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         Fallout Equestria: Tales of the Marejave          
                         -by Aria-                         
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            Vitia's Tale, Part 2: Wasteland 101            
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One Shot: Raider Hunting
Author’s Notes:
This is a standalone one-shot companion to Medicine & Mail (https://www.fimfiction.net/story/100213). It takes place chronologically along side chapter three.
This is an incredibly grimdark story, and shows the Wasteland in all of its utterly immoral depravity. Events are not washed over, and the gritty, violent and sexual content is excessively detailed in the dark showing of what they really are. Not for the squeamish or those offended by any of the above content.
Rating: Mature
Contains: Blood; Drug use; Extreme gore (decapitation, defecation, disfigurement, dismemberment, disembowelment); Strong language; Explicit rape (ejaculation, foal-rape); Explicit sexual content (clop, ejaculation); Torture; Extreme violence.
Genres: Action, Clop, Dark
Tales of the Marejave
Raider Hunting
“You might not want to hear this, fellow desert dwellers,
But I’ve got grim news to share with you today.
Raiders are on the move, and nopony is safe.” — The Signal
Gunfire sounded through the broken windows and the cracks of the once-stucco building. The train-like roar of Carrier’s minigun rattled the surroundings from outside the room, and shook dust from the rotting wooden rafters. Screams of pain and ravenous insanity were stifled.
Hunter pressed forward, stepping over the bloodied and tattered remains of the two raiders that he fell moments prior. A single shot each with Executioner, his favorite high-caliber magnum, had silenced the two, leaving hoof-sized holes where their faces had been.
The door across the room led to a hallway filled with the half-collapsed roof. Hunter carefully made his way over the uneven piles of stucco, wood, and decades of dirt and grime. He peered into a room to his left, but it was empty of any movement. He ignored the blood-smeared wall, and the paintings of crude, lascivious scenes that looked to have been drawn by a child. In the last five years of raider hunting, and even in the unfortunate times prior to that when he was forced into such abodes, he’d become accustomed to seeing such gruesome scenes. Frankly, the pornographic material painted across the room was tame compared to what most raiders did with their victims.
The door across from that room had fallen into decay, and the room beyond almost entirely missing. Rocks from the cliff the small settlement was nestled against had collapsed into the space. Hopefully, Hunter thought, it crushed some of these fuckers along with the room.
Another burst of Carrier’s minigun from within a building aside his reminded him to push forward. While the rest of his small group took to the exterior of the settlement and guided every raider they could find toward a suitable chokepoint, ideal for heavy weapons fire and a bloody mess, he needed to flush them from the buildings. Or finish them off himself. Most of them, after all, were too oblivious to the events outside, or just too stupid, to join of their own will. Never for lack of fear, however. Raiders didn’t seem to know what that was. Even overwhelmed by a vastly superior force, they’d continue to rush forward, screaming like they were invincible.
As always, a sharp blade or an aimed weapon saw the end of that folly.
The end of the hall split, with one path leading to what once was stairs but now was only collection of collapsed building materials that opened up to the Marejave. Hunter turned the other way and slowly creaked open the door.
From the last half hour of fighting with the raiders and crawling through the houses, Hunter’s sense of smell had become accustomed to the heavy scent of blood, the rotting stench of decaying flesh, and pungent stench of sex, but his nose was assaulted by a new wave of each as the door swung inward.
Three raiders were huddled about a smaller figure, and the telltale squelching and slapping of wet flesh mingled with the heavy stench of ejaculate and urine told Hunter immediately what was happening. The heavy grunts and screams of vulgar desire hit his ears, and his anger rose.
He reminded himself to act calmly, rationally, and not give in to that anger. He apologized to the poor victim beneath the thrusting bodies, but if either he or the pony beneath the three had a chance at living, he’d have to act properly. He stepped forward quietly, taking careful mind to avoid the pony bones that littered the floor amongst the refuse and dull blades. He angled his position for a quick, clean shot, and leveled Executioner up as a proper view came around.
The first stallion continued violently thrusting his engorged cock down the tiny filly’s throat, forcing a visible bulge each time he lunged his oversized penis down past her small mouth, choking her. He reared back and was squealing in pleasure, his cum spurting deep down her throat, and pouring from her mouth around the massive erection that filled more than her child mouth could handle. The first shot of Executioner rang out, and his head liquefied. The sheer power of the gun filled the room with the mask-wearing rapist’s brains, bone, and bits of flesh. Blood fountained from the body as he fell over, and streams of thick cum spurted into the air wildly from the spit and snot covered penis as his body shuddered in a quick death.
A second shot immediately after saw the furthest of the three missing his jaw. He had been using a dull knife to saw away the filly’s ear, leaving a stream of blood down the side of her head and neck. Blood flowed quickly from the raider’s wound as the pock-faced torturer tipped back and gurgled a scream of pain.
The third raider dismounted from the filly, letting loose from her marehood a thick gush of blood and semen, and let out a squeal of delight. Hunter spun the barrel of his magnum around at the lunging raider, in his pony-bone mask, with his fetish of shriveled and leathered colt penises hung around his neck, and his thick, blood-covered cock erect with a new sense of pleasure and visceral delight. A third shot from Executioner, and the body fell to the floor in two pieces. The throat and neck of the rapist sprayed across the ceiling and floor. The two pieces splattered against the ground and a massive pool of his blood ejected itself rapidly from the gaping wound that was once his throat.
Hunter spit and kicked the head of the decapitated pony away, then stepped through the river of blood mired with thick ejaculate toward the battered and bloody filly.
She was malnourished, having apparently not eaten in days, perhaps weeks, but her stomach was engorged. Veins ran thick over the bloated belly. Her ribs were visible, along with the splotchy skin under the few pieces of her coat that was left intact. She had collapsed on the ground when the raiders no longer supported her weight, and Hunter could easily see why. Her knees were swollen and grossly disfigured. Since she wasn’t chained up like most of their toys were, he figured they crippled her just enough so she couldn’t get away.
The pain she felt when forced to stand on shattered and disfigured knees while they raped her must have been immense. Hunter kneeled down beside her.
The filly’s mane was tattered and most of it ripped out, leaving infected blotches behind. She sniffled and moaned in quiet pain. Her eyes were caked with dirt and she emanated a smell of infection and a sickeningly thick stench of semen.
“Hey now,” Hunter said to her. “It’s okay. The bad guys are gone now.”
The child sobbed, and looked at him, peering through yellowed slants for eyes at Hunter. “Gone?” Her voice was thick and scratchy. The word wasn’t enunciated.
“Yes, they’re gone. They can’t hurt you anymore. I’m Hunter. What’s your name?”
“I…”
Hunter pulled the bandana he wrapped around his face, and splashed some of his canteen’s water on it. Dabbing her eyes gently, wiping caked mud and blood from her face, he spoke softly. “It’s okay, don’t worry about it right now. My friends and I will help you. Now, I need to know—are there any other young fillies or colts around? Did you see anyone else here?”
She looked at him and slowly mouthed some words. Hunter poured some of his water over her lips, and she hacked and spit back, more blood than water. The second time, she swallowed some. “In buh room,” she told him, speaking through a mouth with few teeth, trying to form words with no tongue, “’Ere are my fwien’s.” She hacked and spit, and a thick blot of blood splattered out.
“I understand,” he patted her softly. He rose to his hooves, and began reloading Executioner. “Now, listen, I’m going to have to leave you for just a moment, but I’ll be back, I promise.” The pistol reloaded, he set it back in its holster, keeping the strap loose. He lifted the filly gently, grimacing at how light and bloated she was, and set her down in the hallway just outside the gore and sex-filled room.
“It might get kind of noisy around, but don’t you worry. You’re safe now. You’ll be fine.” He half-said the words to assure himself. She was in a terrible state, and obviously very close to death. He hoped she was strong enough to last. She has to be, after all the hell she’s gone through, he told himself.
He gently closed the door behind him, but only out of appearance did he seem calm. Underneath, his rage at her treatment, and the state of the settlement, had nearly reached a tipping point. It took conscious effort on his part not to rush through the decrepit abode, venting his fury on every corpse eating, mask wearing, filly-raping raider in the desert, starting here. He had been down that road once before, and the painful memories of the massacre he left behind was all that kept him in check.
He pushed through the room, spitting curses at the still-warm bodies of the rapists. He stepped through blood and splashed in deeper puddles of it. Flesh splished under his hooves, and the odor of blood and streams of sperm pushed him further into his rage. They will pay. They will all pay. Every fucking, raping cannibal will pay, he thought to himself.
He glared at the second raider he shot, who pulled himself slowly across the floor, leaving a wide streak of his blood behind him. Executioner fired once, and the monster fell over, stilled.
Hunter reared up and smashed the door ahead, sending splinters into the empty space. Cages decorated the wall of the small kitchen area, half-rusted and covered in jagged spikes of metal and sharpened bone. Most were filled with half-decayed bodies, but two held newly-dead colts. Both had been tortured severely and were malnourished. Visible wounds, scars, and holes proliferated their bodies. What remained of their coats was matted and covered in feces, pus, and dried semen.
He pressed on, determined more than before to see to the end of every despicable monster that did this. They couldn’t even be considered ponies anymore. They were monsters. Every. One.
His group came to this raider hole, with at least some intention of possible rehabilitation for those that were possibly new, or not so far gone. Hunter believed this was the proper way. But in the last minute, his mind had changed. There would be no saving any of these creatures.
Around the corner, over the worn and stained tile, a long room with a tattered roof covered several more cages. Each was filled with bones, which mirrored the decorations over the walls. The windows had been painted over in a thick, syrupy red, and the blood had been used to draw shapes around the bone designs.
Just as Hunter stepped into the room, a door ahead burst wide. Much of the wall came with it, and one of the rafters fell. Screams and squawks came from the dust cloud.
A glint of a long, thick metal barrel and loud screech notified Hunter that tussling within the cloud with some unseen opponent was Carrier. The griffin darted out from the dust, and leveled her gun at it. The minigun roared to life. Bullet fire lit the room in a strong orange glow. The wall opposite the griffin was torn to shreds. Holes hoof sized and larger were left from the ferocious weapon and it emptied dozens, then hundreds of rounds into the space in seconds.
When Carrier released the trigger and the dust settled, the griffin’s target had been torn to shreds. The massive bulk swelled in fits of death, and the once-covered muscles and bones glistened in the morning light. Even with most of its body ripped away a chunk at a time, leaving a filthy slab of meat and splintered bones, the pony appeared massive.
The body shuddered once more, sauntered forward on two and one-partial limbs, then fell from the rubble. Entrails and organs flopped from the beast and sickly fluids spread under the body.
“Carrier!” Hunter called, breaking the griffin from her momentary daze. “Are you okay?”
“Oh. Hunter. Yeah,” she replied, lifting up one badly cut arm and inspecting her old mercenary armor for damage. “That fucker was a beast, though. Think his mom fucked a minotaur or something. Never seen an earth pony that fuckin’ big before.”
Hunter stepped up onto the rubble of the wall that was now bullet-ridden. Peering out into the open space of the settlement, he asked, “Is that all of them?”
“That little piece of shit,” Carrier said, pointing a bloodied talon at a small shack built against the cliff, “Is where some of these fuckers ran to. Might be guns, or might be they’re holdin’ ponies there, and in all the excitement, found themselves overcome by a need t’ fuck somethin’. You know how they get their priorities all fucked.”
Hunter glared back at the hulking carcass of the earth pony, and spit. “Well, I for one hope there are a few more. Ex and I need a few targets. I’ll check it out. There’s a seriously hurt filly in the hallway through this room. Get her to Warming Hoof right away, then bandage that arm.”
He bounded off, galloping to the shack, ignoring the complaints of his griffin friend behind him. He lunged at the door and burst through the rotten wood, tumbling into the room.
A squeal of excitement from just in front of him notified him of the presence of the raider through the kicked up dust. The raider, with his motted blue coat and pony-skull barding, bucked the colt he was dragging, and lunged at Hunter with his point-sharpened teeth bared through a maniacal grin.
Hunter rolled to the side dodging the raider, and slipped out his spear-bladed knife. He dashed forward and plunged the blade into the side of the recovering raider. The blade pushed through flesh and muscle to the hilt between some ribs. Hunter twisted the serrated blade, and kicked off of the raider, creating a deep gash along his side. The raider screamed in pain and tumbled over, then was silenced as Hunter sunk the blade into his throat.
Hunter ripped the blade from the wound, and a spray of blood doused the raider’s jaw. His eyes were wide, and wild, and he kicked and thrashed. Hunter just watched as the raider expired quickly, then turned and knelt near the colt. “My friends are outside,” he told him, “So just go to them. We’ll help you. These monsters won’t touch you ever again.”
The frightened child dashed away, tears in his eyes, through the doorway and into the daylight.
Hunter glanced about the room, and heard shuffling and muffled screams in a room beyond a busted archway. He sheathed his blade and drew Executioner, then stepped in.
The first raider hunched over a mare, forcing his weight on her and ferociously shoving his erection into her. Hunter aimed carefully and fired. The bone mask on the raider served little protection and shattered, along with most of the rapist’s head.
He turned to a second raider, and fired. The bullet ripped through the pony’s chest and exited through a massive hole out of his side, pulling with it guts and a spray of blood. The raider dropped the strip of pony flesh from his mouth and gurgled as blood forced its way through his throat and sprayed in a fine mist about his face. He fell with a sickly splash into his own internal organs and his body involuntarily urinated.
Hunter dashed through the room, but no other exits were visible, and other than the mare, no living ponies were found.
The mare pulled herself from under the body of the dead raider that collapsed on her, and bucked at him as she crawled away. The dead stallion’s still-bulging penis flopped to the ground. She turned on the body and reared up. She screamed, and struck the flesh with all of her might, then again, and again, striking her worn hooves against any flesh she could. The fleshy extremity was mangled and torn into pieces.
Finally, she collapsed, and sobbed loudly. Hunter knelt beside her, Executioner holstered. “It’s alright,” he told her, “You’re safe now.”
After a few kind words and a gentle smile, the mare followed her dusty savior out from the shack. A crowd had formed at the center of the open courtyard, flanked by Hunter’s friends and colleagues, Carrier, and the bloodied, muscular minotaur, Alloy. The rest of the small band’s attack force regrouped together and were giving accounts of the areas they had secured, and the targets they’d eliminated.
The mare rushed toward the throng as they neared, crying. She nearly tackled the colt that Hunter had ushered out of the small shack moments before, and the two sobbed loudly in a deep embrace.
The mercenary group all quieted and held their tongues, letting the tear-drenched reunion between mother and son speak to them.
From beyond the crowd, a shrill laugh erupted, followed by another and a deeper, thicker chortle. Hunter stepped around the crowd and spotted three raiders tied tightly together. They were beaten, bruised, and bloodied. Their coats were all painted with crude depictions of erect penises and severed heads. Their pupils were dots in their yellowed eyes, and the few teeth that remained, were rotten and shaved to a point.
“Ain’t that fuckin’ sweet!” One yelled, breaking into a fit of laughter.
“Come on, bitch! Cunt! Slut! Come here, ah’ll give ya somethin’ to cry about!” roared the fat one.
“My cock’ll tear your cunt-pussy to shreds! Then I’ll cut you, and I’ll fuck those holes!”
They all cried in laughter and shook against each other in their reverie. Hunter glared at them, but it was a scene he’d seen before. The group meant to take them back to town, to put them through years of forced rehabilitation, and try to turn their warped minds into normal, stable pony minds, with a goal and a new purpose in life.
Hunter stifled his desire to see them dead, and walked around the group, finding Warming Hoof shaking his head over the bloated filly. “Doc?”
“Ah, Hunter,” the old stallion sighed. His face was grim, and he shook his head, swaying his great white beard. “Looks like she an’ her foal didn’t make it.”
Her foal? Hunter stared at the expired filly before him. She was far too young to bear properly. She may have just reached her first cycle, he figured, but she was still several years from a proper age. He had just assumed the bloat was from starvation and infection.
Hunter’s anger was lit anew, fueled by a deep regret at not getting there sooner, not being able to help one little filly, when she was just right there.
He stomped his way back to the jeering raiders.
“Better idea!” One screamed. “Brin’ th’ little’un here! Ah wanna fuck him!”
Hunter drew Executioner, and aimed it square at the fat one’s head.
“Whoa, Hunter! Don’t!” Carrier squawked.
Hunter didn’t listen, and squeezed the firing bit. Even before the explosion of sound faded, the raider was dead, his head split in two. Hunter squeezed again. And again.
The three bodies rolled over. The sound of the gunshots and their echoes faded from the settlement, and all was silent, but for the splashing of blood and sloughing of gore at Hunter’s hooves.
“Hunter! Damn it!” Alloy roared. The minotaur grabbed Hunter by his jacket and hoisted the earth pony effortlessly several feet above the ground. “We were gonna rehabilitate them! You know that! They’re still ponies, damn it!”
Hunter hissed, “Not these ones.”
Alloy dropped him and snorted.
Hunter stared at the crowd of his little makeshift mercenary group. They were all brought together, for the single purpose of clearing away these shithole villages, and part of their agreement was the possible rehabilitation of raiders. Death vastly outnumbered growth in the Wasteland, and they all agreed that it could be possible, with the right treatment, and a proper goal, that even raiders who’d all but given up their sanity, could find value in living a decent, normal life. And dozens of such that went around their home now had proven the possibility of it.
Hunter had just spat in the face of nearly everyone there by mercilessly murdering the three raiders. He spoke, his tone even, and calm. “We all know that almost everyone can be righted. But not these ones. You all saw it. We’ve tried to help ones as far gone as these before, and everyone here knows how that ended.”
He left the last sentence hanging for a long while. He watched the expressions of the crowd turn from steeled disappointment to unease and sorrow as they recalled the event he inferred to, of the four raiders that resisted and failed to be treated.
Hunter spoke up again, breaking the silence. “We shall not endanger our friends, and our family, when the truth is so obvious.”
He motioned to the mare and her child, still in an embrace, huddled at the far side behind the crowd. “We have one family saved, today. That is one more family than what the Wasteland would have had we not acted.”
He met the gaze of several of his followers as they nodded. “And we have saved countless others by ridding our home of these monsters. Now,” he said, gazing up into the early-afternoon sunlight, “Let’s clear this place, and go home.”
The trek back to Paint was long, and thoughts amongst the team were heavy, laden with the discoveries made at the end of the skirmish, and the hefty bags of newly-machined firearms. Five more fillies were added to their short list of saved, three heavy with pregnancy in a time in their life too young to bear properly. They were forced heavy doses of hormonal chems to spur on the birthing process, and one admitted to having already failed to deliver twice in her young existence.
Alloy had motioned Hunter into a room deeper in that last shack, and politely requested only his company, and Carrier’s. The room he kept from everyone else would settle in Hunter’s memories and remind him of the foulest aspects of the Wasteland. Where the first room had been a makeshift breeding pit, with hormone-increasing chems, and others designed to allow the raiders to fuck the children as long as they pleased, the room beyond was a ritual den of cannibalistic monstrosity.
Fresh corpses were torn into pieces, their limbs splayed out on the wall fashioned into crude mockeries of the bodies they once comprised. Bones were pulled from the limbs and pressed into the eye sockets. Coats and skin were flayed and hung from hooks in the ceiling. Torture devices, some still covered in young bodies, lined the walls beneath the scraps of corpses. Everything in the room was covered in gore, and all led to an altar in the center. It was built of pony heads. Holes were carved in them with blunt instruments, and candles pressed into the grey matter beneath the bone. The faces were twisted in pain and agony, likely as a result of the surgery that took place while they still breathed.
Alloy stayed silent while Hunter surveyed the room, but Carrier bristled, and her feathers stood on end from head to tail. “I see why you shot those fuckers,” she hissed.
Hunter just shook his head. This wasn’t why, but had he seen this first, he’d probably have used his knife instead of Executioner, letting them feel a portion of the pain they were partly responsible for forcing onto foals. “This place is a travesty to all ponykind, and to everything that holds a memory of Equestria.” With that, he started to drag portions of split rafters into a pile, and the two followed suit, splitting the thick chunks of wood into smaller portions.
An hour later, they left the room, and with the rest of the group, watched as the ritual room, its housing building, and several of the neighboring abodes burned. A stiff wind carried the fire from one building to the next, and when the group left, most of the town had caught ablaze and a thick black smoke rose high into the sky.
As the group neared the fort-city, spirits began to brighten. Many mercenaries began telling cheery tales of the town, and others yearned for the touch of their wives or the sight of their children. Warming Hoof kept to the silent group of fillies near the rear of the group, and spoke soft tales of the gentle, caring nature of the town that lie beneath the fortified exterior that they would soon be glad to call home.
The front gate’s spark-battery generators hummed to life. The thick chain slowly became taut, and the massive, steel-barred gate rose, allowing the weary hunters through. Beyond the entryway, hundreds of townsfolk carried on with their daily lives, giving sad but understanding looks to the team. Hunter’s team of so-called “justice enforcers” was known throughout the town, in contradictorily good and equally bad terms, and they were not the only such group. Paint housed several groups with similar ideology that united in the singular idea of the protection of the town, its people, and the children, but each leader and team varied in its execution. Hunter’s was just the largest.
The group met around a busted stone fountain, the once life-giving water now turned to dust in the well beneath it, and disbanded for the evening. “To your homes, to your children, and to the warm embrace of safety,” Hunter had told them.
He, along with Carrier, and Alloy, made their way to the gift shop that served as the team’s temporary headquarters. Temporary since the founding of the group two years prior, and none of the leaders of the team had any desire to change it. It had become a second home to each of them, bringing them out of the world of violence into one as detached to it as could be.
Knick-knacks filled the dusty, tin shelves, and busted souvenirs of Old Equestria, before the war, before the bombs, and before raiders, filled every empty space. The shop never sold anything, and put no price tags on any object. It just served as a museum for the town, and travelers that traded their seemingly-worthless antiques somewhere in town would inevitably later find that it had been given a permanent place of display in Remembrance.
Monsoon stepped through the saloon panels that separated the shop from her living space. Her deep blue coat was dusty from a day of working in the desert air, and the waves of her thick azure hair bounced excitedly as she walked. “Welcome to the last spot of Old Equ—” she began, cutting herself short when she finally opened her eyes and saw Hunter and the two other leaders. Her face warmed into a wide grin, but her eyes slowly looked over the bloody hunters.
“Survivors?”
Hunter nodded, and stepped forward, making his way around the counter. “Seven, mostly children,” he told her. He smiled as he walked past, and through the doors to the back rooms.
Carrier let out a deep sigh, and followed Hunter slowly. “It’s a good afternoon, Monsoon,” she said down to the mare as she passed. Alloy patted Monsoon’s head gently as he crouched through the doorway.
Hunter had removed the holster and jacket that he took on his trips, and shook dust and ash from his deep brown coat. Executioner was hung in the harness on a peg board, but Hunter removed his knife and placed the blade with its dried blood streaks onto the table.
Monsoon entered the room a moment later, after Carrier had dropped the minigun into its dedicated spot at the far end of the room and Alloy took a seat at the large wooden table. She set a tray she had been carrying at Carrier’s talons, and wrung warm water from a rag on it. Carrier hissed as Monsoon ran the rough rag along her cut feathers and sliced skin.
