispered a “thank you.”

She turned to me and brushed by, walking back to her desk. “Now y’ git, and make sure y’treat Silver nice, alright? It’s cold out, and we’re packed full,” she laughed, “Can’t be takin’ anyone in on account of shivers.”

With each word she spoke my face burned hotter. Of course she would figure out who I slept with! I dashed out the door and galloped down the town, not stopping until I had made it most of the way through.

The sun had broken the horizon now, and rays of yellow, interrupted only by marginal cloud cover, began to shine across the roof tops. Lights were slowly going out on porches.

A gust flicked my mane and tail about, and I felt momentarily chilled. The day promised to be busy, but there was still some quiet time now.

I pranced back to Silver’s home, eager to take full advantage of that time.

The days passed, thankfully uneventful after the last attack. The caravan moved on. Travelers came and I listened to new stories. Dust storms raged and peeled roofs from small huts. The junction’s terminal systems kept on.

“—And sure as the pink in Canterlot, Bitter Bones did ’em just as ’e said! Never thought th’ old stallion coulda moved that fast, an’ with his own teeth!”

I was caught along in the charismatic speaker’s tales, and laughed along with the rest of the crowd. He was an early afternoon arrival, a lone travelling stallion from somewhere not nearly so damned hot, but by now, late into the evening, half of the town had heard some of his stories and came in to listen.

Several tables had been pushed in together, and dozens of empty beer bottles and mugs covered the entirety of the makeshift stage.

The blue-coated traveler had been doing some sort of weird dance as he finished the story, forelegs waving loosely above his broad-brimmed hat, while he stood bipedal on his hind legs, kicking them side to side. He laughed along with the group and did a twirl.

He was a ridiculously enthusiastic speaker, and if anything he said was true, he’d been all over the Marejave, from McMaren down further than Splinters even out to the east, to the edge of the Everfree. Even beyond, he had said, but those are darker, grimmer tales. I much rather this side of it all.

Up until his arrival, it had been a quiet day, just as every day had been since the attack on the caravan. Brightmane insisted on cleaning the clinic herself, and shooed me off to entertain myself. Silver Sheen was busy helping her parents in their trade shop, so she would be occupied most of the day. I had already been through the junction’s sub-systems so many times I knew every security protocol the terminals had more than the lines of my cutie mark. So I found myself sipping Sparkle-cola and an occasional drink of Black Pony or Red Rivulet.

I swallowed the last of the glass’ whiskey, savoring that pleasuring burn on its way down. It feels so good to be an adult.

Soaring Sights sat down, his face glowing, red curly mane flopping against his brow, drips of sweat dangling from some. He was easily worked up, and could really get into his stories, but that was part of what made them some of the best I’d heard.

He downed the freshly-delivered mug in one breath, inciting whoops and shouts from the far-more-drunken listeners, and wiped some of that bitter foam from his muzzle. He looked a little exhausted, and stared into the empty mug for a few seconds. Then he looked to me with his eyes only, eyebrow cocked, a light smile tugging at his lips.

My body tensed, ears perked, and a flush worked across my face and through my ears. Oh Celestia burn me in hellfire. I knew that look. I just hope that nopony else saw—

“A-hah-hah!” Greenhooves guffawed, wrapping his overly-large forearm around my comparatively-tiny neck. “She don’t swing that way, ah’m afraid, lad!” he roared.

Luna fuck me with shards of the moon, someone had seen it. And Greenhooves, the loudest, most obnoxiously unabashed, no less! I was sure half the town heard him just then.

At the time I wished I had a mug of beer myself. Not for the bitter drink, but because it could probably hide my face. Or if I had a blanket. Or if I just crawled under the table…

“Vitia?” A silky smooth voice slipped through the roars of laughter and hoots immediately around me.

With a great deal of effort I squirmed out from under Greenhooves’s stupidly-strong grasp and turned around. I wriggled around and squeezed by the others in the crowd, trying to make my way to the safety of that silver, curly mane.

“Speakin’ o’ which!” the oaf continued. “Silver! Come on over ’ere, eh?” He motioned with far more effort than needed, swinging his arms wildly about, knocking over several mugs from tables and hooves alike. “Don’t worry,” he snorted, “We’ll let you a seat up front! Great stories ’ere! And ain’t none of us—” he pounded on Soaring Sights’ back hard enough to make the traveler cough and sputter, “—Will lay a hoof on ye! Yer Snot Nose’s filly!”

I involuntarily whimpered and drooped my ears, looking to the ceiling for some reprieve. I was answered by a roar of laughter and teases from the crowd.