“What’ll we tell Errant, Hunter?” Alloy leaned back in his chair, and crossed his massive arms over his equally-sized chest.
“Her information wasn’t wrong,” Hunter replied, wiping his blade with a rough pad. “But I think there’s more going on than they know right now. We’ll need to tell her about their movements.”
Alloy lifted one of the sacks of firearms the team had secured at the settlement, and emptied it across the table. Several rifles, and many more pistols clattered over the surface. Most still had the glisten of a newly-machined weapon, and appeared to have never been fired. “Looks like they’re getting something from someone we don’t know about.”
Carrier hissed from the pain of the healing gel Monsoon applied to her arm’s gash, but spoke up, “I doubt she don’t know. Her an’ her bearded mate, they been busy scoutin’ something out west. Prob’ly she’ll tell us somethin’ in the next Signal.”
Hunter nodded, running his blade across a whet stone methodically. “We’ll figure that out later, when we have more information. For now, you both smell like hell.”
Alloy snorted a chuckle. “Like you’re any better, little pony.”
Monsoon flopped a warm wet rag over Alloy’s horns. It stuck to the minotaur’s brow with a thick swop. “You’re all going to make my shop smell like blood and raiders. Have your meeting later!”
The three hunters grinned, and Carrier and Alloy made to leave. Hunter slipped the knife back into its sheath on his belt, and nodded to Monsoon as he walked through to her personal room. A hot basin of water awaited him. Not the cleanest water, in both senses, but it would serve to wipe the raider blood from his body. He’d likely have to resort to a tall glass of Sky Bourbon or Black Pony Whiskey to rid his mind of the rest of the raider activity.
As he stared at the water, lost in his thoughts, Monsoon walked in, and took a soaked cloth from the basin in her mouth. The earth pony mare gently scrubbed the streaks of clotted blood and matted dirt from Hunter. With each rinse of the cloth, the basin’s water muddied. She wiped the sweat and the gore from him silently, and he stood stoic, saying his private prayers to the long-dead goddesses, watching in painful concentration his memories of the day, oblivious to Monsoon’s touch.
Finally, Monsoon dropped the cloth the last time, and spoke up, “Seven children?”
Hunter slowly woke from his daze, and shook his head. “Six children, and one mother.”
“Oh,” Monsoon said, delighted. “It’s so nice to do good for the young ones. Though, I know it’ll be hard for them to adjust. Who knows how long they were there, or what they went through.”
“I know,” Hunter said, solemnly. “I know what they went through. It was horrible, Monsoon.” His voice was becoming increasingly dour, and his face strained into a pained expression. “We’d seen Corpse Eater towns before, and all the nasty, horrible things they did to other ponies, and to colts and fillies alike, but this was on a whole different level.”
Monsoon nuzzled up close to Hunter, and stroked his short beige mane gently.
The tenseness of his shoulders dropped with her touch, and he leaned into her. “Those ponies, I couldn’t…they weren’t even ponies anymore,” he lamented.
He stifled a surging sadness, and clenched his jaw as his anger rose, thinking of the next part of his admission. “They couldn’t be fixed. None of them. I shot them. They were tied up. Defenseless. They just sat there, ranting and reveling in their depravity, and when I found out she died, and they held no remorse, not even one tiny slimmer of sadness, I stopped caring. I didn’t want to help those fuckers. I didn’t even want to think that they could be saved, even a little. I shot them. Then we burned the town.”
Monsoon’s eyes had teared up. Hunter felt that the gentle mare had always harbored more empathy than the rest of the town combined, and all too often the tidbits of the stories he told her brought the sadness from her that he tried to force down and hide away.
She took his face in her hooves, and kissed him. The negative emotions he had been pushing away since the skirmish at the town faded away, replaced by a new kind of sadness. No matter what actions he took or how deeply he hurt, Monsoon always trusted him completely, and her complete and intrinsic belief that he would do the just thing, the proper thing, made him feel a weight on his consciousness heavier than the gravest memories of the raiders he’d slaughtered.
He pressed back and pushed Monsoon against the wall, knocking the basin over and spilling the muddy red water over the dank wood flooring. She wrapped her hooves around him and pulled him in closer, and he complied, letting the raw emotions that she brought out in him take control. He ran his hoof down her side and kissed along her cheek and down her neck.
He nipped lightly against her coat and pressed her forward. She fell to the bedding and rolled onto her back, lifting her legs, baring her soft belly and marehood for him. He felt his sex harden at the sight of her and the strong, inviting aroma of her quickening arousal. He returned to his downward quest, nibbling, kissing, and licking his way. He brushed against her swelling mound and ran his tongue slowly across the slit. Then again, back up, pressing his long tongue hard into her folds, savoring the sweet taste of her desire.
The ache between his legs tugged at him, and his erection pressed hard against his underbelly, bulging and nearly overpowering his desire to satisfy her with one to penetrate. He pushed away the thoughts as best he could, and continued to run his tongue up and down Monsoon.
He darted his tongue in to her as deep as he could, then ran it up her hot sex, and pressed hard against her clit. He focused there, licking in circles and shapes, flicking at the nub or pulling it back between his lips, bringing a moan from the shifting mare. He pressed a hoof gently against her mound below the action of his tongue, and rubbed hard. Her moving became more erratic, and she arched her back and gasped with each increasingly pleasurable sensation.
She squirmed under him, and pressed her thighs tight against his head. A short gasp and her body bucked. She rubbed her quavering marehood against Hunter’s tongue and hoof as hard and rhythmically as she could during her climax, and pulled his head against her body as the waves overtook over senses.
She panted as the orgasm tapered off. She rubbed Hunter’s mane and simply watched him as he continued to run his tongue in the shapes and with the pressure that had brought her to her peak moments before. As the feelings began to increase again, she shifted her body away, rolling onto her stomach. She raised her back legs and swished her tail aside, inviting Hunter to enter her.
Hunter, eager to oblige, made to his hooves and slowly raised himself over Monsoon. He pressed himself against her waiting body, and slid his shaft along her slit. His mind screamed at him to stop teasing, and thrust in, and he knew by her increasing wetness that she was ready again. He stopped resisting the urge, and pressed in. Her marehood gradually opened up as it accepted the wide girth he was forcing in, and soon the tip of his hardened erection was surrounded in intense heat and the softness of the most delicate part of her.
He pulled back slightly, then pressed forward again, inching deeper into her. Then out and further in again. He continued this motion until he could push in no further. She took him in to his base, and was stretched wide by the size of him. As Hunter pulled back, she seemed to pull him in, and when he thrust forward, her tightness filled the stallion with intense pleasure.
She rested her head on the blanket of her bedding and bit into the pillow, stifling her moans. Hunter pressed into her harder, and faster, filling her from tip to base of his shaft with each plunge. Her stifled moans and his grunts coincided with the heavy, wet slapping of his body thrusting into hers. The pressure of orgasm built within him, and as her body involuntarily shook and her legs wobbled from the climax she just began to crest, he felt the telltale sign of his own inevitable peak.
He held back the feeling, wanting for just a moment longer to thrust himself in the lovely mare, forcing down the overwhelming desire to loose his seed into her, eager to ride her orgasm through. A new warmth rolled from deep within her in quick waves as her tightness around his shaft pulsed and pulled at him, and it poured down his shaft. The urge overtook his senses, and he could hold back no more. The muscles along his erection tensed then pushed fiercely. He felt the heat of his ejaculation fill her depths with a long, thick stream. He thrust as far as she could take him, and another burst forth, sending a tingling feeling of immense pleasure across his body. He thrust and thrust again, each signaling another spurt of his semen had loosed itself from him deep into the womb of Monsoon. She filled with it, and it dripped out from her, running down her legs as the last streams of his pleasure flowed into her.
The last of their climaxes subsided, and Monsoon let her legs go limp. Hunter’s hardness slid from her and she rolled onto her side. Hunter pulled her against his body. For a few minutes, they lay there, cuddled together. The room was quiet, and no sounds could be heard from outside in the town. The smell of their sex filled the room, mixed with the light aroma of sunflowers that Monsoon had filled the shop with.
Hunter played the events again in his mind while he rested, shivering with excitement at her pleasure, and then further back, to the few words she spoke upon their return. She had admitted her genuine happiness at the survival of the children his group had brought back with them, and he absent-mindedly mumbled her words aloud.
She turned her face up to his, and then spoke after a long silence. “Do you still think about them?”
Hunter nodded. “Every day,” he told her. It had been five years since his family was ripped from him, but every day he set out into raider territory, and every pony’s face he saw when he pulled the trigger reminded him of their torture and eventual death.
“I know it’s hard,” Monsoon started, “And…no, I’m sorry, I know it’s hard for you.”
Hunter squeezed her softly. “It’s alright,” he said. “I know that, no matter how many of those monsters I kill, or how many mothers, children, and families we rescue, I’ll never find mine. They died five years ago, and they will be forever gone. But I still remember. Every day, I see their faces as clear as the last time I saw them, smiling and running through 144.”
“Do you ever think…” she trailed off, and silence hung in the air for a painfully long minute. Finally, she pulled herself up onto Hunter and stared into his eyes.
He was astonished by her expression. Her face was set in determination, and her eyes shone with a strength he’d never seen in the gentle mare before. Her chest pressed against his, and her heart was pounding, racing as though she’d run across the Marejave just then.
“Hunter, I love you,” she admitted.
It was the first time either had spoke the words, but they both felt it. And they each knew the other felt that way, which is why, after two years of their constant companionship, neither had said them. But there they were, and Hunter was surprised to hear them so proudly proclaimed by the mare pressing against him.
“And,” she said, some of her bravado visibly fading, “I want us to be a family.”
Hunter wrapped his arms around her, and held her gaze. The fierce shine in her eyes returned, and she spoke up again. “I want to have your foals, Hunter. I love you. I have since we met. Let’s be a family.”
Hunter’s eyes immediately watered. All of the regret from earlier, the emotions that flooded over him when she cried for him during his story of the skirmish, and all the years of continual sadness from his lost family, all paled to those few words. He was overcome with a sort of happiness he had refused to let himself feel since his wife and their three children were slaughtered, and no matter how hard he tried to push the feelings down and maintain his composure, he couldn’t. The tears rolled from his eyes.
He pulled Monsoon close and they sought each other in a heavy embrace. She pulled against him and her hooves dug into his skin. He held her with every muscle in his body. For that short while, they pulled on each other with all of their emotions.
“Of course, Monsoon. Of course. I love you, Monsoon.”
Hunter stepped into the dank, dimly-lit tavern, and nodded to Stems behind the counter. Glasses, the behemoth of an earth pony, standing a full three heads taller than Hunter, and close to twice his thickness, pushed open the doorway that led down into the small meeting room Hunter requested an audience in.
Making his way past the spark battery generators, he pushed into the stuffy room. Sitting in a corner, lit by a small crystal held up by a telekinetic field, Errant Signal, the town’s singular source for rumors, information, and the somewhat-infamous host of The Signal—“Everypony’s favorite pirate broadcast!”—tinkered away on the busted PipBuck she had been working on for as long as Hunter could remember. Beside her, a Protectapony was stripped of its internal electronics, and cables were sliced and spliced together into the PipBuck.
Hunter had to focus his thoughts on knowing she was there, since she had the sometimes-unfortunate innate ability to phase out of someone’s awareness. “Errant,” he said, tapping against the door.
She snapped her head up, and the red streaks in her black mane bounced about, kicking dust and webs from the strands. “Oh, Hunter,” she said, going back to tinkering. She used her magic to maneuver a sharp blade at a cable and pulled the edge through it, making a pop as the cable split and sparks fizzled in the air. “How was your hunt? Any juicy details about those raiders you slaughtered?”
Hunter ignored the last bit, as he always had, figuring it was simply her way of trying to coax a few words out for her broadcast. He dropped one of the rifles taken from the raider settlement onto the ground just in front of Errant. “Looks like they’re getting supplies from someone. New supplies.”
She nodded. “Lumi is looking into that right now. All goes well, he should be back tonight, and I’ll put it on The Signal and everyone’ll know what’s really going on.”
“So you do know.” Hunter wasn’t surprised, or irritated. He just said it matter of factly, hoping to prompt the would-be engineer mare into spilling some of the information she was acting on. She wasn’t part of his group, and played with her own rules in this small den of freelance desert terrorism, and communication between the town’s vigilante groups on insider information was always tedious.
She looked up at him with a tired expression. “What we do know is that the Quills just set up over near the Badlands, and they’re hiring up new gun runners. Some of their operation seems to be useful, but we didn’t believe it entirely. They’re too close to those raider scumfucks to be completely clean.”
Hunter nodded, turning back to the door. “Anyone that supplies raiders needs to be dealt with.”
Errant giggled her twisted laugh, and called back after him, “I hope it was messy!”
That evening, Hunter spoke to Carrier, Alloy, and the other two equal-part leaders of their group that were not present at the settlement event that morning, Carbon and Muzzle Flash. “Errant and Luminous do know something about what’s going on, but they’re not doing anything until they have some more information.”
Alloy snorted. “We pulled over twenty new guns from just that one compound. Do they ’ave any idea who gave them those?”
“That new group, the Quills, they think. Probably hear something about it presently.”
Carbon stepped to the radio on the counter of Remembrance, and cranked the volume. The static broke away, replaced by the energetic voice of Errant.
“…got me a glass of Sky Bourbon and I’d suggest you do the same because a doozy of a rumor just came through my door!”
“Sounds like Luminous came back, then,” Carbon said, scratching at the patchy stubble on the few places of his burnt face that any would grow.
“We don’t know yet,” Hunter reminded him.
“…near the badlands may want to barricade your doors a bit tighter now; the Corpse Eaters have been gettin’ pretty rowdy lately. Reports even describe them packing heavier heat than usual.”
Carrier let out a shrill squawk. “‘Reports,’ she says! At least credit us when we nearly get ourselves killed out there, fuck!”
“Can you believe it? The nerve, supplying raiders with guns. As if we don’t have enough to worry about here in the desert.”
“Sounds like that settles it, then,” Muzzle Flash quietly added.
Hunter nodded. “The Corpse Fuckers, as we all are uncomfortably aware, are a blight against Equestrian values. It is because of monstrosities like them that all of the Wasteland has been trapped for two hundred years, wallowing in its own feces.”
Carbon chimed in, “So what’s the plan?”
Hunter pondered the map spread out on the table. He eyed the many pins that dotted the rough outline of the Marejave. Red indicated known raider encampments; green showed surviving towns or trading posts; those without any color pointed to the many towns that were lost to raiders. The unfortunate few green pins weighed heavily on Hunter. “I’ll talk to Luminous, or someone in that group anyway. They’re not likely to let this go on, either, and perhaps our interests coincide enough to work together.”
Carrier laughed. “You know they prefer doing their own thing. What, y’think that sick-fuck of a murderin’-mare wants an audience or somethin’?”
“Perhaps they have more information. Trade routes, distribution channels, holding or manufacturing facilities for the Quills. Anything that we can use to strike a crippling blow.”
Alloy stood from the table, stretching his arms. “Then I suggest we all go gather our troops. Hunter, when you know when we strike, signal us. We’ll be ready.”
Carrier and Muzzle Flash both nodded. Carbon scratched at a tuft of beard and uttered a “Yep.”
Monsoon walked up to Hunter as the rest of the team dispersed, and rubbed his back, whispering to him. “Are you going to go right away?”
“As soon as we figure out what The Signal has in mind, yes. Probably first thing in the morning. We can’t let them continue, Monsoon.” He rubbed her hoof with his. “These monsters are more organized than most raiders. Someone’s leading them. We’ve got to find out who, and stop him, as soon as we can.”
“But do you have to go so soon? You’ve only been back for a few hours.”
Hunter nodded. “We’ll rest tonight, but that’s still one night that countless children and innocents can be raped, tortured, killed, or eaten. We have to go as soon as we’re able.”
He spoke quietly to Stems at the edge of the bar, waiting for Glasses to return, signaling the end of the tentative meeting downstairs. Stems admitted that Luminous returned, along with some other mare in a battle saddle he didn’t know, when the telltale shuddering of the building sounded the ascent of the lumbering pony that was Glasses.
“Ah, Hunter,” he said, nodding his maneless head, “I take it you heard The Signal?”
“Is there anything you can tell me more specifically about all of that?”
“You want in on it, too, eh?”
“We have our own reasons, but we’d like to share information, and see if our combined forces can make a more effective strategy.”
Glasses leaned against the bartop, which squeaked in protest of the monumental weight. “’Fraid I don’t know much ’bout about what all exactly sh’ and Luminous got planned. The new kid down there, sh’ was pulled from them and came back with Luminous, so I wager they got the specifics. For now, I just know we’re t’ be headin’ out for a while, takin’ care of a few small issues.”
“You think they’d mind if I stepped in?” Hunter asked at the same time Stems protested, “You’re leaving again!?”
Glasses’ laughter shook the building. He nodded to Hunter and turned his attention to the stallion across the bar. “Aw, come on, love, you know it’s just a little while. Nothin’ to fret over.”
Hunter heard Stems arguing against the idea as he made his way down the stairs for the second time that day. He tapped the door as always, and Luminous Beacon waved him in.
“Hunter,” he said, taking the last swig of his drink. “What can we do for ya?”
“When and where are you going to strike against the Quills? My team and I want to help.” He eyed the newcomer, an evergreen mare with steely blue hair that curled about her face in a haphazard mop. Her battle saddle was bare, and two high-gauge shotguns adorned the sides.
Luminous Beacon chuckled a bit, before making his way to Hunter and patting him on the shoulder heartily. “What we’re after, your team will get in the way. But,” he said, moving toward the table once more, “I think little Bit here might know another valuable target.”
The mare looked up at Hunter, and he stared into her oddly-colored eyes. One was a bright gold, but the other was grey, and the appearance gave Hunter a slight pause. “I didn’t go to it myself,” she said, looking over the map. She tapped a block that sat at the edge of the penciled in line labeled Corpse Eaters. “But this place should be their main factory. Heavily guarded, I would assume.”
Hunter considered the map. One pin stuck out in the southwest portion of the raider territory that he didn’t recognize. “What’s there?” he asked, tapping at the pin.
Errant clicked her teeth. “Corpse Eater grand central.”
“How do you know?”
She looked at Hunter and then gave a snort of a laugh. “Of course I know.”
Fine, secret sources, Hunter hissed inwardly. “So that’s where they’re being controlled from?”
“Or as close as raiders can get to it,” Luminous responded. “Reports vary, but it could house anywhere from fifty to five hundred of the bastards. And I figure they’re right cozy with the Quills, and heavily armed.”
Hunter nodded. “Then tomorrow, my team will strike them there.”
“Aiming high!” Errant whistled.
“If we crush the organization at the top, they’ll fall apart once more and go back to murdering each other for the scraps. They’ll be easier to deal with that way.” Hunter nodded and gave his thanks to each of the three, then made his way back to Remembrance.
He tapped Monsoon’s broadcaster, tuning it to his team’s channel, and spoke slowly, decisively. “We have a plan. Oh-five-hundred hours, we march. It’s a war.”
Alloy responded first, then Carrier, and finally, Carbon and Muzzle Flash simultaneously. All agreed. Hunter hoped they could rally every able fighter that agreed with their cause, but pushed the thoughts away. I need to rest tonight, he reminded himself.
The valley town was the closest thing to a proper civilization Hunter had ever seen the raiders live in. As he and Carrier scouted at the edge of the cliff overlooking the short drop that led into it, they noted common travel paths between several buildings where raiders took ammunition, food, and construction equipment. They didn’t seem like raiders, at first, and Hunter silently questioned the information.
“We’re still in the Badlands, aren’t we?” Carrier seemed to share in his confusion.
Through the binoculars, Hunter noted that most of the ponies below, with a small smattering of minotaurs, hung a mask of bleached bone about their necks. Some cutie marks were flayed off, or showed icons of types of violence. The generally poor physical condition of most of the residents also served to solidify the fact that this was in fact a raider town.
But it was an actual town, with trade, daily living, and growth.
Hunter moved around the cliffs carefully, sticking to high vantage points along the rim, ticking marks in a small notepad that indicated approximate populations.
He returned to the advance-party’s preset location, a singular boulder that took up tall, resilient against the wind and heat that beat on it every day. Carrier swooped down moments later, bringing with her a griffin’s-eye view of the town, scrawled on notes of her own.
The five leaders mulled over the information of the town and nodded as Hunter’s plan was solidified. The layout of the town was haphazard, but one structure stood out, having been built with heavy steel beams that were visible from a mile in the distance, shining brightly in the extreme noon light. Most of the buildings were constructed of rotted wood and stucco over thin meshes of wire, so the almost-fortified look of that one, built snugly against the surrounding cliff, seemed the most likely position for the group leader.
The plan was carried from the other four leaders to their lieutenants and then down the effective ranks. The three dozen-and-some citizens of Paint pushed forward, and split into three teams, awaiting their respective signals to begin their move.
Sitting at the cliff edge just above the target building, Hunter and Carrier waited in silence. Timing was crucial, here, so they sat, tense. They waited, and watched, and the sun beat down on them. Sweat ran down Hunter’s brows, and Carrier fluffed her feathers to push away the heat.
Then, an explosion rang out on the far side of town, and a chunk of cliff broke off, rolling into town. The enormous slab cracked and split when it hit. The large remnants of it raced down the cliff. Clouds of thick clay-dust were kicked into the air, mixing with the dark smoke of Carbon’s explosive. The landslide crashed into the settlement, rolling over two of the stucco homes before raining an avalanche of clay and debris into the town.
Hunter latched onto Carrier’s harness and she dove down the cliff, holding her wings against her body until the last moment. The thick heat of the valley town below caught under her wings and with a sudden lurch, the updraft halted their descent, just feet above the ground near a side entrance.
The two dashed to the edge of the building and peered through the open windows into the fortified structure, watching the raiders within rush through the front entrance. Another explosion sounded in the distance, signaling the second phase of the plan had started. Gunfire echoed through the valley, and screams followed suit.
“Alloy better fuckin’ take care of my baby,” Carrier whispered. Hunter smirked. The griffin’s pride, the massive minigun she built with her own talons, would be safe with the gentle giant, but that wouldn’t stop her from fretting.
The two crawled through the windows and pushed across the room. Hunter expected it to be as every other raider hovel was, with the theme of decoration being excessively grotesque, but was surprised at how little it differed from any normal town’s housing. Shelves, mostly still intact, lined the walls and a number of sealed cans and glass containers sat on counters and tables. The similarity to his own home in Paint, and the unusually normal décor had him unnerved.
“Hunter,” Carrier whispered. She motioned with her talons and the two snuck around the corner of the room and moved into another, with similarly non-raider furnishings. The most out of place anything Hunter noticed was a messy painting along a bare wall, of geometric shapes arranged in a confusing order with lines of varying thickness moving between them. Characters were scrawled in the runny paint along those lines, but Hunter didn’t know what they meant.
Another rumble shook the house, and the distant explosion knocked a few small firearms from a table near Hunter. The second wave of reinforcements from their group would be on their way, flanking the raiders as they rushed to the area of fighting, splitting the raider forces and keeping the opposition in disarray.
The next room led to stairs that split in opposite directions, so the two split up.
Up the stairs, Hunter spotted a pony staring out through an open window. Hunter slid his knife quietly from its sheathe and inched forward. The raider wore a tattered hide cloth over his shoulders, and the mangy fur of the pony it had been flayed from was the first indication that even in something close to proper civilization, raiders were still monsters.
Hunter rose behind the raider, and brought his weight down, crushing the raider against the window’s edge, then bit into the grimy mane and ran his knife along the creature’s throat. They fell to the ground as Hunter forced his weight onto the thinner stallion, keeping the kicking and bucking of the quickly expiring raider from making much noise.
Hunter pressed his hooves on the raider as he started to fade. Gunfire sounded all around, and maniacal screams and the heavy whump of Muzzle Flash’s anti-artillery battle saddle broke through every few seconds. Hunter spit. Good riddance to scum.
The stench of waste flooded Hunter as he opened the first door. Within, small steel cages lined the walls, stacked on top of each other three rows high, affording the malnourished fillies and mares within little space to turn. The room was without ventilation, and in the stifling heat of the midday desert, he felt like he was stepping into an oven as he crossed the threshold. The buzz of flies filled the room.
Small buckets of water and food were placed in each cage, but the girls held within each were forced to lay and sleep on the rough, hot steel of the cages. Each door was shut tight with thick chains, and most lay, panting, barely cognizant, festering in their own vomit, urine, and feces.
He looked at each in turn, and noticed none were aware enough to meet his gaze or respond when he rattled the cage or spoke to them lightly. Hunter figured it was a combination of constant chem use and this horrid environment. They probably wasted away in that fetid semi-consciousness, barely recognizing the need to drink, or, he hoped, they didn’t feel their constant rape. Many were covered in bruises and infected slices and holes, and more than a few were dead.
He rummaged through the room, but found no key. He wanted to open the cages and let them at least get out of the room that baked them in their cramped confines, but he cursed and spit at himself, knowing the first priority of the mission was not freeing these slaves, and there would be no way for him to get them out alone, in the midst of all the fighting outside, when they couldn’t even stand on their own.
He whispered promises of returning, to which none of the mares or fillies within responded, and returned to the hall. The next room was very much the same, as was the next. He stepped into the last room, and stomped angrily at the repeating scene. As he had in the previous three, he made his way cage to cage, hoping to find just one who was conscious enough to respond.
But unlike the other rooms, the mares and fillies here were bloated with child. The cages were slightly larger, which Hunter reasoned was not for their comfort, but the required extra space to promote a slightly higher chance at making it to term. He stopped at one, overcome with nausea from the sickly smell of pus-filled amniotic fluids. The mare within breathed slowly, and her eyes were rolled back in her head, bloodshot and caked with dirt and grime. A thick, pungent slime rolled from her cage to the floor, emanating from the deformed pink shape of flesh and half-formed pony shapes that slumped from the bloody mess of her marehood. A swarm of flies and sandbugs pulled nutrition from the forcefully-terminated fetus.
Hunter bucked at a table in anger, sending it crashing into the wall behind him. Childbirth was supposed to be something special, something for the family to be proud of. He had always been told that as he grew up, and he never felt so elated as hearing the first cries of his two sons and daughter when they were finally brought into the world.
He stomped his way into the hall, and yelled inwardly at himself to calm down, to remember why they came. It wasn’t too late for many of the others, and when they were done, Paint would help them bring up their children properly, in a good, nurturing environment. He had to push away the desire to break his stealth mission, and he was finding it difficult.
A series of low rumbles broke Hunter from his daze. That was the signal for the final phase of the main assault. It meant that Alloy’s team had joined in, and they were pushing the raiders through the town. Each thundering sound of Carbon’s grenade launcher signaled another check point had been reached. Hunter listened to the rhythm of the explosions, and counted the extra ones that followed: the block explosives that Muzzle Flash was tasked to set notified him of a cleared and demolished building. They were advancing quickly.
He chided himself for allowing his emotions to tamper with the mission. He was behind schedule now. He rushed down the stairs that Carrier had taken minutes prior, and made his way down the stone hall that led into the cliff. The air was stale, and smelled of iron.
He came face to face with a large wooden door reinforced with thick plates of steel. A bright yellow painting that matched the abstract shape upstairs was splattered across it. Light shone from the edges of it, and he heard laughter beyond, stifled through the thickness of the door.
He heard a tip-tap behind him and spun, but too slowly. A hulking earth pony barreled into him and pinned him to the door, echoing a loud thump through the stone hall. The pony was ragged, missing one eye, both ears, and whole portions of his face, but through the mangled features, Hunter saw his excitement.
The door swung open, and Hunter was dragged into the room. The pony slammed Hunter onto his face and fell with his full weight, causing Hunter to scream in pain, and left him unable to move, pinned to the rough ground.
“Well, well, look at this,” came a haughty, heavy voice from in front of him.
Hunter looked up at the surroundings. At least five raiders that he could see, dressed in flesh fetishes and pony-bone armor stood around the edges of the circular room. The minotaur that spoke to him had Carrier pinned to the ground.
“Carrier!” Hunter called, but she only gurgled a response. Her beak had been broken at the tip, as had both of her arms.
The minotaur laughed. His horns were wide and sharpened like that of a wicked blade. His thick braids hung heavily over a broad chest, and met in heavy steel loops with spikes jutting from them. His body was tattooed with scars, and he wore only a thin belt and a strip of ponyflesh that hardly concealed his gargantuan member beneath. He stepped forward, pulling the broken body of Hunter’s closest friend along the ground. Her wings had been snapped in several places, and were tied together with straps so tight, so unnaturally, that the cracked bones jutted from her feathers through her skin.
“Oh? Is she important to you?” The minotaur kneeled in front of Hunter, and hoisted the barely-conscious head of Carrier up. He twisted her wings, causing several pops to echo around the room. She grunted.
“You fucking son of a bitch!” Hunter thrashed and kicked, trying to buck the gargantuan pony from him, but was met with a hoof to his lower back, which sent a jolt of searing pain through him, causing him to cry out.
“Oh, good,” the minotaur laughed. “So glad I convinced everyone here not to tear her apart, feather by feather. I knew waiting would make it better.” The minotaur nodded, and the earth pony pinning Hunter down reached to his eyes, and forced his eyelids wide, tilting Hunter’s head back painfully. He lashed out but couldn’t wrestle free.
The minotaur pulled a rusty knife from his belt, lifting Carrier’s head with his massive hand, and laughed. “Watch carefully, now. You don’t want to miss anything!”
He ran the blade across Carrier’s throat. Feathers fell away and her pink flesh beneath sliced open as he made his way across with the dull blade. Blood slowly seeped from the gash and dripped from her feathers. Hunter screamed, and thrashed, forcing two other raiders to pin him down, crushing his legs with their weight.
The minotaur pressed the knife into the wound and shoved into it hard. The tip disappeared into red flesh, and he struggled to drag it through her open wound. Flesh split and the griffin’s visible arteries pumped rapidly, pulsing in the strong lighting. The minotaur made another pass with the rusted blade, dragging it jaggedly through exposed muscle. He sawed away at the meat of her once-pristine throat. It squelched and blood ran from the newly-exposed flesh.
The artery split, and blood pumped quickly into the air in massive waves. It spilled over the blade and murderer’s hand, pouring down her chest and splashing against Hunter’s face, quickly pooling and splashing. The knife continued, ripping flesh. The white of her spine became visible, and with a hefty twist and a sickening pop, the muscles and tendons around it broke.
Her body fell to the floor, and the last waves of her blood sprayed out. The pool of it ran into the cracks of the room and soaked into Hunter’s coat. He screamed and thrashed. The raiders had twisted him while he fought to free himself, to help his friend, to stop her violent murder, and his shoulders burned with the tearing of tendons under the intense stress.
The minotaur rose, laughing. He hefted her head and showed it like a trophy to every cheering raider there.
Hunter raged, splashing in the blood of his friend, oblivious to the tearing of the tendons in his shoulders. He bucked and jerked, scraping his hooves across the stony ground, fighting to rush forward.
Hunter's mind had gone blank, and barely registered the explosions that split the room and shattered the raiders. Carrier’s head fell to the floor, and he pulled himself toward it, unaware that the three raiders forcing him down had been blown to pieces just above him. He pressed his head to his dead friend’s, then set her down gently.
The sounds of the fighting around him slowly came to him. Carrier’s minigun roared, and the sheer explosive volume of it covered all of the screams of pain and anguish that it brought forth. It tore limbs off the raiders, punched holes through them that saw more their insides against the wall than what was left within them, and it gave the monsters in the den the viscous death they deserved.
Hunter pulled Executioner from his sash, and walked over to his friend’s murderer, oblivious to the screaming pain throughout his body. The minotaur was missing his bottom half. His legs were in hundreds of pieces throughout the room, sliding from the walls and floating in pools of blood. Thick ribbons of purple and pink entrails slid from his body as he tried to slide away from the approaching pony.
Hunter stood face to face with the upper half of the dying minotaur, and watched, just watched, as the raider panicked and poured blood from the tattered bits of what remained of his body. Alloy, hefting Carrier’s monstrous gun, stood beside him and they watched the raider suffer and bleed away.
As the minotaur raider began to struggle to move, his death quickly becoming apparent, Hunter leveled the barrel of Executioner to his head. He pressed the ring of the muzzle to the monster’s face, and pulled the trigger.
Monsoon cried. She cried for Carrier’s death. She cried for the loss of her friend. And she cried for Hunter, who couldn’t.
Five hunters died in the fighting, but twenty-one mares and fillies were brought back to Paint, after two passed away on the return journey. Six were pregnant. The town would be busy helping to shape their tormented lives into something comfortable, decent, and had many losses to mourn.
Thick black smoke rose over the cliffs to the west that afternoon, and it hung heavy in the air long through the next day.

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       Vitia's Tale, Part 1: Desert's Edge Junction        
//-------------------------------------------------------//
Medicine & Mail, Chapter 2.5: Willow
Author’s Notes:
This is the intended version, unedited, of the companion chapter to Chapter Two in Medicine & Mail (https://www.fimfiction.net/story/100213). If you have not read at least through chapter two in the main storyline, then this perspective will not make any sense.
Rating: Mature
Contains: Drug use; Strong language; Explicit sexual content (clop, mare ejaculation).
Genres: Clop, Drama, Slice of Life
Chapter Two-point-Five
Matron Willow
“‘Prudes!’ Can you believe it? Those minotaurs, they think
Just because they have these spirits of debauchery and carnality,
That we’re repressed! Us, regular, pure ponyfolk!”
With all the activity of the dozens of patrons, dancing, joking, laughing and playing games of dice and cards with exaggerated gusto, the air here was thick and hot. Minotaurs and ponies shuffled back and forth from the bar, ordering drinks and returning below to their games or tables. The two minotaurs that moved aside to let me sit across from Willow shared stories and laughter over my head like I wasn’t even there.
“Alright, so you’re not with Bit,” Willow called out, her voice loud, necessary to cover the excessive bass levels of the speakers all around, but flat toned. “What exactly are you?” The pink unicorn was slowly turning a glass around in her telekinetic field, the turquoise glow of it creating a cascade of hues across her features. She had painted herself up in a dark purple tribal pattern, and was wearing a lacy black and white outfit.
She was decidedly gorgeous. And I’m staring.
I shook my head and tried to turn my attention away from the mesmerizing mare. “I—” I didn’t actually know how to respond to her question. I fumbled with some words, and tossed some ideas around in my head but nothing seemed to fit. What was I, now?
With the Hydra that coursed through my body, I couldn’t even be sure I was still fully unicorn. But then, with the suppressor anchored to my horn, I didn’t even have that going for me.
Right now, I was just a small pony days further away than I’d ever been from my home, unsure of where I was going to go, and whose company I was in, or even what I would do after this night. I knew that, in the back of my mind, I wanted to find Silver. But the need of it seemed to have lessened of late.
And each time I looked at the priestess, it seemed less important even still. I shook my head and sighed.
“You don’t have to say,” Willow added with a gentle voice, a smile touching on her lips. “I just wanted to know who was keeping the company of my favorite little gambler.”
I looked up at Willow, the warming tone of the last words catching my curiosity. She was looking across the bar, and I followed her gaze to Ghost Ant, hovering over Bit, who was flat on the ground on her haunches.
The grey minotaur—short by minotaur standards, but still several times my size—stepped up to the bar, and swept his enormous arms aside, shuffling most of the row between us toward me. Bit walked to the bar, and disappeared behind the mass of muscle and fur in front of me that was leaning back to watch the event.
Willow giggled, and stared down at the glass she was floating with her magic, her cleaning temporarily halted. It seemed like she was lost in a memory, and her downcast smile added a wisp of melancholy to the view.
“It was just an accident,” I rushed to say, causing her to perk up. “I helped her, and then she helped me. We’re…even, now.” I wasn’t sure how to explain it. I didn’t know how Bit Flip actually felt about the arrangement. She helped me out back at Old Fort Celestia, but only after invoking a debt, and she did refer to me earlier as business.
Maybe I was just luggage.
“That’s it?” She sounded disappointed. “That’s so…well, that’s very her, isn’t it?” She laughed a little, her voice trailing off.
The bar aside me erupted in cheers, and a cream-colored stallion in black bartender robes called out that a drinking challenge had been issued. I leaned back and tried to peer through the thickening crowd to glimpse at who was involved—Bit was over there, so I was curious—but the throng of gatherers and watchers for the challenge obscured my sight completely.
I sat back straight and sighed. The minotaurs beside me had risen and joined in with the rest of the growing crowd to the side, so I was left curiously alone, save for Willow, who was looking at me with a soft smile.
I remembered the sorrowful expression she held a few moments before. Bit had mentioned that she and Willow shared an intimate past, but it certainly felt like one side held on to the memories of it more dearly, and it reminded me of Silver Sheen. My relationship with her took years to develop, and then, just as it did—
A great slap hit my back and nearly sent me tumbling over the bar. A gruff, booming voice yelled from my side, “’Ey Willow! Didn’t know ya had yerself another ’nitiate!” The rust-coated minotaur reached an arm around my side and hoisted me up effortlessly over his shoulder, and began walking from the bar.
I struggled in vain, and reached out with my arms and eyes to Willow, who just shrugged and giggled.
The crowd at the edge of the bar erupted again. And I was right, it was Bit Flip in the center of the group, sitting aside an azure stallion, with several lines of shot glasses and a familiar dark alcohol (ooh, Black Whiskey!) prepped for the contest., “—Ish yer favorite!” I heard from within.
The minotaur dropped me down atop a table where two stallions and one massive griffin sat. Their faces were flushed from the heat of the building, laughter, and judging from the number of bottles and cans that were knocked off when I was unceremoniously flopped onto the table, they were all extremely drunk.
The crowd near Bit broke into a sing-song tune, sloshing together a mixed rhythm and swaying to off-key cries of “Drink until y’can’t drink no more!”
As I gained my footing atop the table, I started, “I’m not—”
The scarred griffin let out an ear-piercing squawk, which turned into a laugh and a haggard coughing fit. The others at the table joined in the laughter, but it felt distinctly like they were not joining with the griffin, and more laughing at him.
“Aye, we know!” The minotaur joked, slapping my back. “No paint! But you’ve got the lace on! Ye’d be a Maiden or Honorary Priestess with that but ain’t none o’us knows you, so that can’t be!”
One of the stallions, with a splotchy grey-purple coat and numerous pocks over his face, leaned up onto the table and yelled out at me, “We jus’ wanna know—”
“You an’ Bit a thing?”
Even over the booming bass and noise of the church-bar, I was sure everyone in here heard it. The extreme volume made me wince and lay my ears flat reflexively, and the overwhelming stench of alcohol and other far-less inviting smells from the stallion’s breath had me scrambling back.
I fell onto the floor, hitting flat on my back, and my eyes watered.
A massive arm of the rusty minotaur hoisted me back to my hooves, where I stood, looking at each of the four drunkards in turn, feeling the flush of my embarrassment warm into a smile, and I laughed along with them.
Near Bit Flip, the crowd of challenge-watchers hollered and hooped, and a shaggy minotaur with excessively long dreads looked at me before calling back into the throng, “’Ey! Bit’s got’er a fillyfriend!”
I knew someone heard that! I blushed, “Everybody really does assume that! We’re not!” I laughed along with most of the upper floor. I looked up and caught a few glances of the evergreen mare as she downed glass after glass of whiskey. She is cute, in her way, but I don’t feel anything toward her.
The bar was full of rowdy, but good-mannered types, it seemed. I looked over the faces of everyone at the table before me and in each I saw enjoyment and relaxation. The griffin was the largest I had ever seen, standing nearly as tall and broad as most of the minotaurs, but still smaller than the stoic minotaurs standing at all corners draped in a single massive black cloth. The stallions were much older than I, covered in grime and dirt, and one was wearing a tattered engineer’s cap.
The crowd around the challenge had begun to disperse, and leading them was Bit Flip, flushed in face and carrying a healthy pile of chips, making her way down the ramp at the end of the balcony to the gaming floor below.
“Now now,” the gentle voice of Willow came from beside me, “It’s not fair to take my catch from me like that.” She had stepped up beside me and was looking at each, glancing back to me. She ran her tail slowly, gently up along my cutie mark.
I whimpered, and my entire body flushed. My ears pinned back, and I shivered as she ran her tail down the inside of my flank. My knees felt weak suddenly, and I wanted to collapse and whimper from the sudden intimacy.
As the table erupted in shouts and hoots, Willow nudged me over to the edge of the upper floor and leaned against the railing. She spoke softly into my ear, “That’ll give them something to talk about.”
I kept my eyes down at the tables below, trying desperately not to think of the feel of her tail along the sensitive inside of my leg, the look on her face and—okay, I really need to stop thinking of that! By Celestia’s grace I think she’ll make me come just looking at me.
“You play?” Willow nodded down to a table below.
I was glad for the topic change, but I shook my head. “I mean, I’ve played before, but only with travelers and a few other ponies around town. Never in a real environment. I don’t know if I’m any good.”
Bit Flip was leaning over a table with more spectators than apparent players, and pulled to her a small pile of colored chips, laughing.
Willow looked at me and raised an eyebrow. “Never know until you try,” she giggled.
“I’d like to,” I mused. Watching the jubilation of everyone below, cheering as Bit pulled another win, and erupting as she bet it all and lost it immediately after, it felt like there was so much that could happen in just one game.
Looking over at another table, a group of griffins and minotaurs were holding cards and trying to hold themselves as steady and flat-faced as possible. Each player glanced at another and after what appeared to be careful consideration, dropped some chips into a bulging pile. They all dropped their cards face up, and one griffin jumped up, hollering, while the rest of the players squirmed and rubbed their heads. How interesting.
“So why don’t you? The services are still on for a while yet. Go mingle.”
“I’d, um,” I shifted. “I don’t know. I think I’ll just stay up here for now.”
“Nervous, huh? Well, looks like there’s something else I’ll have to show you how to overcome later.” She turned from the railing and grazed me lightly with her mane as she walked by, then brushed her tail across my face and walked to the bar. A sweet scent lingered after her.
Her small, lithe frame moved slowly, deliberately, and swished her tail about. The dark cloth wrapped around her body tightly and the thin stockings and lace left little to the imagination. The dark purple paint accented her features and kept bringing my view to her flank.
I followed slowly behind her toward the bar, and watched her make her way around it, never for a moment taking my view from the sight of her. My body was warm, my face flushed, and a noticeable moisture had developed between my legs. She was simply gorgeous—maybe even more-so than Silver…
“Darling,” she spoke to me, breaking me from my trance, “Eyes up here.”
Luna freeze my nethers, she saw me. Again! I slumped down and covered my head with my hooves, hoping the burning in my cheeks, ears, and under my thighs would settle.
She laughed, and pressed a hoof to my ear gently. As I looked up, she whispered, “I hope you didn’t make a mess in my panties.”
I squealed and tried to stammer out something, but words were not forming.
“Willow! Ah need another round! No, make it two! Me an’ mah buddies, we need another toast for Laitis!”
“Certainly!” She beamed. With the shimmering lights of the church playing about, and the glow from her magic, her sapphire eyes sparkled. The purple paint that she painted around them only made them stand out more.
As she trotted about, talking excitedly to the mottled stallion requesting drink after drink, her mane bounced and flowed, billowing out and framing her face. She worked her magic over multiple bottles, lifting and flipping each in turn, seeming to delight in the activity. It was amazing to watch—she turned bottles and spun them around, dropping her magic hold on them momentarily, picking them up again at the precise moment the last drips needed to fill the glasses below the bottle hit, and managed the menagerie of bottles and glasses without ever missing a beat in her sing-song sway and dance.
She smiled as she set the tray of multi-colored drinks down by a nearby lace-clad minotaur. It seemed like the entire church lit up with her.
I tried to edge myself closer to that sight, wanting simply to be a part of the aura that she seemed to emanate. My body tingled, and burned with powerful sensations. I shifted, and wetness flowed from me. I have the heat of Celestia’s sun in me, I groaned.
I have to stop thinking of that. I needed to calm down, take a breath, and steady myself. I can’t, I still have Silver. When I find her.
As I exhaled slowly, a glass was slid up to me, bathed in a dark greenish-blue light. The mix itself was a creamy white, with a thick foam on top and thin slices of something light-green rimming the glass.
“I call it a Doozy,” Willow explained, walking up to me with that bright, beaming smile of hers. “It’ll calm you down.”
I lapped the foam, and was hit with a sensation of flavor I had never experienced before. It was delicious. It had a light flavor of the cactus pods we had eaten previously, but there were other flavors I didn’t even know mixed in, and a familiar, distinct flavor of a fine whiskey.
The foam gone, I greedily took a large gulp of the thick, creamy drink. It was oaky, but fruity, and the taste seemed to change as it worked across my tongue.
“Good. Maybe that’ll keep your mind off somepony, and I won’t have to clean up a puddle under your seat.”
I coughed and hacked, gasping at air, trying to breathe through the burning of forgetting how to for a moment. Her tone was in jest, but I felt like she waited until that exactly moment to say that, just for the sake of seeing me teary-eyed and embarrassed.
As I started to regain my ability to breathe properly, I giggled, then laughed. In between breaths, I took more deep gulps of the Doozy, until the glass was empty. Another was set just next to it.
I pulled the second drink to me, and giggled. “You must think I’m a pervert pony.”
“Not at all, dear. It’s not the first time I’ve elicited a reaction.” She leaned on to the counter and had slid close enough that I could see the sparkling of background lights in her sapphire eyes, framed by that dark paint.
My cheeks burned and I took to washing away my embarrassment with another long drink.
“Just never so honestly,” she finished. She kept her bright eyes on mine for what seemed like an eternity, and for that time, nothing else seemed to exist. Finally, she adopted a sultry expression. “Your eyes are amazing. I’ve never seen such a deep amethyst. And the way they shine in the light with the reds and purples…it’s very unique, and more than a little sexy.”
I wanted to flinch away, to turn, but I could not. Finally, I melted, and slumped down slightly. She’s intense.
I needed to change the topic. I would wither away under the veritable onslaught of emotions and desire, and I felt like she knew she could get me to squirm and drip with just the slightest motion or just a few words. And she seemed to enjoy it.
“Um, so—” I wanted to say something, anything, but words weren’t forming. Topics and questions and ideas all floated around, but I couldn’t grasp onto any, until…”You and Bit Flip.”