Silver Sheen stifled a laugh with her hoof, and inquired softly.

I glared back at the crowd, and met Soaring Sights’ disappointed smile. I nuzzled Silver Sheen lightly and walked toward the door. “Yeah, they’ve been calling me that for a while now,” I explained.

The cool, dry air outside was an inviting change from the dank atmosphere I had just been consumed in. Clouds had covered most of the sky, with the east completely blanketed. Only a few stars were visible.

“It was a rather embarrassing situation. Let’s leave it that that.” Catching a curious glance from Silver Sheen, I sighed. “I forgot how to breathe and drink and thought you did both at the same time.”

“Oh,” she giggled.

I stepped up against her and nuzzled at her lightly. “So what is it?”

She looked at me with a tinge of sadness and held my gaze for several long seconds, then drooped her head down. “My parents,” she started, half-whispering. I had to strain to hear her over the noise directly behind us, “Have decided they’re going to leave Desert’s Edge.”

I leaned up against her and rubbed at her mane with my hoof lightly. “I’m sorry.”

“No,” she said, scratching at the wooden planks of the town’s makeshift walkway, “I’m sorry. I’m leaving with them.”

I pulled back, startled, surprised. “But, why?”

She sighed and looked out at the clouds. “I can’t stay here. Not when they’re trying to do this. You know I couldn’t leave them. Even for you.”

Her words hit me harder than anything Greenhooves could do. I was silent, but reaching for questions, searching for answers. What could have caused this? Why would she leave?

She was always a good pony. Always the kind to help anyone out, no matter at what cost to herself. It was just part of who she was. Her parents needed her, in their age, and she never had one word negative to say about it.

“But why? Why are you—why are they leaving?”

“They want to live out their lives in the town they met.”

But that was…I tried to remember. “All the way out near the Ridge?”

She nodded.

Traveling in the Wasteland was never an easy trip. Even with hired protection, ponies, people, they would get hurt. Slavers and raiders were everywhere. And Buffalo Ridge was so far away.

I wanted to say something. Anything, but my thoughts were fuzzy and sentences weren’t forming properly. I’d been riding an emotional high tinged with continual alcohol intake for hours, and this news would have been confusing for a sober me.

“I—” she started, more of a whimper than a word.

I interrupted, much louder, “I’ll go with you!”

It felt like the correct thing to say. I couldn’t leave them to go on their own. Couldn’t leave her on her own. I was sure I was right.

But she took a step away, shaking her head. “No" was all she said, her tone flat.

I was shocked, and just a little angry. No, no, I told the shouting pony in my head, you’re not going to yell at Silver!

I shook my head and started to complain, but Silver Sheen stomped her hoof and shouted “No!” The sound echoed across the walkway and the hollering inside the tavern died down quickly.

I was shocked, and upset. I’d never heard Silver raise her voice, ever.

She visibly shook, and her head hung. “No,” she emphasized.

“But—You’ll need help! It’s not safe!” I pleaded with her. I stepped toward her, but she inched back. “It’s okay, Silver, it’s okay, you can rely on me.” Every word I spoke was weaker than the last as my emotions crashed against the surface of my mind, bringing tears to my cheeks. “I can help you.” I ended in a whimper.

“No, Vitia, this isn’t for you. You can’t come.” She turned, “I’m sorry,” and galloped off into the black night.

I watched her fade into the distance of the town, and stood, dumbfounded. I didn’t know what just happened. Nothing made sense just then.

Come on, think. Silver’s not being really clear. Maybe she said something and you didn’t catch it.

Didn’t hear it, didn’t see it.

But I wasn’t listening to myself. The voice of the little pony in my head was speaking to silence.

Come on, Snot Nose! Do something!

I was startled back to reality by the light touch of a very large hand on my mane.

Greenhooves stood to my side. “Ah heard,” the gentle minotaur boomed, “An’ fer what it’s worth, ah’m sorry t’ hear. Her parents don’t mean nothin’ to b’ selfish, and y’ know that’s jus’ how yer Silver’s gonna be.”

I nodded, but I wasn’t sure I actually heard him. He led me inside, where I shambled to a bar stool. My thoughts swirled, and the only sound breaking through to me was the clink of a shot glass filled with a double shot of a dark red liquor.

I took the glass rim full in my mouth and jerked my head back, letting the alcohol seep its way down my throat. I sat there, head tilted back, staring at the ceiling.

The glass was magically tugged from my lips.