“Hm?” She leaned back and straightened up slightly. “What about her and I, dear?”
“You’ve known each other for a while. I don’t know anything about her.”
Willow settled back onto the bar. “And you want to know more about her?” She turned her head slightly, drooped her ears, and said in a hushed, sad voice, “Dear, that hurts.”
I had intended on ignoring whatever tease she responded with, but the sudden change in demeanor caught me off guard. Without realizing it, I apologized.
“I thought you wanted to know about me,” she continued.
“I-I do!” I stammered, without realizing. Then I did, and tried to cover my embarrassment, “I-I mean, I do, but, uh—” But nothing. I really did want to know. I wanted to know how soft her coat was, to know why she was here and what choices in life she made, wanted to know if I could just nestle up in her mane and sleep, wanted to know her taste—Aaaaugh! I downed the rest of the cup quickly.
She giggled and looked up at me. Her expression was soft and she was trying not to laugh, but her cheeks tugged and a smile broke out, then she laughed.
It was a heart-warming sound, and then I realized she had been playing me. I was sure she could read every thought I had from the way my body moved at that moment. Before her I felt completely naked—not that her lingerie I was wearing was exactly covering—and she could see everything about me. It was embarrassing, but also comforting.
“It’s fine, I understand,” she told me. “But, really, it’s awfully loud in here, and I think this would be a conversation better suited to something more private.” After saying something to the cream-colored stallion quietly, she stepped from the side of the bar and motioned me toward an exit.
As the door opened to the outside, a gust of cool air washed over us, taking the immediate heat from me, and breathing a comfortable coolness over my sweaty coat. The night was quiet but for the rumble of the church’s music, and the moonlight had coated everything in a light blue hue. The buildings shimmered, and the lights of the town flickered all around.
Willow was walking ahead a few steps, moving up a wide wooden set of stairs that circled around the church, keeping her pace slow. The moonlight glimmered off her mane and coat, and silhouetted her in a faint glow.
I trotted up to her side and fell in with her pace. The night air was calming, and all the burning of my desires and the Doozies were washing away, bit by bit. I felt genuinely comfortable here.
I hadn’t felt like this since Desert’s Edge. Since before Silver left.
We reached a balcony overlooking the Crags, and Willow nestled down. Looking out from the top of the building across the Rusted Crags, it felt like a completely different world than from just inside the church. Here, it was calm and quiet, with nobody around but us.
It’s just us.
I stepped closer to Willow and leaned up against her slightly, nuzzling at the edge of her ears. She had a sweet scent about her, much like the sugary drink she had served me earlier, but with a touch of something else—just the slightest hint of something erotic, and passionate.
She cooed and booped my cheek with her nose. “I thought you had questions?”
Sudden realization hit me and I shrank back. “Sorry!”
She arched her eyebrows and frowned, then patted the spot I had just sat in. She had changed her expression to a half-smile. Her features were inviting, and I sat back down, leaning against her slightly. I could feel the heat of her body against my own.
“What did you want to know?”
“If I could just stay here like this forever.”
“Forever?”
What? Oh, Luna fuck me with the crags of the moon, I didn’t think that, I said it! I covered my head with my hooves and sank onto the wooden balcony. “I’m sorry, I, um…”
“You needn’t apologize, dear. You seem to hide from your feelings a lot, but your body is so honest,” she teased.
I turned away. She was absolutely correct, and the dampness of my back legs and lingerie wouldn’t fool anypony otherwise. “S-So, she—Bit Flip, I mean—said you two were more than friends once?”
Willow turned from me and looked out across the cloudless horizon. She stayed silent a moment. “We’ve been friends a long time. Her caravan comes through here quite a bit, and she seems naturally inclined to games of luck and chance, which means we’ve had several dealings in the past.”
“Luck?”
“Mmhmm,” Willow nodded. “She’s just as likely to have the best luck in the Wasteland as she is the worst. She has a bad habit—and don’t tell her I said this—of getting too into it.”
“How do you mean?” Just keep talking.
“You’re familiar with dice, right? A pony with average luck like you or I, when we roll one, we will get random results, from one to six. She, on the other hoof, will only ever get one or six.” Willow giggled, then continued in her silken voice, “It’s a little more complicated than that, but that’s the gist of it. It’s freaky luck, no matter how she says otherwise.”
I thought back to meeting with Bit in the cave during the storm. She told me she gambled, and lost, and it started to make more sense now. If she was lucky, the storm would have passed quickly or turned another direction. If she wasn’t, she…She certainly wasn’t lucky about that.
Willow took a breath and glanced down at me, squeezing me slightly. “Ah, sorry, that didn’t answer your question.”
“It’s alright,” I whispered. I didn’t want to step on her hoof here and hit a touchy subject. I just wanted her to keep talking. Her voice made my ears burn with excitement, and leaning against her felt like resting on clouds.
“Well, you asked, so I feel like I should answer.”
“You don’t have to,” I rushed. “I don’t want to make you say something you’re not comfortable with. I just wanted you to talk, and, well, anything works.” Whatever I can to keep you talking, and keep my thoughts modest. “Um, alright, here’s something I don’t understand. Why does she hide her wings?”
Willow giggled. “I take it she got defensive once or twice?”
“Mmhmm,” I hummed. “Earlier, flying would have been better for her than walking, but she snapped at me.”
Willow considered the question for a moment, and stayed silent, but kept her gaze on me. Finally, she spoke up, “She plays her cards close to her vest. Likes to have that last bit of leverage in a conversation or deal. I see that sort of thing in the cards and games downstairs a lot, actually, but she puts it into practice.”
“It was certainly a shock.”
“That’s sort of the idea, isn’t it? If everypony thinks they’re dealing with an earth pony, they’ll react that way. Then it all gets thrown out when she flies away. Don’t show your hand until you know it’ll win you the match; that kind of thing.”
I nodded. Her words made the events at the Fort and the gate here seem more sensible, but my thoughts were only half on that. I just wanted to listen to that delectable voice of hers.
“Well! That’s all about the past,” she started, grinning. “I’d rather know about the present! Tell me about yourself, and how you came to know Bit, and why you’re here.”
“It’s not very interesting.” It’s not that I didn’t want to tell her, I just wanted to know more about her than I wanted to say anything about me. But she did ask. I sighed.
“I was leaving Fleshgrove and kind of fell into a cave during a dust storm. A while later, I saw something out in the storm, and a huge sheet or debris or something hit it. Not really sure, just some big shadow. I went out to help, and it was Bit. She tried stopping that something with her face,” I chuckled. “And later on, I got in a bit of trouble in OFC. That’s…where I got this ring. Anyway, she was there and helped me.”
But none of the others, I remembered sourly.
“What in Upniri’s name saw you in Fleshgrove?”
I slumped away from the warmth of her, and thought. I didn’t know what to say, or how to say it even if I did. Painful feelings were emerging as I remembered the past few weeks, but part of me knew I needed to say it. “I left…Desert’s Edge, where I’m from,” I was mumbling. The words were difficult to say, but I tried to push forward. “I…left for Silver.” My voice cracked. “I wanted to find her, and…”
Willow reached out and gently pulled me tight against her.
Something about that embrace, simple as it was, tugged on me, and I felt the emotions welling up. I wanted to stop them—I don’t want to feel that way!—but they kept rushing to the surface.
My eyes watered, then tears began falling, and would not stop. I cried, and wailed, and my body heaved and shuddered, pressing tightly against Willow. My tears ran over her paint, causing it to run, and my face and body smeared it over the two of us as I pulled and tugged her against me.
Willow stayed silent as my emotions flooded out, cradling me and nuzzling me. She just held me, while I sobbed and blabbered, retelling the last two weeks of my life between fits of tears and wails. I told her about Silver Sheen, and how much she meant to me then, but how now it didn’t seem to drive me the same. I felt like I was losing her. I explained how my trust in ponies had been struck and broken from the events toward Fleshgrove and in Old Fort Celestia.
I really did want to help but there were so many times I ran away, had to flee, and couldn’t. I wanted to help, but I didn’t, or I couldn’t. So I ran, and left everypony behind. I wanted to be better, to do good, to help, but…“I’m just selfish.”
As I neared the end of my story, my body had settled but for the occasional shudder. My face was stained with my tears, and our bodies both were covered in smears of the dark purple paint she had covered herself in for the church’s services.
I breathed deeply, taking in her sugary sweet scent, and wrapped my arms around the mare’s body, pulling us as close as I could, to which she responded in kind. I could feel her heartbeat thumping against my chest, rapid and excited, and her breathing was shallow and quick. Her body felt so much warmer now, and in the cooling night air, I cherished it.
As I loosened my grip, she rolled with me onto my back, and pressed her flustered body against me. Her face was flushed and she was taking shallow breaths through her slightly open mouth. Her sapphire eyes glimmered with a hint of tears.
“I thought,” I whispered, my throat catching and haggard, “I thought I loved Silver. I don’t know. Maybe I did. Maybe…I just want to be a good pony.”
She looked lost, but sensual, with her eyes closed partly and—she kissed me.
I didn’t know why, but my eyes watered, and tears rolled down my face, settling on my mane. She shifted her body slightly, pressing her curves into mine, and for a while, it felt like I was losing a part of myself, becoming something of her, with her.
As she pulled from her kiss and took to nibbling on my ears and nuzzling my neck, our bodies fell into a rhythm. She pressed into me with the movement of a kiss and I pressed back, running my hoof down her flank while she explored my body with her own.
An intense, pleasurable heat coursed through my body, settling between my legs. She gingerly stroked my flank and moved slowly to the interior, brushing lightly against the increasing wetness that was soaking through the church’s lingerie covers and running down my backside. Her hoof slid the wet cloth away and she pressed into my quivering flesh.
My body reacted before I realized, and waves of pleasure rushed through me. I arched my back in rhythm with each press and rub of her hoof. In moments, my body was overcome with ecstasy, and I gasped. My vision turned white and pink, my view taken entirely by the lovely mare’s countenance.
The sight of her so deeply involved in the dance of our tongues and the swirling of her hoof between my legs was the final push I needed. My muscles tightened and relaxed, each ebb of pleasure causing my body to spasm. “O-Oh, Willo—w!” I cried out, panting between kisses.
I thrust my lower body as hard as I could against her hoof, and twisted and thrust in rhythm to her skilled movements. I shuddered, pulling her close to me and biting into her mane, when my mind collapsed and I felt the burst of warmth and wet from between my legs.
She pressed deeper into my body, and rubbed me in tight circles as I came. Each new wave and every shudder of my lower lips elicited a gasp; from my burning wetness to the tips of my ears, my body felt bliss. Willow continued to rub me, nuzzling and kissing my neck, until the rush began to dissipate and my senses slowly came back to me.
As I lay there, looking up at the bright moon across the dark night sky and panting, Willow curled up with me and began licking her hoof. It glimmered in the moonlight and dripped from my pleasure. “I barely even touched you, and you made such a mess.”
I leaned over and kissed her, tasting the sweet flavor of the night on our tongues. “I’ll make us even,” I told her between the last shakes of the orgasm.
“Oh I should hope not! The night is still so very young, and once just won’t do!”
She slowly moved to her hooves and stretched out, silhouetted against the bright moon of the late night. She took a step toward the stairs leading back down from the balcony, then glanced back at me. “If you really mean that, you’re going to want to come down here, don’t you think?”
I chuckled. “I’m not sure I can stand just yet.” My legs were weak, and felt numb, my energy drained in so many ways. I pulled the lacy lingerie back up, but their dampness just made for a cold sensation, and I tensed.
A moment later, I felt the tug of a magic field around me as Willow’s magic enveloped me and lifted me slightly. She floated me to her and set me down slowly.
I leaned against her, trying to keep myself steady, then nodded, and followed after her as she walked down the steps.
The church was as loud as it had been before, and nothing seemed to have changed. Patrons still screamed and yelled in joy and laughter, the minotaur monk-bouncers still pulled much smaller ponies apart in heated arguments, and the occasional eruption of cheering down below signified a spectacular win or loss in the various gambling games.
Willow stepped through the door without a pause, and as the multi-colored lights hit her, I saw just how much of a mess I had made of her. Her coat was more purple from the tribal paint than her own pink—in my fit of crying and moment of passion, I had smeared it in every direction. Whatever designs she had carefully painted on before were gone, replaced by a mess of raw emotion.
She took a few steps forward, then looked back. “We have to go through here,” she smiled, seeming to catch my uneasiness. She motioned me in, and after a deep breath, I took my first step back in to the church.
“Looks like she got the paint after all!” The familiar voice of the rust-colored minotaur boomed out across the balcony. He raised his mug, itself as large as some ponies, and hollered out, “By Laitis! Initiate the little one, Willow!”
“I think that my paint really looks good on you,” Willow whispered in my ear as I walked to her side. “Really brings out those eyes.”
She skipped up to the edge of the bar. “Can you do something for me?”
A light mocha colored stallion in black church garb walked up to her, a knowing smile playing across his face and his glimmering eyes. “Keep minding the bar? You’re busy? Don’t think you’ll make it back tonight?”
Willow giggled, “Yes, exactly. Thank you!” She trotted back to me and bumped her flank against mine playfully, then kept moving ahead. Her mane was a mess, still billowy but disorganized, and her priestess outfit was skewed and coming loose in all the right spots.
I flushed, but followed her down the long ramp toward the bottom floor, taking careful mind to stay a few steps back—anypony with half a mind for mares, and hell, probably even those who wouldn’t normally fancy such, couldn’t blame me for the sight of her sway and seductive movements.
When she stepped down from the ramp and turned in to the crowd, Ghost Ant grabbed her and hoisted her up, letting out a guffaw and squeezing her. “Matron, you’re all a’mess! And that—yep, that’s the smell of another mare on you!” He laughed, looking straight at me, “And not hard to guess which!”
Several of the others at the table and over the room turned at the minotaur’s booming jest, and I caught many glances shifting between Willow and I, and just as much snickering. Of course—I must look like quite the sight, covered in her paint. And to those that could tell over the myriad of scents in the bar, she was soaked in mine.
My cheeks turned crimson and my face burned. Everybody knows.
“Now now, Ghost,” Willow squeezed out. When she was set down, she motioned me forward, to which I hesitantly complied. “We have something private to attend to, so if you don’t mind…”
“Oh nobody minds!” a beige stallion hollered out behind the relatively short grey minotaur. Laughter and applause rang out around us.
Willow simply smiled at me and laughed, pushing her way through the crowd. I followed as close as I could, afraid to get caught and lost in the crowd as they began to chant to cries of “Laitis! Laitis!”
Willow stopped halfway across the room and turned to face Bit Flip, who was leaning with her back against a dice table behind her. Bit rested her chin on one hoof, and a coy, playful smile stretched across her features. She had a large pile of chips and caps immediately behind her, but curiously, her underbarding’s cloth cover was gone. She was sitting at the table, wings public, naked but for a pony’s modesty.
“So!” she called out, hopping off the chair and trotting up to the two of us. She flicked a glance between us several times, then broke out into a wide whiskey-grin, “Looks like somepony’s initiated now!”
I could smell the alcohol lingering around her. Oh dear Luna, just how much has she had tonight?
“I—what?” I remember Bit Flip explaining she was a Maiden—rather, an Honorary Priestess—after drinking Ghost Ant under twice, but I hadn’t had anything to drink beyond a few Doozies recently. And I certainly did not challenge any member to a drinking contest.
“Only halfway,” Willow chimed. “Now she has to pay her part in.”
Bit Flip laughed, and patted my head with one of her wings. “Have fun, then! Or, should I say, be careful!” She laughed, and trotted back to her game.
The chanting around us had died out, but I still felt most of the bar’s eyes on me. My mane was disheveled, the church’s black and white lacy lingerie twisted and slipping, and I had as much of Willow on me as she did herself. The door across the room felt a mile away.
Willow wrapped her tail around my face and brushed me lightly. As I looked up, she lifted her tail slightly, giving me an eyeful of a glorious sight, then just as quickly she dropped it and skipped ahead, laughing.
My desire fueled by her antics, I nearly galloped after her, pushing aside and bouncing against minotaur and pony alike. We reached the door at the same time, but I pressed against her, pinning her to the wall. Our eyes met, and in hers I saw a glimmer of surprise behind an erotic grin. I pressed my lips to hers.
For the moment, I didn’t care about the bar, or about the new screams and cries to Laitis or whatever other god in the pantheon the church prayed to—I only had Willow in my thoughts. I wanted her, more than anything I could ever recall, and I couldn’t seem to stop my body from acting on that impulse. And even if I did, I didn’t want to.
She pressed back against me and with a sudden move I couldn’t follow, I found our positions switched. Now, I was the one now pinned to the wall. She smirked, and ran her tongue along my cheek, down my neck, and across to my mane. She slowly brought her face back toward me, and breathed a long, slow, hot breath against my ear, before nipping at it.
My body burned again, and I could feel the passion welling up in me. The warmth that flowed from between my legs seeped through the already-soaked panties and dripped. The faces in the crowd behind her, staring, cheering, and screaming in laughter and joy, all blended together, then faded away. All that I could see now was a pair of purple-framed sapphires looking deep into me.
Her expression was unflinching, and slowly shifted from one inviting gaze to another, punctuated by sensual kisses and playful licks and nips. The pleasure was building deep within me, and a new warmth trickled down my legs. She, she really is gonna make me, just from her being here, gonna make me—“Aahn,” I moaned quietly, trying to hold my voice in check. My ears were drooping and a familiar sensation was flowing through my body.
An intense heat burned between my lights, seeming to ignite my sex with each kiss and nip. “D-don’t,” I whimpered, “I’m gonna….”
Her face lit up, and she grinned. She kept her eyes fixed to mine as I struggled to keep them open, and moved in for a deep, sensual kiss. She played softly with me, moving in rhythm with my breathing, her hooves touching me delicately in places along my neck that flooded my senses with new emotion.
The mounting pleasure forced me to draw back. I could barely keep my eyes open, and even with all my effort to stifle it, I moaned. Willow was unrelenting, and pressed her body against mine, then bit my mane.
“Comi—ng! Aaaahn!” I cried out into the lounge, having lost what little control I had of my voice. I clamped my eyes shut as tears rolled from them. Pleasure erupted from and through me once more, and wave after wave of orgasmic sensations coursed through me. My body shuddered as my knees shook and legs weakened, held up only by the firm grasp of the once-tribal-painted pony, pinning me against the wall. I pressed my tail against my convulsing marehood with all my effort, and the stream of the intense climax quickly ran through and soaked into it, dripping onto the floor below.
“Willow,” I moaned, my body shaking and quivering against her. I gasped, “You…I…” She didn’t even touch me…
Willow gently let loose my mane and slid down to the floor with me as my legs gave out. She looked into my eyes, and kissed me lightly. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “You were just so close. I couldn’t help myself.”
I rested my head against her and just sat there, until the last shakes of the orgasm subsided. I breathed her in deeply, that rich scent now mixed in with that of my own wetness and the alcohol and sweat of the bar.
The bar! Oh fucking hell! My senses instantly returned and with them, the acute awareness of every pair of eyes staring at me. They just saw me come!
I thought I would faint. I was light-headed but rather than burning like a blush, I felt frozen, and blanched. All of the blood had rushed from my face. Probably down to between my legs, and oh Celestia fuck me with a solar flare! I was so very wet, and my pleasure had just become an impromptu show for all the mares, stallions, and other people alike that witnessed my cries of delight and the whimper of my orgasm.
Willow pecked me on the cheek and stood up. “I was joking earlier about the puddle thing, you know.”
“I-uh, I—”
“Come on,” she laughed. “Perhaps we really should move somewhere private before you catch on fire!” She pulled at the door with her magic and stepped into the hall beyond, motioning me to follow.
I scrambled to my hooves and nearly dashed in beside her—just to get out of the immediate attention of everyone behind me.
The door shut, and the sounds of the activity beyond them seemed to fade into the distance. Now in the privacy of the hall, I was trembling, lost in embarrassment and astonishment.
Willow stepped down the hall and swished her tail exaggeratedly, giving me glimpses of her marehood through the thin, damp cloth.
The fire in me caught once more and a flood of passion came over me. “You’re very cruel,” I choked out.
Willow just laughed, and kept pushing forward with that delectable sway of hers. “You’re beyond adorable, so I can’t help it!” She stopped at a door with a placard above it, inscribed in gold against the black stone slab were the words Matron Willow.
She pushed the door open and skipped in.
As I stepped in to the room, the first thing to catch my senses was the scent of something sweet but spicy. Something like a fresh apple mingled with a sharper scent, like cinnamon. It was inviting, and erotic.
The door closed behind me and clicked, and I stepped further in, rounding the short hall into a much wider living space. Against the far wall was a wide mat, covered in blankets and pillows strewn about. Just in front of it, Willow was dancing. She shook her hips in a rhythm, and bounced her shoulders to and fro with it. She started to tap to each fourth note, lightly at first, then increasing in pressure. She hummed to the tune, a melody similar to one of the tracks from the bar.
She stopped suddenly, and spun around. “So!” The dim orange glow of the light in her room flickered off her eyes as she playfully pranced up to me. “Looks like you owe me two!”
Her look—that smile, those movements—Two wouldn’t be near enough! I pressed my lips to hers and pushed us back toward her bed. She caught the edge of it and we tumbled over. I landed mostly on top, but quickly pushed myself on to her, and returned to the kiss.
My hooves took to exploring her delicate body, running over and feeling every curve and every fiber on her. I ran one along her side, and across her flank, moving slowly to the inside. She lifted her leg and seemed to invite me further, and I was happy to comply.
I nudged my hoof along the edge of the lingerie, then down, touching at the edge of her swelling marehood. I pressed into it and ran my hoof back up along the slit, then down again, and she shivered. Shifting to the side and slipping my hoof under the straps of the panties, I slid them down, then completely off.
I pulled back from the kiss and took a long, deep look at the sight before me: Willow lay there, smiling, flushed, and her body was open and inviting. Her legs were spread and her sensitive flesh exposed. I could smell the sweetness of her body and her arousal, mixing in and lingering with the sharper incense of the room. The flickering of the candlelight glimmered against her wetness, and it was all I could do to not come just then—the sight was making my head swim and filled me with an aching, craving sensation.
I leaned in and kissed her, pressing the top of my hoof against her delicate flesh. I moved my lips across her cheeks and down her neck in rhythm with the push and rub of my hoof. Her lower lips shuddered as I passed lightly over the hardened nub of her clit, and I moved in small circles before gliding back down the slickened flesh.
My kissing moved from her neck and down to between her thighs, and progressed inwardly. From here, the scent of her pleasure played with my senses, and I desired and wanted her even more, making me tingle and drip between my own legs.
I ran my tongue down her slit and she gasped, which only spurred me on. Up and down I worked my tongue, tasting the salty-sweet flavor of the mare as I licked her greedily. I moved my attention to her prominent nub and swirled my tongue around it, savoring the sweet taste of her, spurred on by an occasional moan and gasp.
Willow arched her back, and she pressed her lower body against my face harder, and I licked more fiercely, stroking the sensitive spot and all the sweet flesh around it.
She began to moan, and her body’s movements were becoming erratic, shifting between pressing against me with all of her energy to gasping and pulling back. The delectable area I was concentrating on began to twitch, and felt hot against my tongue and lips.
“Ah—” Willow gasped, “Yes, that’s—” She squealed a little, and pressed once more against my face. I had taken the whole of her clit in my lips and pulled on it lightly. She shuddered, and a new wetness trickled out over my tongue. Only through conscious effort did I not join her in orgasm just by the euphoric taste of it. With a whinny, she collapsed onto the bedding, panting and sweaty.
I licked along the rest of her pulsing sex and ran my tongue deep into her as she continued to shake and gasp. All of my lower body ached, and the intensity of the desire was nearly overwhelming.
All of her is an aphrodisiac to me.
When her shaking stopped, I pulled myself from her and slid my body up hers, nuzzling my face to hers. She smiled, and kissed me. A slow but passionate kiss, and it felt like, for those few minutes, nothing existed to either of us outside of the warmth of each other on this bed.
She pulled away from the kiss after what seemed a blissful eternity, and began to use her magic to untie the straps of the lacy wear on the both of us. “I thought,” she whispered, “You might not make it long enough for me to finish.” She laughed a little.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re so sensitive, and each time has been so easy,” she teased, slipping the corset from me, leaving me naked save for the white frilled panties that, given my wetness, were see through and utterly useless to hide anything. “I thought the stimulation might get you off before I did.”
“It nearly did!” I laughed, and nipped at her ear. “You, I don’t know, but you drive me. In ways I’ve never felt. You make me wild, and the mere thought of you, just listening to you, looking at you, tasting you, smelling you,” I moaned, my imagination playing up the excitement in me, making me trickle down my legs and bringing me to the edge.
She pushed me off her lightly, and rolled back to her hooves. She had stripped away all of her clothes, leaving her naked, pink coat open for me. She nipped at the panties I was wearing, biting of the thin strap holding them to me. She smiled, then pulled, dropping the last of my clothing from me, baring all my desire for her openly.
I swished my tail aside instinctively, and lifted my rear up to meet her as she moved in. She ran her tongue along the inside of my legs and down, inching ever closer to my throbbing, aching slit, before finally she brushed against it.
Then immediately she took to it, and ran her tongue deep into me. The sensations and pleasures of so much of my desire being met coursed over me, and I moaned. I’m already, so close—
She licked away, running her tongue in circles and shapes, in turn deep down into me and against the more sensitive pleasure spots along the surface. I could feel the peak approaching, mere moments after she began, and pulled the sheets up close to me, biting down on one of the red pillows.
With one hoof she pressed against my mound and pulled at it, causing every nerve and pleasure spot to cry out at once. My eyes watered and my legs began to feel weak. I moaned heavily into the pillow So close—!
She began work with her tongue once more, and the intensity of her movements against me overtook my senses. My body tensed, then with a cry and a shudder across every part of me, I burst with pleasure and wetness.
Each spasm, and each flick of her tongue sent another flare of the orgasm through me. My legs were shaking, my breathing was sporadic, and every extremity on my body wanted to curl up. My tail had wrapped around her and was trying to invite her further, deeper in. I pressed hard against her lips and thrust my quaking flesh in rhythm with her motions.
With her hoof, she rubbed me in circles, just above my most sensitive spot, and took to it with her tongue. I felt my marehood rhythmically convulse, each motion accompanied by a spurt from deep within me, splashing against Willow's tongue and lips. I cried out along with every flittering wave of delight. Even before the final waves of the orgasm tapered off, a second was building. My vision was filled with white, and I cried out as it hit, feeling a hot stream of pure pleasure rush from between my legs, soaking my coat, Willow, and the bedding below my shaking legs.
My legs gave out and I collapsed to the bedding. My pleasure gushed from me and never seemed to subside, as Willow fell back between my legs, licking greedily in my melting folds. She licked, nibbled, and pulled on me throughout the flooding sensations long after the rush subsided.
For several minutes after my vision cleared, while my body shook sporadically, the only sound other than an occasional whinny from me was that of Willow, licking away at my burning marehood.
Finally, she stopped, and fell to my side, pulling me close. A smile tugged at my lips, but from the excessive peaks of pleasure, I could barely keep my eyes open. She pressed my body against hers, and held me as the spasms subsided and my breathing returned to regularity.
“Was that a two-fer?” She cooed, nuzzling my cheek.
“Mmm,” I hummed. I leaned up and licked along her lips, taking from it the honey-like taste of my orgasm. I licked her cheek and her neck, then kissed her.
“I’m going to need to keep some extra, dry sheets when you’re around,” she giggled.
For a few moments we laid there, simply breathing in each other’s scents and holding on to each other’s warmth. Then she rolled onto me and looked deep in my eyes, a playful smile breaking across her face.
“But the night’s still young, and now you owe me three.”
I grinned, and tried to reach around to pull her down, wanting desperately to work on her again, but my limbs would not obey, and I whimpered. “I will. I just need a rest.”
Willow frowned, but nuzzled up to me and let out a sigh. “I understand,” she murmured.
I could feel the pull of sleep inching closer to my awareness, but I fought it—I didn’t want to sleep, and I didn’t want to lose the precious time the gorgeous mare and I were sharing. “Tell me something,” I whispered.
She looked at me and shot a curious glance. “Such as?”
I pecked her lips. “Anything. Tell me about you. Just let me hear you some more.” Maybe it was the encroaching unconsciousness, maybe the last remnants of the Doozies, or maybe simply physical exhaustion from the multiple orgasms of the night—it didn’t matter why. Her voice was entrancing, and it felt like no amount of her would be enough just then.
“Mmm, well,” she rolled onto me, “I’m the matron at this church.”
“I know th—”
She interrupted me with a kiss, and slid her body over me. Her leg slipped inside mine and brushed lightly against my quivering sex. She began to squirm slightly, and as I gasped, she whispered into my ear: “I used to travel.”
In between rocking my body with hers, pressing her leg into me and my light moans, she told me her story. “I liked to see the world, and all the different kinds of people in it. I talked my way into getting passage on different caravan trips, and saw the Marejave. It was exciting.”
“Ex-citing,” I whispered. I was paying attention—I really wanted to know!—but as she rocked into me harder, faster, each shift of her leg increased my pleasure and it was becoming increasingly difficult to maintain my composure. “M-more…”
As if responding to my request in both ways, she pressed herself against me, rubbing her leg in tight circles. I moaned, and as a new wetness seeped from me, my head swam with delight, and the scent of our pleasure and of her. She slowly, deliberately ran her tongue along my ear and whispered, “Then we stopped here, and the church fascinated me.”
She broke away from her story to kiss me, and slid a hoof down the inside of my flank, brushing against my sex.
“Keep t-talking,” I stammered.
“So I volunteered,” she bit my ear, “And finally felt like I found a place that was for me. All my passions, and all my desires, they all flooded me, and here, I felt a belonging I never had.”
Her lips caressed my cheek, neck, then down, covering my chest and stomach with nips and kisses. Then she moved down to my legs and gave a long, slow lick up my slit. I gasped, and could feel her breath against me.
“Years later,” she said, tone low and excessively breathy. The warm breeze of her words brushed against my sensitive flesh and I shivered in anticipation and a sensual delight. She kissed my lips below, and spoke between pecks and licks, “I met Bit, and later became Matron. And now,” she intoned, taking my clit into her mouth, rolling her tongue across and around it, causing my body to erupt in sensations and delectation.
She worked my spot, and I felt an urge building within me. I wrapped my legs around her and pulled her closer. She pressed against my spot and licked, sucked, and kissed with great fervor, until—for the fifth time that night, my body convulsed and I exploded in ecstasy and viscous delight.
My eyes clamped shut, and my whole body was tensed up, but each rush of my heat elicited a gasp or a cry. I held Willow tight against me, and all through my satisfaction she remained unphased by my spasms and rushes of wetness and shaking, working her tongue up and down my slit, in circles and shapes that delivered paramount pleasure.
As the feelings subsided, my body relaxed and I collapsed back onto her bed, where she curled up against me and hummed. The melody was light, slow, and unlike anything from the bar. It had a sweet rhythm to it, but it felt strangely melancholic underneath.
“You’re unrelenting,” I moaned, feeling my body buck uncontrollably.
“You’re so easy to tease,” she nipped back. “And, you’re multi-orgasmic. Please tell me you didn’t think I would be satisfied after seeing you squirm just once, did you?”
I laughed, and rolled over against her, nestling up in her mane and wrapping my legs around her. “Why here?”
She hummed the melody again for a few seconds, then wrapped her legs around me in return and spoke quietly, “Part of it was how new it was to me. I had been with a caravan for almost a year, and seen so much. But this was suddenly so new, and exciting. So I stayed—only meant to stay until the caravan came back through—but as I became more involved in the church, I suddenly realized I didn’t want to go back out. I knew this was the place for me.”
“So confident,” I whispered. “I don’t know what I want. Not anymore.”
“Confidence is just something you have to learn. Nopony is always sure of themselves in every situation. But you tell yourself that you are, that you’re sure, and you can become that way.” She stroked my mess of a mane for a while before continuing. “You can become anypony you want, if you believe you are who you’re trying to tell everyone you are.”
“Mmhmm,” I hummed back. The desire for sleep was becoming almost overwhelming, as all my energy had been taken from me in spurts and orgasms by the delightful mare I had curled up with. “Tell me more,” I tried.
She continued to stroke my mane, and gently rubbed my ears occasionally. Her rich, smooth voice was becoming distant as sleep overtook me.
Tufts of a deep red clouded my vision. I felt serene, like laying in a cloud of bliss.
I was warm, from the tips of my large ears, through to the ends of my hooves, and down my body, where the warmth and comfort took a turn toward the pleasurable.
As I concentrated on the feelings of increasing ecstasy between my legs, images of the pink mare with a billowing green mane rose and took over my field of view. I could see Willow smiling and giggling, her dolled up purple-painted face exaggerating her beautiful features.
I could see her looking down at me with a loving expression; I felt the warmth of body pressing against mine; her scent, that erotic, cinnamon-sweet scent, pervaded my senses; she leaned in for a kiss and her brilliant sapphire eyes seemed to glow.
The clouds in my mind began to pulse, then quicken, like lightning that bounced from one to another, turning them brilliant shades of white and gold. Images of her face were overtaken by the bursts of light, and with each new flash of the warm colors, my body tingled. I could feel a pressure building in me, and I started to squirm. I looked down and caught two sapphire eyes staring back up at me as Willow worked her tongue and I—
I awoke, gasping and moaning uncontrollably. I was on the verge, and a moment later—I burst in pleasure. “Aahn!” I screamed out, my body spasming and arching continually. I could feel her tongue in me, against me, and she flicked it against my sweet spots, bringing tears from pure pleasure to my eyes.
She continued her tongue’s movements through my bucking, spurting, and convulsing for several long moments.
“Good morning,” she murmured, sliding her body against mine up until she locked her eyes with mine. “My little fountain,” she laughed, licking her lips.
I wrapped my forelegs around her and pulled her to me, pressing my tongue into her mouth and staring deep into those passionate eyes.
She pulled away, pecked me once, and stood up. “Well! Today’s a new day, and I fully intend on collecting on those orgasms you owe me before I get back to work.” She spun in a circle, and swished her tail playfully aside, showing me the dew she had developed in the morning’s pleasure. “All five of them,” she grinned. She shook her flank slightly and glanced back at me, catching me staring at the sight, “Plus interest!”
“And for the first!” she called out, prancing toward the door, “I think we need a shower!”
I looked down over me—my normally-white coat had become more of a splotchy purple. The paint had dried in most places and my coat was sticking to it and the various streaks of pleasure over the night. Even over the sweet-cinnamon scent of the room, I could breathe in the mixture of our climaxes. Undoubtedly so will everyone on the way, I blushed.
The light of a late morning sun shone through the cracks in worn curtains over the multiple windows of Willow’s room. This will be a good day.
I stepped up onto my hooves and skipped after the sashaying mare ahead of me. A wonderful day.
“I need to check something from last night before we get busy,” she explained, turning down the hall toward the gambling den and bar. Skipping through it, we made our way past all the groggy-eyed minotaurs and ponies.
I kept close to Willow, trying to hide from the many snickers and knowing looks. We smell excessively of sex. But Willow didn’t seem even slightly bothered by it, and greeted and smiled at everyone in turn.
We stepped through the door at the end back into the gambling den. Several minotaurs in the black robes of the church were moving about, separating the litter and cleaning up various spills and other messes. I looked back to a glistening spot where my unsightly scene in front of the crowd the night before had taken place. I shifted with embarrassment and caught back up to Willow
She had stopped in the room, talking to one of the other church members. I trotted up to her, and looked around. Some of the patrons had taken to sleep on the lounges—and in one case, on a dice game table.
Willow pranced her way up the ramp to the bar, and I followed. The area here was much the same, with the same kinds of spills—generally—and unconscious patrons. I looked around over the church-bar, and that’s when I saw her.
Hanging from a chandelier was Bit Flip, mostly upside down. Her wings were out but her cloth underbarding—so she got it back, I see—was tangled up in it. Affixed to her drooped head was a bottle of Black Pony Whiskey.
I laughed, and directed Willow to the sight, and she laughed heartily.
“Should we get her down?”
Willow wiped a tear from her eye and shook her head. “No, no,” she giggled, “She’s fine. Let the Whiskeycorn sleep a bit longer.”
I knew I’d have to bring that up again later.

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                 One Shot: Raider Hunting                  
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Medicine & Mail, Chapter 3.5: Purpose
Author’s Notes:
This is the author’s intended version, unedited, of the companion story to Chapter Three in Medicine & Mail (https://www.fimfiction.net/story/100213). If you have not read at least through chapter three in the main storyline, then this perspective will not make any sense.
Rating: Mature
Contains: Language; Explicit sexual content (clop, mare ejaculation).
Genres: Clop, Drama, Romance, Slice of Life
Chapter Three-point-Five
Purpose
“Nothing harder than seeing those you care about hurt,
But there’s often more reason to let them suffer than
To stick your nose into it. That’s just the Wasteland.”
I’m so sorry.
Willow held Bit Flip, and the pegasus just clenched against her. Tears rolled from Bit’s eyes and down her dark green cheeks, dripping onto the off-white sheets wrapped over her. Little darkened spots of her sadness dotted the bed, and the room itself was quiet but for a few sniffles and the far off echoes of activity in the town outside the clinic.
I was at once relieved to see that Bit Flip was conscious, and not thrashing or raging out against Willow or myself, but just as much, my chest was tense and my throat was dry from anxiety and guilt.
As the two held each other in near silence, memories of Bit in the church’s makeshift cell assaulted me, flashing pictures of her bloodied body cradled on Willow’s lap, of the distant stare in her eyes that rolled around the room, and of the time in the last days, where Bit screamed at me and raged against the restraints.
I saw myself, as though from the eyes of a sandbug on the wall of the cell, crying and fumbling with wraps and medicine with my clumsy hooves. The shaking white unicorn that was me in the middle of the small crowd, crouched down to Bit next to Willow and Ghost Ant, dropped a bottle and it rolled across the floor. I watched her reach for it and from her other hoof fell a roll of gauze. She struggled to pull away from the minotaur reaching down for her, and the shatter of the healing potion she dropped from her mouth crashed against my senses, like the simultaneous blinding flash of lightning and the ear-splitting roar of thunder from just beyond my nose. The memories shattered, breaking into pieces and falling away.
I blinked and a blurry scene of Bit and Willow came into view in front of me, the two in a worried but comforting embrace. Willow pulled herself from Bit and smiled, wiping against her tear-stained cheek.
Bit glanced around the room before her eyes met with mine. The moment our gazes met, I spoke up. “Bit Flip,” I started, forcing the words through, “It’s all my fault, I’m so—”
“Hush, sweetie,” Willow interrupted.
Bit kept her gaze on mine for a moment longer, then dropped it and drooped her ears along with her gaze to her lap.
Silence fell over the room once more.
“Aye, she’s in ’ere, but she specifically told me not to let anyone interrupt.” The minotaur’s voice was gentle, though the volume of it might give a separate impression. He stood against the door with the yellow painted mark that signified the Tinkerer's Wing, leading further in to the mechanic-guild’s lower levels. He tapped an oversized wrench against his tattooed shoulder as I tried to form an excuse to get in.
I gave up. “Alright.”
I turned from the grime-covered minotaur and made my way back along the rickety catwalk, beyond and over the corridors of gears, through tunnels surrounded by steel tubes and pipes and fastenings attached to strange minotaur machinery. The Guild ran under and through most of the town, feeding in precious chilled or heated water to most stores and the church along with electricity provided by massive underground generators that rumbled throughout the tunnels. Were it not for the bright spearheads painted along the overhangs at each intersection that pointed to landmarks in the town above, I’d have been hopelessly lost, like I had been the day before.
The steel door creaked open and swung out into the blinding desert light, and I stepped out, one eye closed and the other squinting as I adjusted to the sudden brightness. The air here was a different kind of heat than in the guild itself, where the air was thick and seemed to settle on me like I was laden with iron gears and sacks of bolts, but a line of sweat ran across my brow. It was still hot.
I wandered purposefully toward a spot of shade under the awning of some shop or building—my surroundings mattered little to me, my thoughts being swept up in a myriad of confusing emotion and rattled responsibility.
For the last two days, Bit Flip kept herself holed away in the mechanic’s guild, tinkering and working on projects unknown to any but some of the members there that swore to her privacy. But unlike the days before that, when she had retreated into the room at the far end of the church and drank herself nearly to ruin, the mechanics told me that no alcohol was present, nor any chems. Willow made sure that, wherever Bit found herself, everyone knew to keep anything of influence away. Just in case.
I plopped onto the wooden planks against the edge of the building. Everyone needs time, Willow had told me. But I hadn’t even managed to get an opportunity to talk to Bit. We spoke maybe ten words since the morning she was released from the clinic, and it was always in passing. Each of my attempts to make a time for a conversation were denied, and she would wander off, back to the guild or around to a shop somewhere in town.
But she kept herself busy, and that was a positive step forward. At least, that’s what Willow said.
Willow. My thoughts drifted to her, as they tended to since I first met her a week and a half ago. I was just as confused when I thought of her as with Bit Flip. I didn’t know what to make of the coral pony, of her comforting smile or her gentle touch. I wanted to run to her, and I wanted to just be in her presence, to talk to her, and listen to all the calming wisdoms she could impart to set my mind at ease. But I couldn’t.
After all, she was Bit’s friend. I barely knew the pegasus and managed to make a mess of her entire life. What right did I have to try to become a part of Willow’s when all I had done so far was mess up her friend’s?
I found myself sighing again, with my head pressed to the wood at my hooves. A gust of wind brought dust to my eyes and more stuck to my sweaty face.
As I rubbed at my eyes, I heard a voice, gently making its way through the murmuring of the townsfolk all about. “With so many benches around, you settle for the ground?” Willow teased.
I made to my hooves and nearly fell back to my haunches with a sneeze. The flurry of movement and build-up of heat over the last few hours left me light-headed, and I felt myself tipping. My body leaned against hers. It was warm, soft, and smelled faintly of a sweet cinnamon, calming and comforting as always.
As the fuzz in my head cleared, I shrank back from her. “Sorry,” I said. I remembered the sour thoughts I had just prior, and I felt genuine shame at allowing myself that momentary comfort.
“For what?”
“Well,” I started. I wanted to blurt out, because I messed up Bit’s life. Because you’re friends and I hurt her. I shook my head, deciding to avoid the painful conversation, “Nothing.”
But Willow was too much like Brightmane back in Desert’s Edge: She had a sense of knowing what you were hiding even if you tried not to show it. “Don’t worry,” she said, stepping in front of me, “Both Steel Braid and Rivet are keeping a close eye on her.”
She took a step forward again, and rolled her tail across my chest. “It’s not your fault, sweetie.”
Before I could voice my disagreement, she turned to me and lifted my chin with her hoof. She stared me quiet with those big sapphire eyes of hers and a warm smile.
I melted in her gaze. All of the worries and all the emotional moping that had kept my mind busy and spiraling downward in the last hours of the morning faded away. Suddenly the idea of forcing myself away from her seemed silly, irrational, and her presence filled me with a sad longing. She stood by my side, and I wished to stay there as long as possible.
“Can we do something?” I asked, hoping to avoid having to see her leave. “Just the two of us?”
Willow dropped her hoof and her eyes lit up. “Oh? Tired of being so sour?” She shifted her weight, lifting her front hooves slightly with each little movement, moving rhythmically to a melody in her mind. “Certainly,” she beamed, “Let’s do that!”
“I can’t pay for this,” I objected.
Willow responded by pressing her hoof to my lips and shaking her head slightly. “It’s not often I get to spoil others,” she explained.
I nodded, and pulled the cloth from the table Willow had set it on to look at it once more. I shifted my gaze to her then the cloth, and a light flush fell across my features. She seemed to sense it. “Oh, dear,” Willow sighed, breaking up the lingering silence, then continued in a sing-song voice, “I’ve already seen all of you. No sense in hiding now.”
Her words forced a heavy blush from me. Somehow, this situation still felt different than our emotional times prior, and the act of taking off my grimy yellow overcoat and have nothing but my own modesty in plain sight of her made my stomach twist uncomfortably.
Willow sighed, voiced her understanding, and walked out from the corner of the store, around the divider that provided me a moderate privacy.
I turned from where she disappeared from and took to sliding  my overcoat from my shoulders. It was long sleeved, and even a little oversized for me, but that had actually served me well that morning, keeping my white coat free from the grime and dirt of the Crags and under, in the Guild. My mane was a mess, though, and speckles of dirt dotted my face.
I slipped the last of the pieces of the pricy outfit on, and pulled a lace strap tight. I pulled on another near the front, trying to form a bow, when I felt a sudden bite on the inside of my flank. I squeaked, and spun around, coming face to face with a beaming Willow.
She looked me over frantically, and used her magic to finish pulling the laces tight and straps together. “Oh very yes,” she glowed.
I spun around in place in front of the dingy mirror, running my eyes along the white fabric. Pink lines curved along the side of the tight corset and framed my skinny body down to the lace around my thin waist. From there it rolled out into a pink skirt with white trim that was barely long enough to cover the thin, frilly panties beneath. Willow floated a billed pink hat to my head that was large and puffy enough to match the height of the tips of my ears.
“There,” she squealed. She stepped up to me and stood by my side, looking into the mirror at the two of us. The pink on the outfit matched her coat, which blended in as she leaned against me.
“Do you like it?”
Of course I did. I would have been elated with any of the outfits she picked out throughout the day, but she insisted on finding the perfect one, and took me with her to every shop in town. Even as cute as this one was, it was her reaction—that glint in her eyes when she knew she found the one—which made this feel special. “Yes,” was all I could manage.
She frowned slightly. “That doesn’t sound very enthusiastic.”
“No, no, it’s great,” I rushed. I ran my hoof along the frills and traced its intricate design down. “It’s really cute.” It absolutely was.
Willow grinned. “Only because who’s wearing it,” she teased.
My ears warmed with a light flush, but even though I was pleased with them, her words left me feeling somewhat distressed. She was kind to everyone that I saw, even me—especially me, I thought, considering how little it was deserved. I had figured it was just the way she is, so somehow the words rang sadly empty.