The sounds of the tavern slowly came to me, like they were miles away and suddenly again within feet.

She refused my help, and wouldn’t say why. She wouldn’t tell me, hid her reasons. Why was she hiding them?

My head pounded, and every manner of emotion surfaced, fighting for dominance. I was confused, angry. I was bitter, forlorn.

Dash would clear this all away…I could think clearly.

But then a thought came to me. A singular plan, an idea that certainly would work. I kicked off the stool with a vigor that left it rattling about the floor. I turned to the crowd and walked straight through it, my muzzle stopping within inches of Soaring Sights’.

I could see in his eyes a flickering of uncertainty, surprise, and excitement.

“You,” I said, my voice unintentionally demanding and low. “Now.”

I turned back, expecting to push through the crowd, but everyone had split off, giving me a wide berth. I walked through, confusingly. Everypony here was larger than me, nevermind the minotaurs or griffins mixed about. It didn’t make any sense, until I heard the first whoop.

Then the whole group clamored on, shouting. “Get ’em, Vish!” I heard from the back.

The realization dawned on me and it all made sense. I was drunk, I was just dumped, everyone’s drunk, and everyone knew he had a glimmer of desire for me. They thought I had taken him. To fuck him.

I twisted around, and anger broke through all the other emotions swirling about. I needed him for Silver, and they all thought it was something so carnal, so base, so—“Not enough chems in the Wasteland!” I screamed.

The shouting stopped, replaced by laughter. Soaring Sights’ eyes went wide.

“Fuck, that’s harsh!” cried from somewhere in the throng.

“Can’t say ah didn’t tell ya so!”

I stomped against the wood, then bit into Soaring Sights’ mane and dragged him after me. As we made the corner toward the back exit, the cries of excitement quieted.

“Alright, look,” I started, once the door closed behind me, “I need your help.”

“You—What!?” he shot back in amazement.

My mind spun for a second and a thought came to mind. I knew what to do. I could capitalize on his want, and get what I needed. It was all so obvious.

I leaned up close to him, and spoke quietly, slowly, letting my oaky breath play across his neck and cheeks. “I need you to do something for me.”

He reared up and pushed me away. “The fuck!” he spat, anger in his eyes.

Then I realized what I had done. “I’m sorry,” I told him. “Booze.” I didn’t want him to think I was trying to play him—no, that’s definitely what I just tried to do. I shook my head, “Look, I didn’t mean—”

“There’s something wrong with you, isn’t there?” He stomped at the ground, motioning me to move from the doorway.

“No, look, I didn’t—I really do need your help,” I begged.

“Yeah, now you need me, after you made a fool of me,” he spat.

He was right, and I knew it. I fumbled over some sentences, stammering out fragments of an apology.

“I don’t want to hear it,” he glowered. He stepped up to me and pushed me aside, then disappeared back into the bar.

I lay there, dizzy from the sudden rush of movement, and tapped at my head. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

I rolled over and made to my hooves. I had completely fucked that idea, but the intention was right. I still needed to do something. Silver was going to go off and—I didn’t know, but I feared. She could get hurt, or worse. She wouldn’t let me go with her, but I could still do something for her.

I made my way through the alley and back out onto the street, turning toward my room. I didn’t know what she was hiding from me, or why, but it was dangerous out there, and not even Celestial hellfire would stop me from doing something about it.

My head pounded.

It was a rhythmic sort of beat, each thump sending pain out from my head, over my face, and straight into my eyes. I had given up on trying to stop the pain, now taken to focusing on the brief moments of reprieve between each jolt.

But then that pounding grew louder, and uneven. I could feel it in more than just my head—I could hear it.

“Vish!” The sound was warped, distant, like it was calling out for me from under a hundred pillows.

Fuck. Ow. I moaned. One eye opened listlessly, and the other refused entirely.

“Vitia!” This pounding wasn’t in my head, but coming from my door. “Damn it, girl, ah’m comin’ in, hope yer decent!”

Greenhooves slammed open the door and, almost immediately, winced. “Ye look like shit, little’un.” It was a most matter-of-fact voice, like saying dirt was brown or that minotaurs were over-muscled masses of ugly.

I had something witty, even poignant to say, and I tried to say it. It took all the effort in all my body to force the words.

I let out an incoherent gurgle.

But he wasn’t listening. He shuffled slowly, carefully through the room, stepping over broken and empty bottles, clothing and trash, and my knocked over nightstand. He reached up to the black curtain over my lone window, and yanked it down.