I liked her. I really did, which frightened me. I knew her position as Matron didn’t allow for extended side romances, or even anything serious, and besides, I wasn’t certain she felt anything beyond a slight affection for me. I was afraid to tell the gorgeous mare my feelings, sure she’d have just the right words to soothe me and let me down gently. I chose to remain in the bliss of ignorance, hoping never to hear the words of my rejection.
And there was another feeling that pulled on me, beyond the guilt of Bit’s situation, that kept me from truly giving in to my feelings for her. Silver Sheen. The reason I left Desert’s Edge and ventured out into the Marejave. The reason I gave up a comfortable, normal life free of slavery, free of all the pain and hate I had experienced since leaving. The metal suppressor on my horn ached, and the pins that pierced from it into my bone pulsed with a light pain.
But Silver was just a distant nudge now. Not since the first night Willow and I shared together had I thought about Silver for more than brief moments. But the tug pulled at me from the back of my mind, reminding me that there were questions I had not answered yet. I had to face that and see it through before I would allow myself to open up to the mare I was quickly falling for.
Even if those affections weren’t returned.
“Not even a reaction?” Willow sighed.
I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her in close. I might not have been willing to admit my feelings to her, but it was almost futile of me to try and hold myself back when she was holding me.
I turned and gently kissed her. Then the wall holding back my emotions broke, and I pressed against her deeply.
She never broke from our kiss, but twisted and pinned me against the table. Her black dress’ folds mixed in with the white of mine as she maneuvered. She ran her tongue across mine in eager, greedy movements, and kept her body tight in constant contact with me as we slid up onto the table. Dresses and clothes scattered across its surface and fell to the floor of the public shop.
I gave in to the surge of emotions, allowing them to completely smother every doubt and hint of guilt. I was filled with an overwhelming need for her. I tugged at the knots and ribbons that held Willow’s dress to her, and she began undoing the lace on mine with her magic.
The pink and white outfit slipped from me and she shoved it away, as if upset by the brief moment she pulled her lips from mine. As she raised back, she wrapped her field of magic around the last strip of thin cloth that kept her decent, and flung the pieces aside.
She brought her face down against my belly, nipping at me along her hasty journey down, moving quickly to the side ties that held the damp white panties to my thighs, and with her teeth pulling the last string away—a bump against the divider and a squeak beside us signaled the presence of someone else.
Willow spun around immediately, taking the panties from me in her teeth in the same move, and looked at the yellow mare staring at the scene of the two naked, aroused mares before her. Willow laughed, floating the cloth back to me, and hopped off the table, skipping up to the wide-eyed mare.
Not missing a beat, she beamed. “We’ll take these,” she told the mare, floating the hurriedly-stripped dress and hat to the associate.
The little yellow store-mare kept making quick glances between us, eyeing us two naked mares caught in a heated moment in the barely-private space of the store, and the blush she had spread to her ears and covered her entire face. I thought she would begin to steam if she blushed any harder, but she backed away, uttering rapid apologies, and galloped her way back through the store.
Willow turned to me. “Well that was unfortunate timing.”
I slunk off the table and sheepishly tried to pull myself into the yellow and pink overcoat I had brought in with me.
“Guess we better find somewhere more suitable before we continue,” Willow teased.
We nearly raced through the lounge into the hall of the private quarters under the church, and blindly shoved through the door to her room. By the time Willow had shut it with her magic, I was on her, pressing my lips against hers and dancing my tongue across hers.
We fell back onto her bedding and rolled, grasping for just the slightest inch more of each other. Our breathing became heavy as our heat built rapidly, and our clothing became stifling. She pulled at mine with her telekinesis and I clumsily, hurriedly stripped her of hers.
Pulling the last thin cloth from her legs, I caught the scent of her arousal, and felt the warm wetness of mine deep within me. I tossed the panties aside and took to the inside of her leg, running my tongue down to her sensitive flesh, brushing along it as I made a pass over her other leg.
I pulled myself up along her body, sliding into her curves with mine, keeping one hoof between her legs, where I worked in slow, heavy movements up and down her marehood. I kissed her, and rocked gently, allowing the slight sway to guide the rhythm of my hoof against her delicate slit.
I pressed in circles and moved my hoof quicker, pressing into her harder, deeper, quickening the pace as her breathing accelerated. She took frequent pauses from the kiss to breathe rapid breaths or gasp quietly before coming back in. Though I thoroughly enjoyed the increasing pleasure I felt between my own legs, seeing Willow’s flushed face and hearing her soft coos and moans filled me with a sense of satisfaction I had not experienced before. I just wanted to make her feel as best I could.
Her body began to squirm and she pulled against my shoulders and scraped down my back, pushing her shaking sex against my hoof fiercely. She called out loudly and her whole body shuddered as she came. I rested my head against her neck and rode out the rest of her orgasm, savoring the cries of delight and pleasure she made. The scent of her climax filled the room with the sweet scent that I yearned for, and it pushed me close to the edge of my own peak.
She panted for a moment, then pulled my hoof to her lips with hers, and licked her wetness from them, smiling through her bright blue eyes and heavily flushed face. In one quick move, she twisted me into her lap and cradled my face.
She pressed her tongue to the dull rounded tip of my horn, and pushed down, bringing another new sensation to me. The arousing tingle spread from my horn across my face and down to the building pleasure deep within my marehood.
“Oh, what—” I tried.
“Never had your horn licked before? Hmm,” she smiled, making another twirl along the tip, “Most unicorns have. It’s quite delightful.”
Each pass of her tongue over the shaft pushed me ever closer to my release. She took the horn in her mouth and pulled her lips and tongue from it slowly, then again moved down its length.
Just a little more, I thought, allowing my eyes to close and arching my body in rhythm to the light pulses of arousal she brought from my horn. Then she stopped.
“Oh, Vitia,” she whispered, “I’m so sorry. I forgot.”
I didn’t want her to stop—I’m so close!—and quickly rubbed at her, trying to motion for her to continue. “Don’t stop, Willow, don’t—”
She kissed me, and pulled back a moment later with a pained expression. “I can’t. With that suppressor, you’d never be able to get off.”
“What? You were doing a fine job of it! I’m so close—”
She shook her head. “You’d never have gotten any closer than you are. Without your magical conduit, the feeling would never go over the edge, and you’d stay right there, so close, yet never there.”
“Oh,” I sighed. The climax I sought still tugged at me, but the feeling was rapidly diminishing. Then I had an idea, and rolled her as gently as I could, until our positions were switched.
I kissed her, then pecked her and nibbled her ear. I moved my lips to her horn. Without hesitation, I ran my tongue slowly along the shaft, from base to tip. I felt the slight ridges underneath the thin skin, and like she had with me, I stroked the length in full with my lips and my tongue. “Oh,” she gasped, then a moment later, “Oh, yes, that.”
I wrapped my tongue around the tip, where I had felt the most pleasure during the brief moments she had done the same to me, and took her soft, rounded tip into my mouth. I pushed and pulled my lips to the first ridge, all the while pressing my tongue against it and wrapping around its slim girth.
Willow gasped slightly and a tingle hit my tongue from her horn in my mouth. I slid more of its length into my mouth and peered one eye open. A thin aura of the dark opal shade that was Willow’s color had surrounded her horn. I wrapped my lips and tongue to the shaft as tight as I could and slid off of it slowly, sucking lightly, and with each inch I moved, the glow became stronger. Small specks of her magic popped and fizzled around the edge of her aura. Each that touched me sent a surge of pleasure through me, settling once more between my legs.
I twisted my head and slid my tongue down the entire length and back up. She gasped loudly, grabbing at me loosely with her hooves, and another shiver of her magic-fueled pleasure went through me. As with the rest of the magical touches, the spark nestled between my legs and drew me ever closer to my climax. I shifted as I worked her horn, and I felt wetness run from me.
With one last run with my tongue, her horn flared brightly, and she shook in my arms, crying out.
Streams of magic shot from the aura of her horn, and when I pressed my tongue to it, I was flooded with intense pleasure. It rolled over me in waves, so familiar yet somehow different. My body shook and tensed with each shiver of Willow’s climax as the sensations flooded through me, as if I was experiencing her pleasure. The feelings pushed me over the edge, and I cried out as my own sex squirmed in a sudden, amazing ecstasy. Willow pressed her hoof against my shaking marehood and her expert movements caused me to shudder uncontrollably.
As my pleasure flowed from me, running a hot stream down the inside of my legs, I stammered out the few words that my confused mind could focus on, “What—This…Ahhn!” Mostly they were gasps and moans of the orgasms I felt in my body and my mind in tune with the wetness that was released from me.
We both collapsed moments later, shivering and panting heavily. “What was that?” I finally asked between breaths.
She responded slowly, “Didn’t I tell you it was delightful? The horn’s an amazing erogenous zone for us lucky unicorns. Like pegasi, just along the sensitive ridge of the inside of their wings. Anyway, it’s not as intense as from our other bits, but sometimes that happens.”
“I felt like I could feel you.”
“You were.”
“It was amazing, Willow.”
“Well,” she giggled, “Usually the one doing the work isn’t so sensitive as to come from it herself!”
I giggled along with her and pecked her with light kisses.
“But here I was,” Willow teased, “Starting to think you didn’t fancy me anymore.”
A desire, almost overwhelming in its simple strength, yelled at me to let loose my emotions and tell her how wrong that was, and how much it pained me to have had to force myself away from her company from the day of my purchase to this morning. I wanted to tell her how hard it was to stay from her touch and presence that I longed for. I restrained myself at the last moment, and spoke only part of the truth. “That’s not true at all.”
I squeezed my arms, pulling her closer against me in a tight embrace. A cool breeze sifted through the window and brushed over our coats, slick with sweat. Our hot breath melted away with the wind as it floated over our entangled bodies, sprawled out over Willow’s bedding.
Willow hummed a note. She probably knew, with that perception of hers that saw through me, that bared me open more naked than as I lay there that moment. After a moment, she ran her hoof down my mane and stroked gently. “You’ve been avoiding me for so long. Since the caravan left, and that was a week and a half ago.”
“It’s not like that,” I argued. I rolled my face against her chest. “I just wasn’t sure.”
“About?”
The night had settled, and all the activity of Rusted Crags, even distant, had died out. The only sound I heard was the quiet breathing of Willow.
“I thought you would be angry at me.”
She stopped stroking my mane, and brushed some strands from my brow. Looking down at me, her face was contorted in a sad concern. “I’ve told you, what happened was her choice. Bit decided on her actions, not you.”
Part of me knew she was right, but most of me wanted to fight back. But if she never met me, I’d begin. Bit Flip’s words that night came back to me, and I heard them ring and echo through my mind. I’d still have my life!
“Bit and I,” she began, snapping me from my downward spiral, “We’re friends, so yes, it was incredibly painful to see her like that, to see what she did to herself.”
Images of Bit’s cracked face and shattered hooves flashed through my vision.
Willow continued, “But you didn’t force her to drink herself unconscious for days and shut herself off from all of us that care for her. She made that choice. I was mad at her for it, and I still am, but it’s not your fault.”
Her warm tones and gentle words soothed my racing heart. I needed to hear more. When she spoke, I could just breathe in the spicy scent of her and listen to that soft voice, and I’d have no need of anything else. All my concerns could be pushed aside, and I needed that just then. “Talk to me,” I begged her.
“What about?”
It didn’t really matter to me. She could have talked about how brown the dirt was or how hot the desert was, and I’d still be entranced. But one thing did come to mind. “Tell me about Bit Flip. And you.”
She giggled, “Haven’t you already asked me that before?”
I leaned up and pulled my face to hers. I looked into those shimmering eyes, then kissed her. I couldn’t help that. “I want to know.”
“That’s a very delicate question.”
“You won’t tell me?”
I could feel Willow tense slightly under my body, but her voice was even and comforting as always. “I can say a few things. Not much, but a little. It’s not my place to say much about her past, and I think you should hear it from her instead.”
I nodded. I’d soak up anything she said, and even one word was more of her than I knew before.
“Well, where to start,” she said, shifting around and sitting up. “Let’s see, I was about the age she is now, so it’s been a long while,” she giggled. “Her caravan stopped through occasionally, and with her penchant for gambling and drinking, naturally we came to know each other.”
She stood up from the bedding and made her way to the window, tipping it shut. “One stop saw things turn romantic, and for a short time, things were exciting, wonderful.” She glanced back at me, as if looking to see what my reaction was, but this wasn’t anything I hadn’t heard already by Bit in passing, and expected, in a way. “Well, she left with her caravan, as you can imagine, and didn’t return for a few months. Of course, I was in the church then.”
She paused in her story and stood uncomfortably, looking at me for a long while. Her words held a weight that I barely recognized, but I couldn’t piece together the meaning she was struggling to tell me. Finally, she spoke up. “A Daughter will always continue her work.”
Part of her story became clear to me and an unfortunate understanding came to mind. “You were with a client?”
She nodded slowly. “She saw me. She was hurt, astonished. It was young love, or something close to it, and I guess she thought I betrayed her. She did mean something to me, and it hurt me seeing her reaction, but,” she paused, sitting on a pillow at the corner of the bedding, staying unusually distant, “My duty has always been to the church where I belong. I couldn’t stop being a Daughter then, and—I can’t stop being Matron because of my personal fancies now.”
Oh.
Suddenly I understood the unusual hesitation in her voice and the distance she put between us as she spoke. She couldn’t have a normal relationship. She would take clients, and had to. A wave of nausea came over me along with the realization that she had probably taken clients in the time between our caresses.
The answer to that question I wanted to ask, the uncertainty that I felt compelled to learn, to know what her feelings for me were, was between the lines of the words she struggled to say, and I nearly cried.
“Most can’t handle it very well,” she said absently, “But she and I, we’re still friends. She means just as much to me now, if not more, than she did those years ago. Just in a different way.”
Friends? We’d only ever be friends? We shared a few intimate moments and toyed at and made love but ultimately, it seemed I wouldn’t ever be for her what I felt she was quickly becoming for me. Then, what was I? To Bit Flip, I was just baggage, just business, just the damnable pony that ruined her life. To Willow, I was—what? A distraction? A maretoy?
My cheeks were warm with the tears that started to flow down them, but I sniffled, and forced myself to choke back the swelling sadness. I asked her—I tried to force myself into her life, and now that the obvious truth comes out, I’m acting like a foal!
I scrubbed my cheeks and forced a grin, telling every muscle in my body to believe it. Willow was obviously hesitant to tell me, probably expecting me to react poorly, like I had, but I wouldn’t hurt her more than I already had. Be confident.
“Well, thanks,” I forced out, “For telling me, even though you didn’t have to.”
She shuffled from the cushion to me and wrapped me in a light hug. “I’m sor—”
“No, no,” I interrupted, shaking my head against her chest. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” But my mind wouldn’t stop thinking over it, and the waves of negative emotions crashed loudly.
When Silver fled into the night back at Desert’s Edge, I was just confused, and a little angry. I didn’t know why she was acting the way she did then, and it had made me start to question the rest of our relationship. But other than what became an incessant need to know why, I couldn’t recall then if I had ever felt genuinely sad. But here, in Willow’s embrace, I sobbed loudly in almost unbearable pain.
I rolled with her onto the bed and tried to stifle the sobs. Things are only as bad as I let them be, I reminded myself, the phrase that Brightmane had hammered into me for years fading pointlessly in the tsunami of emotions.
“It hurts,” I whimpered.
“The simplest rule to remember,” the red-haired little mare explained in her excited and overly-sugary tones, “Is that you just need to be whatever they think you are, which basically means, whatever they want you to be. They want someone timid? You be that mare. They want someone to tickle at their gaming habits? That’s when you put your knowledge to good use, and give them a good game—push them, but don’t beat them, unless you really need to.”
Sugar Cane, the Eldest Sister in the group, had chimed in with a fair share of her own experiences and nodded to much of what Spice told me throughout the day. Sugar Cane showed signs of being a good decade-plus Willow’s senior, and her words spoke to the many years of the service and knowledge she’d accrued as the warm, responsible Eldest. “There’s something even simpler than that, Spice.”
“Huh? No way. What?”
“‘Be whoever you need to be.’ I don’t mean simply watch your target and gauge his or her reactions to the subtle nuances in your behavior, before you decide which role he or she desires—sure, that’s very useful and the core of what we do, but even more than that, you need to believe you are what you want to show.”
Her words reminded me of Willow’s in that first night we met. “Convince yourself, then you can convince others.”
“Yep, that’s exactly it. But back it up with knowledge and practice. Still, the simplest rule is just that.”
I had sought Sugar Cane early that morning because I wanted to know about the church, and about what it meant for Willow to be a Matron. It was such a big part of her life, I felt compelled to understand at least some of it. Sugar Cane reasoned the best way was to be given an introduction and all the training like a new Sister. I'd probably learn a lot of useful things, she had told me.
I agreed to that, but that was it. I wasn’t going to become a Sister. Somehow that felt like it’d make the relationship I sought with Willow even more complicated.
Sugar Cane had then pointed me to Spice, and the rest of the day became a rush of adventure as the excited little filly-mare ushered me through the church. The excitement of her young age, riding close to the line into adulthood but still exuding a bright and energetic youth, was prominent through all of her bouncy actions and frank words.
She introduced me to all of the church’s heads, starting with Prickly Pine, Willow’s male equivalent in the church, and the Father to all the Sons. She reintroduced me to Ghost Ant, the leader of the Monks, and to Steel Braid, Ghost’s right-hand minotaur. She brought me to the last leader, Bush Whacker, the head of the bar and lounge staff, then acquainted me with many of her Sisters: Plum, Honey Dew, Candy Apple, Glaze, and many others whose names I would be lucky to recall later from to the rush of the red-maned Sister’s excitement.
Most of the rest of the morning was spent dressing me in all of the different outfits of the church, and heaving upon me reason after reason to go with this color over that, and general tips, such as how to fake interest or even when to stand a certain way when in the company of a certain type of client. She’d catch herself every now and then when she referred to me as ‘Sister,’ but pushed on after a quick correction.
After having me try on numerous showier dresses, and settling on one with numerous layers of white, a light olive, and a bright yellow, Spice asked, “Are you sure you don’t want to be a Sister? You’d do great here. Everyone’s well taken care of, and as you know, Willow’s really kind to everyone.”
I thanked her, but had to decline once again. She nodded but kept her head low in disappointment.
The three of us walked through the living quarters’ hall in the late evening, and Sugar Cane stopped us at Willow’s door. “She told me to bring you by before we got ready for tonight’s service, so we’ll let you go here.”
While Sugar Cane walked off to her own room, Spice gave me a light squeeze, and said, in her sugary voice, “As soon as the service starts, come meet me. I want to show you what everything I said looks like in action. It’ll be fun!” Then she trotted off, a little skip in her step.
I knocked gently on the door, and it was tugged open with a light magic from inside. Willow stood in the room, swaying slightly to some unknown tune. She was standing just beside a large mirror that reached nearly to the ceiling of the room, and wide enough that we both could stand in its reflection with room to spare. So that’s what was under the sheet.
“Perfect timing, sweetie,” she said. “Come over here, I’d like a little help.”
A stool was set beside her, and on it was a tray filled with thin brushes and tubes of a thick paint. She used this paint every week to cover herself in tribal designs, in intricate patterns that held some meaning I didn’t understand to the great minotaur spirit Laitis. Once each week, she’d become a half-purple, half-pink pony that would dance and drink with little of her usual reserve.
She tightened up the last of the lace on her black corset, and floated up a pair of brushes, thick with the pungent purple paint. “It’s so hard to see back there,” she motioned toward her delicate side, flitting her tail about, “So if you could.” She had a devious grin.
I hesitated for a moment, but before I could reach for the brush, she turned and placed them on the tray. Ever the sensitive, perceptive mare, she seemed to guess at the cause of the pause, and cut straight through the mask I tried to hide my emotions behind. “Are you still upset with me?”
I shook my head. Of course I wasn’t upset with her. Never was. I was upset with myself. I still hurt from the understanding that came from our caress days before.
I had latched onto her when I knew nothing about her, just because she was gentle, had listened to me and said the right words. But I didn’t understand her, and had forced myself into her life, desiring a relationship I wasn’t sure I could have. Or that I deserved, for that matter.
“It’s not that. I…”
I let my voice trail off, stopping myself from blurting out words that I knew would come back and hurt me, just as the realization that my affections toward her could never be returned the way I wanted had, two days prior when I sobbed in her arms.
“Vitia,” she said, stepping toward me. “I’m sorry—”
“No, don’t apologize,” I interrupted.
She shook her head. “I have to say this. Please.” She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Vitia, sweetie. If you want a relationship with me, then that means it’s all of me. And a big part of me is the church. It’s the place I belong.”
I wanted to clasp my ears shut and pretend I wasn’t hearing what she was saying, but I forced myself to nod and listen. I didn’t know what soft words she would use, but I knew this was the conversation I had dreaded hearing.
“You’re a special filly to me. You mean well, and want to do good. You have a good heart. I believe in you, for what you want to do, and how much you try to help.” She paused for a moment, and took another deep breath, which filled me with dread. “I don’t want you to go through what Bit did and suffer because of me. Even if that means I have to put to words the thoughts you’ve been trying to avoid for days. Even if it hurts you now, it’ll be less painful than if you harbored a belief for something that can never exist.”
“Never exist?” Her last words stung sharply. I was certain I heard her wrong. I had to have. Because if not, then what were we? What was I even doing in the room? The steel pins piercing my horn ached.
“I sound selfish, I know. I’m sorry. But the church is also part of who I am. I’m the Matron, and I have my Daughters to look after, and the church’s services to run. I’ll have to start taking clients again. Soon.
“I’ve been putting it off,” she continued, her voice becoming strained, “Since I didn’t want to hurt you, but I can’t do that forever. So please, know that I do care for you. I hope that you can see that, and understand that I don’t mean to hurt you.”
I stood there in dumb silence as she cautiously walked up to me, genuine sadness in her wet eyes, and hugged me. I fought back a sniffle and tears, but hugged her in return.
It was just as I had thought: I didn’t truly understand Willow. Her sentiment, I did, but her, I did not. That had been the primary reason I asked Sugar Cane to help me, to see what the church was, why it meant so much to Willow, and to, in a way, be a part of something that meant everything to her. I pressed her tightly, and nodded. “I do understand.”
“And,” I said, fighting myself to not blurt the three words out, managing to cover them with a separate thought, “I’ll have to learn how to handle it. I can’t, not now. It hurts too much. You mean so much to me, Willow, but I’m selfish. I’m just a scared, snot nosed filly.” I was breaking down and the struggle to maintain composure was pushing the limits of my willpower. “I don’t want to see or think of you with anyone else.”
I pinned my ears back and forced a long, deep breath, trying to steady my thoughts before continuing. “But I understand.”
She pulled away from the embrace after a few long minutes of silence, and smiled her warming, gentle smile. “You don’t have to force yourself.”
I shook my head. I had decided in that silence, that although I knew I wasn’t emotionally prepared to admit the depths of my feelings for her, and that the mere thought of her with another pony filled me with a crushing pain, I was going to learn to overcome those. I would work to understand her, which meant those things which held a special place for her: Bit Flip, the church, and her Daughters.
And so long as I didn’t let it bother me, and didn’t think of her with anypony else, I could enjoy the moment, and find my bliss in her presence. I kissed her cheek, then wiped my tears and reached for the brush. “Guess we better get busy.”
She nodded, with a wide grin. “I tried to pencil in a rough guideline for you. So don’t worry, just paint away.”
She shifted her flank toward me after a brief hesitation, but I stood, staring at the intricate shape of her cutie mark. It was a vine that circled around itself, branching out into three smaller circles at the top, left, and right. Much like the paint she was applying to her face, it was abstract and dark.
I shifted the brush in my lips and pressed my hoof to it gently. “How’d you get your cutie mark?”
She never stopped painting, but flicked her tail playfully across my neck. I placed the brush against the light grey of the pencil outline she’d roughly drawn on, and she spoke up, “I got it when I was really young.
“My brother had a crush on some filly. You know, young love,” she giggled, “But he was too clumsy with words to tell her how he felt. For a long time he was bothered by that, but he wouldn’t let me, his little filly-sister, do anything. Well, I talked to her anyway, and set up a meeting for them.”
I ran the brush along another line, drawing the shape that curved around to the inside of her flank and spiraled down to her hoof, and she continued, “Somehow it worked out. She kissed him, and I got my cutie mark. They married later on.”
“So what’s it mean?” I dipped the brush in the splotch of oily paint, and moved to her other side, applying paint to the tender flesh I wanted to nip so badly.
“I’d say the closest word to it is ‘connection.’ I have a way of bringing out the best in ponies, and people, whether it’s bringing them together, nudging them along a path, or nurturing their growth.”
The marks were complete, and Willow had once again adopted the tribal patterns that she wore that first night I met her, two weeks prior. The dark purple around her eyes made the strong blue shade of her large eyes stand out. Lines painted across her face and down her neck, leading to the frills along the black and white dress she wore.
“Well,” she huffed, “Just in time.”
Willow said her prayers, asking Laitis and the Matron Mother for protection. To each of her Daughters as they exited from the hall into the lounge, she prayed for their safety in the bliss of the evening.
Spice was last to leave, and winked to me as she received her prayer and stepped through the door.
“Let’s just enjoy ourselves tonight. Go mingle this time. Take it easy.” Willow pressed her nose against mine briefly, then turned to the door. “I’ll be at the bar tonight if you need anything.”
When I stepped through, Spice skipped up to me and eagerly took my leg in hers. “Lots to learn tonight, Little Sister! Err, sorry. You know what I mean.”
The next hour was spent dancing from one conversation to the next throughout the lounge, repeating pleasantries and introducing ourselves to the stallions and mares from around town. Thank you for coming by for such an important night. Thank you for your continued support. Spice repeated the words and nudged me to follow suit with our curtsies to each group in turn.
“Now that that’s taken care of,” she huffed. “Let’s loosen up a little.” She trotted up from the curved bench we had taken to, and returned a few minutes later, carefully holding two martini glasses with a bright green drink in them. “Proper Ladies, they’re called.”
It was very fruity, and there was no hint of alcohol in the taste at all, which I found disappointing. Why drink if you can’t enjoy its flavor?
Spice adjusted her corset and frills, slipping it forward, sliding her thin panties down slightly. I could just barely catch a hint of her beneath the frills and ribbons. She smiled at me, “No touching. Yet.”
Spice waltzed into the crowd at one point, and returned moments later, hoof-in-hoof with a distinguished stallion in a clean suit. She introduced him as Midas, a traveler all the way from Tenpony, come to the far west in search of the delicacies of the most special fruits. She sat him between us and leaned in close to him, allowing the slightest of brushes against her bare shoulders.
She deftly handled the conversation, using a few subtle words between his sentences, driving the stallion to increasing excitement as he regaled us of his travels and of the home he had waiting for him that he insisted we must visit someday.
I forced myself to ignore the discomfort of the occasional leer, and told myself not to shrink away from him when he wrapped us around him in his arms. I had to be confident. If I ran away, I’d be running from what I sought from Spice in the first place, and in a way, I’d be running from Willow.
Spice herself had become tipsy as the hours passed, but the glasses of the mixed drink she ordered on his tab for us were more fruit and cactus pod than alcohol, which let the two of us remain mostly coherent compared to the stallion that teetered on complete inebriation. Spice’s skillful play of the conversation became more crude as the hours passed, and the overt sexuality of the situation had long become her driving action. She had wrapped one arm around me and slid the other under my skirt, brushing occasionally along the warmth between my legs.
She flirted with him using words and sensual movements of her cheeks and hoof, and ran her tail along my side, quietly motioning for me to follow suit, to which I complied, reluctantly at first. I playfully flirted with her delicate flesh and used my tail and muzzle to nudge the stallion equally, guided by the smooth movements of Spice. Crudely, but Midas was too drunk to notice my hesitations, or perhaps too aroused to care.
She whispered something in his ear, and he shot up, nodding, rushing to the bar. She pulled her cheek from mine and she grinned widely. “See, Little Sister,” she beamed, not bothering to correct herself this time, “That’s basically all there is. Say a few things, make him want to talk about himself, and let him get himself excited. Move the right way, and it’s just a few words at the end,” she trailed off, gulping down the last of her fruity drink. “I think you might have a gift for it, too.”
I nodded, fanning myself with the small red fan I had slipped from the straps of Spice's panties earlier, trying to push away the heat that had built from hours of pressing against Spice or Midas. But it could do nothing for the intense heat between my legs.
“But you know,” she cooed, sliding her lips along my cheek up to my ear, causing me to blush. Her face was flushed and a light sweat from staying in the heat of the crowded lounge for the last several hours developed around her brow and cheeks. The shining lights framed her light-cream coat, and she looked particularly tempting in our shared arousal. “I bet I have even more to teach you on what goes on after this,” she teased, playing her breath lightly across my face, “And you’re more than welcome to come along.”
She brushed her way past me and had moved off of the bench before I could even attempt to explain that this was already farther than I intended to go. I simply got caught up in everything, I wanted to explain. But she was swaying her way into the private quarters, hoof-in-hoof once again with Midas. She glanced back at me as they exited, and winked.
I downed the small martini glass of the rest of my drink and quickly made my way to the bar itself, grateful that the last of her words were only a tease. I had been far too tempted.
Behind the bar, Willow was floating bottles from high shelves and pouring mixes in midair in rapid, showy movements without ever a drop spilled. She smiled and bounced along the space behind the bar as she delivered the drinks.
I found an empty stool and leaned onto the waxed surface. Lights bounced from overhead, creating shimmers against the drops of alcohol spilled by the patrons in the reverie of the late night. A tall glass of a dark red drink slid up to me.
“Did you enjoy yourself with my overeager Daughter?” Willow was nearly panting from the constant activity she enjoyed, and sweat glistened on her. The dark purple designs she and I painted on her earlier that evening shone in the light, and her pink coat was tinted in the cacophony of colors that played throughout the church. Every light in the lounge seemed to point at her, and she glowed.
I shied away a little in embarrassment at getting so caught up in Spice’s rhythm and finding myself brazenly aroused by Willow. “She gave me a lot to think about.” I reached for the double-shot of Red Rivulet, but a dark turquoise aura wrapped around it, and Willow floated it to my lips. Now this is a real drink, I thought to myself, savoring the thick pine flavor, allowing it to take me from the noise and bustle of the lounge briefly.
Willow smiled as the glass was tugged from my lips. She leaned over the bar and puckered her lips, and we met for a long kiss in the midst of the screaming, cheering crowd. She pulled back, nodding happily, humming to the bassy tune that blasted through the heavy speakers around the room. “It takes time to get used to it all,” she said. “But I believe in you. You’ll get it.”
All of the heat and excitement rushed to my head. I excused myself for a breather, eager to cool myself down before being overcome by my desire for the tribal-painted Matron once again.
Outside, the night had settled hours prior. The moon was bright along the horizon, over little tufts of clouds, and the thinner, cooler air of the wide space felt refreshing.
Convince yourself, then you can convince others, I repeated in my mind. Be confident in yourself and others will believe anything you say. Watch them, see their reactions. Experiment carefully. Be who they want. Be confident.
I thought the mantra to myself over and over.
Willow believed in me, and she cared for me. The relationship that would come with being together with her was something I couldn’t handle, emotionally, I knew, but I repeated the mantra again. One day.
The midday sun was strong as always, with no clouds to break up the almost overbearing intensity. No wind blew that day, and the Rusted Crags’ normally-thin smell of oiled machinery and heated metal was thick in the air. Still, people moved about, carrying goods and parts from one guild to another, needing the extra space of the wide roads over the cramped tunnels that criss-crossed through the town beneath the surface.
I was taking a break from Spice’s energetic, very hooves-on teaching, having told her I needed to step out for some lunch and a few errands for Willow. Though not necessarily untrue—I was dreadfully hungry—it was more an excuse to get some time to think over all she told me and take it in. The sheer amount of information she presented me with was almost overwhelming. It seemed like she was so enamored with the idea of not being the Littlest Sister, even though I had to constantly remind her that I was not joining Willow’s brothel services, had filled her with unending energy, and she was trying to cover years of knowledge and teachings in the short span of a few days.
Willow and I had eaten lunch the previous day at Crisp Cut’s, so I had found myself making my way through the town toward it. I nodded to ponies and minotaurs I recognized, and realized that in the last two weeks and a few days that I’d been in the town, it was becoming more comfortable to me, and I no longer needed to traverse the entire layout to find any shop or building I was looking for.
I turned the corner that led toward the quiet tavern, and nearly bumped into Bit Flip.
I had tried, in the first days after she was released from the clinic, to talk to her, but each opportunity was stifled with my own inability to put into words the myriad of emotions I had, and she in turn simply mumbled a few words and skittered off before I could manage a proper sentence. But now, nearly a week since our last encounter, I felt more sure, and intended to voice my emotions. “Bit Flip.”
She glanced at me then turned her head slightly.
“I need to talk to you,” I told her. I wanted to stop her before she tried to make her way from me, but had to remind myself, be confident.
“What’s there to talk about?” She nearly spit the words. “We both know what happened—”
“That’s what we need to talk about. Yes, things happened. Horrible things.” I hoped not to come off as angry or bitter, but I felt the need to be assertive. I’d have her listen. “But I don’t blame you. It’s not your fault, Bit. It’s mine.”
She glanced up at me with a confused look, then furrowed her brows and walked past me.
I turned and matched her brisk pace. “Bit, please, wait.”
She never stopped and never looked at me, but spoke, “It’s fine, Vitia. I don’t want you thinkin’ yer my property, or like y’have to owe me somethin’.” At that, she stopped, but her voice remained stern. “Things are a little uncertain right now, but,” she paused, rubbing her nose with her hoof, “Well, don’t worry about it. I didn’t do it for you.”
She looked at me with a steely gaze that forced me a step back, “I did it for me,” she said flatly, then walked off. I didn’t follow.
The next day, the room under the Guild that Bit Flip had practically taken residence in was open, and empty. Some shotgun shell casings littered the floor, along with empty bottles of wonderglue and tools, but Bit was nowhere to be found.
I made my way through the underground maze, coming to the residential section. The heavy vault door to the lobby was open, suspended from the inside of the room by a massive hydraulic arm. Several ponies and minotaurs, all draped in grimy blue overalls and wearing heavy utility belts filled with tools, gears, bolts, and sprockets, stood around chatting.
I pushed through to the next room, moving along the dusky but geometrically clean lines of the steel and concrete interior, and along the grey back wall leaned Rivet. He had unstrapped his blue overall’s top portion, and let the denim material flop about his waist. His toned chest glistened with sweat and streaks of soot and oil ran over the ridges of his muscles. He scratched at the gear-shaped tattoo on his shoulder with a hand as big as my head as I approached.
“Where’s Bit Flip today?” I inquired.
He looked at me for a long moment, then snorted and shrugged. “’Aven’t seen ’er ’round in a while. Maybe sh’ finally got picked up by the Monks fer smashin’ a few o’ ’em in a while back.”
I thanked the minotaur and made my way back through the guildworks, stepping up a metal catwalk that led to the surface. I walked through the dense morning heat toward the church.
I entered into the bar area on the upstairs portion of the lounge, and looked at each of the Monks in the room. They nudged drunken, sleeping people from whatever uncomfortable spot they had collapsed on the night before, and ran mops and rags over the spills of the previous night’s services.
I didn’t recognize any of them, except Strong Horn. I decided against asking him for Bit’s whereabouts, remembering the last encounter he had with the pegasus was the night of her chem-cocktail, when she was so amped up and unruly that she cracked off one of the horns he was so proud of.
Making my way back upstairs, I saw Bush Whacker enter into the lounge through the door that led to the non-brothel quarters. It was the first time I saw him not in the stiff black attire he seemed to wear all the time. I stepped up to him and nodded, which he returned.
“Have you seen Bit Flip today?”
He shook his head. “Actually, haven’t seen her since the night she got tossed in the drunktank.”
“Alright, thanks,” I said, turning to make my way toward the Monk’s quarters, before a question of curiosity came to mind. I stopped and asked him as delicately as I could, “Mind if I ask you a personal question?”
He raised one eyebrow, then laughed. “Sure, go ahead.”
“Why’s your—I mean, ‘Bush Whacker’ is very unique. What’s it mean?”
He laughed loudly, then nodded and patted my head lightly. “What you really mean is, ‘Why do you and your brother Weed Killer have such weird names,’ right?”
I blushed a little. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude.”
“No, no, it’s fine,” he laughed again. “Well, short of it is, our mother was a drunk. She named me after her favorite drink, is what Pappy told me. And my brother, well, apparently his birth was a right bitch, so she named him after what she said was ‘the worst drink in the Wasteland. Only good for killing weeds. May as well drink motor oil and bleach!’ So there you have it.”
I stifled a laugh. Or at least most of one, and I snorted a little. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I don’t mean to laugh at that. That’s sad.”
“But it is damn funny, ain’t it? Don’t worry about it, filly.”
I nodded and apologized again as I walked into the hallway, and after a healthy laugh, wiped my eyes and made my way to the end, to the Monks’ quarters.
Ghost Ant stood in the center of the room, running his black Monk robe through steaming water. He nodded as I entered. “Hello, honored little one.”
“‘Honored?’” I had never heard anyone call me that before.
He nodded again. “It’s nothing official, but it’s for what you mean to Willow. She’s a very important pony here. Not just because she’s the Matron, but because of how much she does for the community, and how much everyone in town loves and respects her. And, whether she’s said this to you, or if you noticed it or not, she’s been brighter since Bit brought you here. To me, that’s something.”
“Oh,” I blushed. It caught me completely off guard, and it took me several long moments to recover. I stood there dumbly, watching the squat, but heavily-muscled minotaur press a heated iron to the cloth, causing a hissing steam to rise from the robe. “Uh, sorry, I don’t mean to interrupt.”
“Not a problem, little one. What did you need?”
“Was wondering if you’ve seen Bit Flip. She’s not at the Guild where she was for a while and I can’t find her anywhere else. Someone said maybe you or maybe Steel Braid or someone else may have taken her in for, um, recompense for the night she…made a scene.”
He shook his head. “My Monks and I are upset with her, because of her actions that spit in the face of her normally-esteemed character, but we would not retaliate for what she did. We trust in her to come forward when she feels able, and under the mercy of Laitis and his Sister, we shall all atone for it evenly. But, to answer your question, no, I have not seen her. If she did plan to do anything, I would certainly believe she would consult with Willow first. Perhaps you should check with her.”
“Right, thanks. And, for what it’s worth, which might not be anything considering I’m nothing here,” I shook my head and continued quickly, “I think she feels bad for what she did. Um, well, if she remembers any of it.”
“I believe so as well,” he replied.
I turned back down the hall and began to look for Willow. I had wanted to not pester her while she was with her Daughters and tried to keep some distance to not smother her with my presence, but I was becoming worried with Bit’s sudden disappearance.
Even if it had been a week since she was released, she was still under loose surveillance by her concerned friends, and I found it difficult to believe that she was suddenly no longer anywhere to be found.
The room leading to the brothel’s showers was filled with Willow and her Daughters. All had gathered that morning to recount the last few days and as a time for counseling or simply to chat. Willow sat in the center of the group and listened carefully to each of her Daughters in turn, and the overall mood was warm, and content.
I had stepped in, then decided it was not my place and turned to leave, but stopped as Spice called out my name excitedly.
She pulled me in to the crowd and all the mares and heifers that fell under Willow’s care looked to me. Willow asked for a quiet moment with me in private, and the two of us walked down the hall a short distance before she turned to me. “What is it, dear?”
“I’m actually kind of worried about Bit.”
She was surprised. “Why? What happened now?”
“That’s just it: I don’t know. I can’t find her.”
Willow glanced off to the side then nodded. “I’m sure she’s around. She has a lot to work out, and she’s always been the kind of pony to figure it out eventually. Give her time and space, and just watch; she’ll come back, happy as you’ve ever seen her.”
I sighed, knowing Willow was likely spot-on. In the brief time I knew Bit Flip, I got the distinct impression that she kept a lot of her thoughts and feelings bottled up. She’d deal with them in her own way. Eventually, like Willow said.
I hugged her. “You’re probably right. Sorry to disturb you.”
“Oh not at all, dear.”
I strapped the saddle filled with supplies onto my newly-cleaned medical overcoat, and rested my pink and white hat on my head. I walked from the showers down the hall of the private quarters. I stopped in front of Willow’s door. Be confident, I told myself, then knocked against the thick wooden frame.
She opened it, and stepped back, surprised. “What’s wrong, Vitia?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” I assured her, wearing a genuine smile.
She ushered me inside and looked at me with concern. “Then why all the gear?”
I reminded myself that I had just practiced this speech in the shower and over and over again to the white unicorn in the mirror after, just in case the last few days of its repetition didn’t stick. Be confident, I reminded myself. You can do this, Vitia.
“I…” and with just the first syllable, my confidence was nearly shattered. My stomach twisted, and nervousness had my body shaking. I took a deep breath and forced myself to push on. “Willow, I love you.”
I let the words hang in the air for a moment, and stared at the floor at my hooves, trying to collect myself. My heart pounded and for some reason, I felt tears well up in my eyes. “But how I am right now, I can’t be the mare I need to be, for you.”
I looked up at her, afraid to see what expression she might have. I had, in the dozens or hundreds of rehearsals over the last few days, tried to imagine every reaction I could from her. I had seen her in my mind’s eye with a gaze of sadness, with words that told me it could never happen; I imagined a disappointed Willow, shaking her head, telling me I was foalish; I pictured her with anger in those bright eyes, and a scream to leave. But instead, her eyes were wet, and she was still.
Words caught in my throat, but I forced myself on. “In these last several days, since Bit left, I’ve been thinking. Where am I? What am I doing here? What do I mean to everyone around me? To you? I couldn’t admit to myself my feelings for you because I didn’t know the answer to those questions. I still don’t.
“And I was afraid. You’ve been hurt like this before, so I didn’t want to have that happen again. But I can’t, not now, love you for everything you are. I don’t understand you the way I need to. The way I want to.”
“But,” and the crack in my voice returned, “You remember, that first night, when you held me on the balcony, and I cried, and cried, and told you about Silver Sheen? I left my entire life to chase after her. I thought I loved her.” I shook my head. “I didn’t. Now that I’ve felt it with you, I know I didn’t. But it still nags at me. Why did she leave? What wasn’t she telling me? She left the safety of Desert’s Edge and me for…what? I need to know.
“And,” I continued, rubbing drying tears from my cheeks, “I need to apologize to Bit Flip. She told me not to be concerned, but I am, because I can’t imagine the pain she’s suffering alone. I have to tell her I’m sorry, and I have to make it up to her. I owe her. She’s saved my life. Twice. And she brought me to you.”
Willow crossed to me quickly, and stopped me in the middle of my speech with a hug. She just held me, like she did the first night we met. And like then, I cried.
My legs collapsed, and we fell to the floor. Willow kept me in her embrace, and sat in silence as I released the emotions I had bottled up. They overflowed and dripped from my cheeks, soaking into her coat, and spilled in sobs and choked syllables.
All of the times I practiced the speech, and the bravado I had tried to fill myself with shattered and broke away, leaving me a sobbing, shaking mess. I just kept repeating the words, “I love you,” into her warm chest.
I took another step forward in Junction 144, moving through the square of the intersection that the town had built itself around, surrounded by hundreds of ponies, some minotaurs, and griffins, that I did not know. They mulled about their daily business, paying no mind to the white unicorn in the medical overcoat with the magic suppressor affixed to her horn.
My first stop would be Buffalo Ridge. It was only a short distance from 144, and from the memory banks of the terminal in Old Fort Celestia during my brief, almost-accidental foray into the military hospital nearly a month prior, I knew the general location of the residence that her family had called home many decades before.
After going there, and making my peace with Silver, the little mare that I had once considered to be the most important thing to me, I would return to 144 and continue south, to Cancy.
Willow had, after the long embrace, finally broke the silence after my confession with just a simple admission: “Bit picked up a job with the Quills. She might be near the badlands, or Paint. Please be careful, dear.”
Thanks to a kind few words from the Matron, Steel Arm and a pair of earth ponies, all part of the Gate-Guardians Guild, escorted me from Rusted Crags to Junction 144. The sheer size of the brutish minotaur, coupled with the massive bulk of the steel machinery that covered one side of his scar-torn body, and the heavy weaponry of the trio afforded us a wide birth as other travelers pulled off the torn highway completely. A few run-ins with starved and fevered wildlife, all of which were dispatched quickly, were the most exciting events throughout the short trip.
“This is as far as we go, little one,” Steel Arm had said, wishing me a safe journey before turning back toward the Crags and fading from my view out of the Junction. I would have to find my own protection from this point on, but he did tell me how I get to the places closest to the Quills.
Talk to Silver, I reminded myself, Then to Cancy, and west to Paint, and west still if she’s not there. I had my plan, and set one hoof in front of the other, forcing myself to push on.

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           Medicine & Mail, Chapter 2.5: Willow            
//-------------------------------------------------------//
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 (https://www.fimfiction.net/story/100213). 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.

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           Medicine & Mail, Chapter 3.5: Purpose           
//-------------------------------------------------------//
Vitia's Tale, Part 2: Wasteland 101
Author’s Notes:
This is part two of the side story that chronicles the life of Vitia before the main story in Medicine & Mail (https://www.fimfiction.net/story/100213). It is not required reading for the main story, but is meant to provide additional background information for her.
Rating: Teen
Contains: Blood; Gore (decapitation, disembowelment, dismemberment); Strong language; Light sexual content; Violence.
Genres: Action, Dark
Vitia’s Tale, Part Two
Wasteland 101
“Ain’t nothin’ worse than relyin’ on strangers f’r help.
Most simply can’t, won’t risk it, or just don’t want to.”
The dusty outcropping of the cliffside served me little to keep the ragged desert heat away, but it was still shaded, and after walking the cracked roadway for hours in the severe sun, it almost felt cool.
More importantly than that, though, it was off the road.
Being off the road meant I could spot travelers first, and meant I could hide from the few small bands of raiders that might come through. I hadn’t seen any, but I wasn’t willing to risk it.
I kept a half-closed eye on the road that stretched far across the rolling desert, disappearing into cliffs in both directions, breathing shallow breaths, hoping to conserve the little internal moisture I had left. I knew people traveled to Desert’s Edge, so surely, soon, one of those bands would come by.