The light was blinding. I screamed, throwing my hooves up over my eyes, stomach retching and emptying itself unceremoniously across the wooden floor.

“Fuck.” I managed my first word of the day. The effort just to spit that one curse left me drained.

I rolled back onto my sweaty sheets, feeling the cool damp mixture of sweat and my own piss that had soaked into them over the night sticking to my mane and coat. If my head wasn’t pounding with all the fury of Nightmare Moon’s raging cunt, I might have found that dreadfully uncomfortable and more than a little gross.

My mouth was dry, and I was becoming acutely aware of my lips’ painfully cracked state. It mirrored the piercing feeling in my eyes, both made worse by the continual hammering in my head.

What’s that oaf want, anyway?

Greenhooves voiced a sound of revulsion, and dropped a leather sack onto the flat surface of my mislaid night stand. It fell with a meaty splish, and the mental image conjured of what hellishly nasty creature would make a sound like that churned my stomach, threatening burning bile.

“Ain’t got time t’ get down to th’ retainer fer some clean water. That’s just tap, but we need ya right now-like, so do yer thing on it an’ let’s go.”

Irradiated water, is what he meant. Even Desert’s Edge was affected by balefire bombs and megaspells from two-hundred years past, though not nearly as badly as most places I had heard were.

I noticed Greenhooves put the pouch far enough away that I’d have to get up to get to it. “Bastard,” I mumbled.

“Be that as it may,” he agreed, arms crossed, “There’re people out there, and they’re dyin’, and they’re hurt. We was hit, right here, and we needs ya.”

I fell out of my bunk with an unceremonious thud, missing my earlier embarrassment of rancid stomach-sludge. Pushing myself upright on unsteady hooves, I took two steps and collapsed atop the toppled night stand.

Greenhooves sighed. “What th’ hell got into ye, t’get ye like this?” He muttered under his breath, but I was becoming awake and aware enough to hear it.

I touched my horn to the pouch and concentrated.

My head pounded, and the more I thought about the magic spell I needed to cast, the louder that pounding got. I was queasy and it felt like the world was spinning right-side the wrong way. But people are dyin’, he said. He’d never told a lie to me, and he’d never even jest about something so serious.

I had to.

My horn began to glow. Inside the pouch small clumps of radioactive contaminants began to separate from the water and fell outside it, leaving clean and drinkable water.

“Ye’re gonna have to tell me,” Greenhooves began in a low, monotone voice, “Why y’ thought t’ take Dash while pass-out drunk.” His voice glowered, radiating disapproval.

I couldn’t answer. All my effort was in keeping myself upright. I grunted.

With the spell complete, I lifted the pouch, my horn aching, eyes feeling like they could burst at any moment, and drank hungrily. At least it’s not hot.

The pouch emptied, my magic faltered and I slumped.

Greenhooves picked up the pouch in one hand and wrapped his other muscular arm around me, lifting me with the same apparent ease. “We’re going t’ get y’ over to Brightmane now, and yer gonna be ready an’ willin’ to do yer best for everyone there, y’ got that?”

Greenhooves bounded out of the room and raced through the town. I dangled from his arm, dry heaving as he moved about with the grace that only a minotaur could muster.

He crouched through the doorway into the clinic and set me down with surprising care, into one of the cots. “Ah suggest y’ make that booze-ill o’ yers gone real quick-like, ’fore Brightman—”

“Before I what?”

Greenhooves jolted, one of his horns scraping the ceiling, raining dust over his braided black hair.

“Nevermind,” Brightmane hissed. She had seen me, and Doctor Nose probably knew the whole story already. “Out,” she told the minotaur.

She glared at me, like she was searching for the deepest parts of me, hidden somewhere unreachable to anypony else. “Rum,” she started, squinting, “Plus piss, beer, bile, and…Dash? Where on Luna’s frozen moon did you get Dash from, y’idiot?”

Her horn glowed, and an earthly-brown magic encasing my body. I could feel it working its way from horn to tail. Every pass with her spell removed a portion of the toxins I had filled myself with the many nights before.

Finally, she stopped, drops of sweat forming on her brow. “Yer not well,” she panted, “But ye can move, ah should think.”

She stepped back and allowed me room to settle off the cot. My legs were under me, and holding me, barely.

“Now,” she growled, “Get yer sorry ass t’ work. Ah’m not gon’ let yer idiocy mean that good ponies, good people die out there.” She thrust one hoof toward the supply rack, “But don’t y’think we’re done here, not by a long shot, missy.”

I nodded to her, whispered an apology, and walked off to the rack. My worn, yellow overcoat was hung here, and my saddle with its spacing for medical kits beneath. I donned these as quick as my hung over magic would allow, and took to the door, two metal cases of medicines and bandages floating behind.

“The west gate,” Brightmane called out, sitting down next to a heavily sedated griffin.

Check them. Make them stable. Get them out of the way. Continue.

I popped my neck and ran out the gate.

It had been nine days since the first fight broke out, and a few hours more since Silver and her family trotted off.

I knew where they were going, but I didn’t know how long it would take their little group to get there, or even if they could—no no no! She’ll have made it!

I wouldn’t leave until the fighting stopped, I had told myself, and I kept to that. I knew Silver would be absolutely heart-broken in disappointment if I left when anyone needed me. You’re an important pony here, she once told me, and I know you’d never abandon them.

Two days prior, the sheriff announced a decisive blow had been dealt to the raider groups outside Desert’s Edge. The mercenary group’s leader griffin announced that fighting would likely still continue as smaller groups splintered off of this one, each vying for the newly-vacant position.

But we could breathe a little easier now. Things would slowly return to normal, and those of us involved in aid or fighting would find that our time would slowly return to us.

But free time wasn’t necessarily a good thing for me. I wanted to chase after Silver the moment I found out she left, to help her any way I could, but due to all the fighting, and that singular promise, I never did.

Time pressed on my worries, and I was becoming obsessed with the idea of chasing after her.

But I would have to have just the right plan. And for that, I needed my mind to work faster. I needed more time.

I have time now.

I floated an inhaler of Dash to me without realizing. My chest burned as the inhaler forced its contents rapidly into my lungs. I felt the rush of it rush through my body instantly. The nerves in my legs and over my muscles twitched and my brain sparked to action, as if on fire. Everything around me, from the dripping of the faucet down the hall, to the buzzing of the flickering lamp above my mattress—it all felt so suddenly slow.

A tinge of excitement shot through me and all of my emotions came at once. Plans, ideas, desires, cravings, longings, hunger, excitement—everything I felt about, for, toward, or from Silver Sheen, it all came to me like a dust storm. I could see her image in my head, clearer than if she had been standing right in front of me. Her and that little sway as she walked…oh I wanted her. My body burned and I ached.

I turned, and kept turning, spinning in place. Then just as suddenly, I stopped. What if she didn’t care for me anymore? Or if she was lying? What if it was just something to pass the time, and she knew of this from the beginning? Was it out of pity?

I couldn’t shake the feeling. I knew it was wrong. She was a good pony. A better pony.

I pranced about in place, the swelling of energy from the stimulant practically exuding from every pore on my body.

I need to move.

My eyes opened slowly. I looked out into the great Wasteland.

And it was upside down.

I twisted and spun around, finding myself dangling from a tree.

I had my yellow overcoat half-equipped and was partially strapped into my saddle, so I knew I stopped at Brightmane’s clinic.

I squirmed a little harder, and with a loud crack, the supporting branch snapped. I crashed flat on the rocky ground below, kicking dust into the air, and knocking the wind from me.

I stumbled up and after coughing dirt and ash from my chest, caught my breath. I turned in place, but over the dusty hills and past the sun-baked cliffs, I could see nothing but dirt, shrubs, and dunes in every direction.

I was thirsty and sweating. I pushed through the bag attached to my saddle, but came up empty. My pockets were empty as well.

I stood there in dumb silence, trying desperately to discern what led to this situation. I had wanted to leave—every hour, every moment that my mind wandered, it was to this idea that I’d be out in the Marejave—but every idea and every plan I had at least involved supplies.

I heard the stories and knew the dangers. I wouldn’t leave without supplies. That was certain.

And yet, here I am.

My body was sore and I felt a familiar, though distressing, pull on my body. My mind was tired, and muddled. I had just recently come off a major Dash high, but this time, I didn’t remember what happened.

Or when it was. I had a Dashout, and my memories of the last however long it was were simply gone.

Had the fighting stopped in Desert’s Edge? Even in all the chem-addled plans, I never once seriously considered leaving while ponies were hurting. It was for Silver that I had to stay, against every other wish and against the grain of every hair on my body. I wouldn’t deserve her if I left when they needed me.

So I really hoped the fighting was over.

But where was I?

In a very dangerous spot. And I’m dreadfully thirsty.

——

Party status:

Vitia: Good overall physical health. High stress levels. Blood-alcohol level moderate. Extreme levels of non-natural toxins indicate near-overdose levels of Dash in system.