And if by the goddesses’ grace they would part with some water, I might survive another day.
Sooner, rather than later, I hoped.
The dry throat, lethargy, and numbness that started in my hooves and tail were the first signs that I was in trouble. I had managed to stave off the encroaching symptoms by chewing on a meaty cactus pods, emulating the survival tactics of some traveler’s story, but it left my jaw tired and I didn’t feel any less thirsty.
I eyed the mulch of the pod from the small spot of shade and was tempted to take the tattered piece once more, if only to convince my mind that it was bringing much-needed nourishment to me, but a small trail of sandbugs crawled around it. I wasn’t quite so bad off I was willing to crunch on them for a drop of moisture.
I sighed, scooting a few inches over to stay in the dwindling shade as the late afternoon sun made its way across the sky. A pinch in my side reminded me of that pocket’s contents: three empty inhalers. They had been the last of my Dash supplies, back in Desert’s Edge.
Based on the intense throbbing of my head when I first came to consciousness, I pieced together what little I could from the details I couldn’t remember: I was in town, fretting over Silver, again, and took a hit on one, then another. The memories became vague at that point then blanked completely. I had a Dash-out, and the next thing I knew, I was in the desert, without supplies.
Not my best plan.
Originally, as soon as I noticed I was without water, I had intended on returning to town. If there had been any fighting, I’d return to my duties as Brightmane’s assistant, and follow through the promise I made to Silver, the one that kept me in town despite the constant want to chase after the silky mare. But if not, then at least I could get supplies and head out. After all, there were only two gates that led from the town, and if I had only been out that night and most of the next morning, I doubt I could have made it that far.
But I didn’t know where I was. I’d never left the junction, and everything looked the same around me. Did I head north? Or did I exit to the west? Both directions twisted and turned through canyons around the town, and I was in a flat area, apparently many miles either way.
It’s always a pisser, these last few miles, one merchant had told me, many years ago, there’s just nothing, nothing, nothing! Heat and dirt and rocks and brahmin shit, but nothing. Then, suddenly, you round a bend and there’s Desert’s Edge. Always a sore sight.
After realizing that I was hopelessly lost, the next idea had been to just continue through the noon heat. Eventually I’d run into civilization. Any direction I went, every road led to a settlement. Or raiders. And if it did, I’d be dead before I could even scream. I couldn’t fight my way out of a wet paper sack, and they would have weapons.
No, I decided, it’d be safer to play more conservatively. Keep to myself, stay off the road, and keep an eye out for travelers that might lend a hoof.
Would they?
My mind was suddenly filled with bits of words from travelers and merchants and caravanners, and they all echoed the same sentiments at some point: Never trust strangers.
I crawled out from my hiding spot. The evening had begun to settle and wisps of wind were helping to break the stifling heat.
I’d not get anywhere if I didn’t move.
On top of the hill, I could see for miles all around. In the great distance, along the horizon, mountains splayed out in all directions. Between my perch and them, in the waning evening light, I could barely make out ravines, arid open areas, and a number of other small, rocky hills like the one I was standing on.
But no towns. No lights. There was a faint glow along the horizon, which I had assumed must be home to pony life. I’d have to go in that direction, whichever it was.
As I made my descent, I heard the distinctive sound of conversation. It was close, but I couldn’t make out the words. I craned my large ears and strained, making out three voices, at least, and a jingle, like a bell.
I chewed on a dusty cactus pad I had picked hours prior. Any moisture it contained had long since been pressed from it, and all that was left was a bitter flavored mulch, but the simple act of chewing on it kept my mind from the increasingly-distressing thirst that had kept building and now bordered on overwhelming. Oh please be friendly, I whimpered.
I crouched behind a rock and a bush near the overhang of the road in its small arroyo just below. A small light shone from the direction of the voice, and teetered this way and that, casting long shadows against the dark rocky surface.
The group beyond the light slowly began to come into view. First was a two-headed beast, with a harness wrapped around it. A bell dinged with each of its ponderous steps. It wasn’t the size of Greenhooves, I figured, but it was certainly larger than any pony I knew. And it was hard to make out in the weak light, but the creature had a distinctively…dull look on both of its faces.
Oh, brahmin. I let out the breath I didn’t realize I had been holding. I had heard of them, but never seen one, and never did any story include them in their descriptions when it involved raiders.
I was beginning to feel hopeful.
The brahmin was pulling a small wagon with a flickering lamp on it. The lights inside it buzzed and moved, twitching on and off. Sitting just to the side of the lamp was a pony, and two others walked behind the wagon. Behind the two was a wide-set earth pony with two massive rifles in the largest battle saddle I had seen.
I waited, crouched. They didn’t look like bad ponies. I had seen traders much like this. The battle-saddle pony was probably hired protection.
The small group made its way underneath me unaware, and I spotted several large jugs that sported the Desert’s Edge logo. I was familiar with those—they held water!
I spat the mulch-pod out and hopped down into the ravine a few feet behind the earth pony. At the sudden sound, he spun around and leveled one of his rifles inches from my face.
I squeaked and shrank back, nearly breaking into a gallop, tripping over myself. “Wait, wait!” I cried out.
“Oh what th’ hell is this?” The mare that asked the question came into my view, silhouetted against the lightbug lamp, hiding her features.
“I’m not a raider!” I yelled. “Please don’t shoot me!”
A high-pitched laugh-scream came from a smaller pony that came around the other side of the mare.
“What’s goin’ on back there?” The pony steering the wagon pulled the reins taught and hopped off. “Who’s a raider now?” he asked, coming into view, though like the other three, his features were hidden in shade. Only their outlines were visible to me from the light of the lamp.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“Th’ fuck you want, filly?” The mare spat the words.
“Uh,” I squeaked. “Water.”
Everypony but the one with the battle saddle, his gun still pointed directly at my face, laughed. “Why don’t you ask for the moon, too?”
Nothing in the Wasteland is ever free, I remember a merchant telling me. Nopony does things for nothin’, not out there. I thought, what did I possibly have to trade? I left Desert’s Edge with no supplies, and had nothing of value.
“Well?” The elder stallion tapped his hoof on the rock. “Ain’t ya gonna tell us why y’ think y’ need some o’ our water and why we shouldn’t just shoot ya dead right here?”
The last words brought panic, and I stuttered broken words trying to form anything coherent that might work.
The mare walked around me slowly, and as she turned into the light, I could make out some of her features. Her coat was a dingy, earthen ochre, and her mane was tattered and in terrible condition. She nodded, and a wicked smile revealed dirty brown teeth. “She might be worth somethin’, pa.”
The older stallion nodded. “What do you say to that, huh? Want to sell yourself for a sip of water?”
“Reckon she’ll get us a nice sack o’ caps at The Pens,” the mare laughed, “Or hell, maybe even th’ fuckin’ ghouls would pay for a nice, fresh fleshie.”
“What? No, I—I have something.” I was searching for words. I didn’t want to be sold! But what did I have? Empty Dash inhalers? My medical overcoat? I didn’t want to part with that—not because of its value, but because of the sentimental value of years of its use, the only gift from Brightmane. My throat scratched and head pounded, screaming at me for being so thirsty.
“I’ll trade you my coat for some water.”
“Hmm,” the elderly stallion hummed.
The mare broke in, impatience in her voice, “Y’ aren’t seriously considerin’ takin’ that dingy coat for it, are ya?” Then, in a hushed voice I figured not intended for me, “She’s desperate, bet she would sell her own snatch fer a sip.”
The stallion waved her off. “Fine, your coat, saddle, and everything in ’em, and we’ll give ya some water.”
I hesitated for a moment. I wasn’t sure if I could wait much longer for any water, and part of me wondered if the merchants would be upset knowing that I held literally nothing else of value on me. Perhaps he expected something from the bag that sat empty on my back.
“Well, do ya need th’ water or what?”
“Fine.” A snippet of advice came to mind, and I repeated it. “Give me some water first, then I’ll give you the coat. And the saddle.”
The stallion laughed. “Post, get ’er a canteen.”
The mare snorted, then rummaged through the crates on the wagon. She tossed a small canteen at my hooves, kicking up dust where it landed. I wrapped it in my magic and eagerly pulled water from it. It was hot, and tasted uncomfortably of dirt and ash, but it tasted like life.
The canteen emptied, I breathed heavily. My mind still craved more, but as I looked up to the group, hoping to push for just a little more, the glint of the rifle still pointed at me stifled the request.
“And now,” the elder started, letting the demand hang heavily in the air.
I floated the empty canteen to the mare and started pulling the straps undone.
“Oh boy!” The high-pitched voice from the young stallion cracked a little as he spoke, “Looks like we get a show, too!”
Embarrassment took hold for a moment, and I turned to face away from the group, but the guardpony’s guns clinked as he shifted his weight. I flinched, and floated the free saddle away. The overcoat came off with a few loosened straps. I hesitated, trying to form some way to keep the coat that was my only connection to Brightmane, but the mare bit into it and pulled it from my magical hold.
I shivered in my sudden nakedness, but the light wind that brisked through the canyon brought the first feelings of genuine coolness since waking up in the Marejave that morning.
“Now then,” the elder stallion said, turning back to his wagon. “Thanks for yer business. Now get the hell out of here.”
“Wait,” I called, “Can I come with you? Just to the next town.”
The mare laughed. “What, like we should jus’ let you come along because y’ gave us yer coat? Be thankful we even gave y’ some water, considerin’ yer pack was empty!”
“But, it’s dangerous out here!”
The mare laughed again, and the earth pony shifted, causing both rifles to rattle. “Fer you, maybe.”
I was losing the argument, and it made no sense. Why were they being so cold? “I won’t be a hassle.”
“Don’t matter. Ya’d just be another mouth, and I don’t rightly care what happens out here t’ ya.” The elder waved dismissively and pushed the wagon forward.
“Better hope ah don’t see ya ’round again,” the mare warned.
The wagon and its group pushed on and disappeared around a bend a good distance ahead. I slumped my head. One day out of town, and I already lost the few things I had. Part of me reminded me that at least I managed some water out of it, but another voice told me how I was even worse off now.
I stepped forward and followed the group from a good distance. I didn’t expect that they would do anything to help should some nocturnal beast came out, but the idea of an armed group leading the way still seemed more comfortable than collapsing and waiting to be eaten where I was.
I woke slowly, rubbing my eyes and cursing the throbbing pain in my head.
The sun had risen above the clouds that surrounded the desert on all sides at all times, and already that morning the heat was punishing.
I shook the dust and sandbugs from my coat, and gazed around at my surroundings. I had followed the group from a good distance, far enough away that I hoped they couldn’t see, hear, or smell me, but still close enough that an occasional murmur of their conversation could be heard. They traveled for many hours more before finally setting up camp in a small alcove.
They roasted meat over the small campfire, and though my mind retched at the thought, the burning pain of hunger pushed me to believe I’d eat it. Probably. But I had decided not to push my luck and curled up to rest against a bush some few-hundred feet away.
In all directions, the same constant white-and-red cliffs broke the monotony of the rolling hills and small sand dunes. Even at the furthest distances, I could make out no sign of civilization. Just sandy hills and more hills, with some cliffs occasionally.
I stepped around the bush and looked to the alcove, but it was empty. The campfire had died out, and when I inspected it, it didn’t even smolder.
The group had left a significant time earlier than I had. Of course, I reminded myself. They weren’t going to help me, after all.
I stepped back onto the road and continued in the same direction as I had the day before. The merchants the night before moved at a leisurely pace, so I kept mine brisk, hoping to catch up to them soon.
The minutes passed, then hours. The road heated, and began reflecting that back on me. The sun beat down hard, and the distance shimmered. Without my overcoat to provide a layer to keep the light from me, I had begun to pant and sway from the intense heat that left me dizzy.
I passed around a small cliff, then crested a hill, and another. Sand kicked up in a gust and blew over me, sticking to the sweat and stinging my eyes. I coughed, and my throat burned. I felt as though I hadn’t actually drank anything the previous day, and the headache pounded on, heavier than any hangover.
As the sun reached its highest point of the day, directly overhead, I saw a shadow through the twisting heat some distance ahead. I was glad to have caught up. I pushed on ahead, a momentary burst of energy causing me to trot and skip until coming to the edge of their conversation.
I breathed in deeply, finding it surprisingly difficult to inhale. My eyes swam and my head felt like it was splitting. I faltered on a step and crashed to the ground.
Dehydration and hunger were settling into my every step, and the ragged heat only made it worse. I forced myself on, trying to keep focus on the merchants ahead of me, but my vision would black out and when I opened my eyes again, I saw that they had made it several hundred feet further on.
I quickened my pace, yelling at myself inwardly to not give up, to not give in to the overwhelming desire to just lay down for a quick nap. I knew, in my worsening condition, that the momentary break would see my only potential salvation move out of sight. Or I could just not wake up. The thought crossed my mind and I shook it off, putting one hoof in front of the other.
The sun had pushed to the edge of the cloud cover, and shone directly in my eyes. I had barely the energy to drag my hooves across the blistering, cracked road, but with every step, I told myself I only had to make one more.
Just one more.
You can rest later.
One more step, Vitia.
As the sun dipped below the clouds and rimmed them a bright red that stood out strong against the blazing orange sky, I found myself wandering into the merchants’ camp, absently.
“Whoa, hey!” Came a high-pitched cry.
I barely registered the shapes that moved around me. My vision had long-since stopped seeing the sharp edges and vivid colors of the world around me, and I only saw rough shades.
My legs shook, and my throat burned. Just one more step, I repeated, but that step never came. I collapsed.
The world around me went black, but I knew my eyes were still open. I heard murmurs around me.
“I say we sell ’er.”
“Won’t be worth anythin’ if she’s dead.”
I awoke to a sharp pain in my side. I coughed, trying to take in deep breaths but unable to. The wind had been knocked from me and my eyes were burning from the inability to draw the tears they sought in reflex to the pain.
I tried to stand on my hooves, but fell over. They were tied together, and I was myself tied to the back wheel of the wagon.
“Good t’ see ya finally joined us,” the mare smiled, her grimy teeth pocked and uneven.
“Seein’ as we took it upon ourselves to kindly afford you another bit of our precious water,” the elder stallion said, speaking over me, “And how yer quite out of anythin’ of value, we figure ya’d be fine an’ understandin’ that yer the only thin’ o’ value now.”
“Yeah,” the mare chimed in, dropping the empty Dash inhalers onto my side, “Since y’ went an’ used all the goods already, bitch,” she spat, “Looks like yer down to sellin’ yer own cunt t’ make up fer it.”
The motted-blue elder pony waved a hoof dismissively, “That’s enough, Post.” He looked at me again, and continued, ignoring the snide comments of the spotted mare sulking off, “But what she said ain’t far from th’ truth o’ it. Water’s mighty expensive, but at least a young’in like ya is worth a few sacks o’ caps.”
“Wait,” I pleaded, “Isn’t there something else I can do?” I didn’t want to be sold. I didn’t want to become a slave. I’d either get shipped off to the factories in the east, where I’d be worked to death, or made into a personal slave. None of the stories I had heard about either were ever uplifting, and none ended well.
He chuckled, “Doubt it. Your problem, not mine.”
The ropes tying my hooves were undone, and a small bucket of water was placed at them. After drinking the muddy mess, the wagon moved on.
The scenery for the next several hours never seemed to change, and continued in the same monotonous arid desert that I had been in the last two days. Two days, I thought, recounting once again the sad state of my position. A spike of hunger ran through me, and I lurched, spitting drops of bile.
Despite the slow pace of the brahmin that carted the wagon, it soon became too quick for my steps, and I fell over and was dragged for several feet before being forced back to my hooves.
At some point late that morning, the battle-saddle pony was tasked with throwing me in the wagon itself, to curses of “Slowin’ us down, the cunt,” by Post. I traveled much of the rest of the afternoon and late into the evening on the rough, splintery wooden wagon. The sun beat down on me until it settled below the horizon, and I panted, and sweated. Hunger lashed out at me constantly, and I was dizzy and queasy.
A bucket, half-full and shimmering in the camp’s fire light, was placed in front of me. The volume of the nourishing liquid within shocked me, and I thanked Luna and Celestia above for the sudden mercy of the group. I drank greedily. With the desire for water overwhelming any other sense, I barely noticed the salty taste.
The quiet brown stallion burst into his high-pitched laughter, and Post roared beside him, “Never saw somepony drink brahmin piss and like it so much!”
My eyes snapped wide and the rest of my senses came into focus. The smell of the liquid was fetid, and it shone a deep amber. Before my mind registered what happened, my body was already acting, rejecting the foul, rancid contents and vomiting up every drop of liquid in me.
“Hey, knock it off!” screamed the old stallion. From the corner of my eyes, I saw him bound from the small fire to the two.
“Oh come on, ya old fuck,” Post started, “We’s just gon’ sell ’er anyway.”
The elder stallion swung his hoof down against her head, drawing a thin line of blood from the scrape. “An’ we can’t sell ’er when she’s dead! So get ’er some water. And I mean water, ya fuckin’ moron daughter. And you,” he scowled, standing over the cowering stallion, “Y’ want t’ make a joke, make a mess of th’ goods an’ my wagon? Y’ get t’ clean it up! Now!”
The old stallion looked at me, a hard edge to his face. “Ah’m sorry about that. But, gotta provide for muh family, dumb as they are. All I got in this ’ere hell we live in. And yer worth a bundle o’ caps one way or another.” Post returned a few moments later and dropped a bucket with a clear liquid in it, then scowled.
“Soon as she’s done there, clean ’er up. Sh’s makin’ my nose burn from ’er stench.” He walked back to the fire and sat across from the ever-silent guardpony.
I couldn’t be entirely certain, because of the acidic taste in my mouth, but it definitely seemed to be water. It could have been full of dirt or ash, but right now it had water, and I drank until my stomach ached.
Post stomped at the ground inches from my muzzle. I snapped back and saw in her face a maniacal grin. Something vicious glinted in her eyes.
She took me by my mane, easily dragging me from the cavern outside, and flung me. I tumbled and rolled down the small hill, and landed flat on my face.
Standing up, I moaned and heaved, spitting dirt and dead plant. I was hit with a splash of cold water, and again a few moments later.
Post hopped down to me and swung her hoof across my face.
My vision flashed and felt heat from blood roll down my brow.
“Now don’t ya think o’ doin’ somethin’ stupid like tryin’ to run or anythin’, cunt.” She glared at me, then smiled a twisted grin. “Or, actually, do. Please, do. Give me a reason to break somethin’.”
I tensed and tried to pull my gaze from her crazed eyes, but wilted and felt my body shake. She spat at me, “Fuckin’ cunt.”
She pressed a rough rag to my coat and scrubbed violently. The scratchy edges of the cloth dug into my skin beneath my coat and burned with each pass, but I stifled the scream. I knew she just wanted me to react, and shuddered to think what she would do if I had.
“Fuckin’ old bastard,” she muttered, stomping her hoof, glaring toward the cave, lit brightly by the fire against the deep blue of the late evening sky. Turning to me, she growled, “Fuck him.”
She reared up, using both of her forelegs to shove me to the ground. She stood over me and flung the rag aside. She stomped at the ground beside my chest, then, staring at me with those wild red eyes, she smirked. “Oh, what was that? Were you tryin’ t’ run? Ya shouldn’t ’ave done that.”
She stepped back then raised her hoof slowly, watching me shiver and shake. “Shouldn’t be worth any less if yer jus’ a little wounded, right?”
A gunshot shook the air around us, and dust from the impact some feet from my head paused us both. The guardpony and the elder stallion stood at the edge. “Enough, Post! Fuckin’ moron, I swear.”
I jolted awake from my half-sleep, finding myself once again tied to the wagon, but after a small bag of dried, stale oats and a flask of water, I felt like I held just enough energy to keep pace that morning. We came down from the last major hill leading into the greyish settlement in the distance, and something resembling salvation or hope sparked in me.
Post continued her excited conversation, talking in great length and to disturbing detail the kind of horrors I’d face when I was turned over to The Corral.
She described, with dreadful enthusiasm, the feeling of my guts that’d rot out from within me, the kind of sick feelings I’d have to deal with in learning to cope with the feel of mushy ghoul flesh…she delighted in the idea of it, becoming flushed and excited as she saw me squirm or flinch from her chatter.
Fleshgrove was where the group had intended on leaving me, trading me for what they anticipated would be enough caps to buy supplies for a month or more. I’d be handed over the The Corral, the largest whore house in the Marejave that specialized in being for and of ghouls. Non-ghouls like me would still be forced to pleasure the rotting ponies.
And it was a festering sinkhole of a town. Long before seeing any of the inhabitants, their stench carried on the wind. As we came into town, the stench had become so strong, and so foul, that I begged for any moment of reprieve.
Most of the rotten ponies here stopped as the group pushed on. Their eyes were wet, saggy, often discolored, grey or a nasty shade of olive. Very few had anything remaining of their coats, and their sickly pale flesh wrinkled over thin frames. As they shuffled about, their movements created sickly wet sounds. Hooves made a splish each time they were pressed to the cracked asphalt surface.
The only building with lights on was a cracked two-story concrete building, either because only it had a working power source, or because, as a show of pomp and class, the place had to keep them on at all times. The lights along the top were red and yellow, the backlit sign flickered, and one section was off completely. In green, swirly lettering dotted with white spotty lights was written The Corral.
The wagon stopped just outside the large, gnarled wooden doors leading into the building. The elder pony, Tin Touch I had learned he went by, clambered off the wagon. The guards watched unflinchingly as he and the guardpony led me in by rope.
The interior of The Corral was just as dolled up as the sign. Tattered tapestries hung from between pillars that were set half into the wall with a faded, flaking white coat of paint and fake gilding along the top. Thick red rugs were laid with golden embroidery, leading to several rooms with signs overhead. Originals” was written on one and Fleshies” above another.
“Oh what have we here?” sing-songed an approaching ghoul pony. Her coat had rotted away but her mane was still mostly intact. The sequined purple dress she wore shone with bright dots as she descended the stairs. “Fleshies, come to partake?”
Tin Touch shook his head. “Trot,” he said. The guardpony yanked the rope. I was lurched forward and crashed onto my face at the ghoul’s slimy hooves.
“Ah’m figurin’ it’s hard to keep a…stock, o’ yer fleshies,” Tin Touch started, nodding to the door with that written above. “So ah’m lookin’ to offload this extra mouth for a nice chunk o’ yer caps.”
The ghoul cocked her head, and hummed. “Well, that is true,” she said absently. “So let’s take a look at her, then.” She inched closer, and the stench of her flesh made my eyes burn. “Unicorn, with a shiny white coat, certainly can be a selling point. Plus,” she considered, “She is…fairly young. Or at least looks that way. Very well, two-hundred caps.”
Tin Touch laughed. “Oh she be worth a whole lot more’n’ that, ah’m afraid. See, she’s a medic type. Got some magic for healin’ and th’ like. Should help keep yer fleshies around longer, wouldn’t y’say?”
“We have many medics here,” the ghoul said flatly. “And never a want for medicine when needed. That’s hardly something that’d raise her value.”
Tin Touch scratched his patchy grey beard.
The ghoul shrugged. “Plus, we’re undying.” She was curt. “I’m already being generous. Two-hundred, and you can walk out of this town in one piece.”
“And a crate o’ Radaway.”
The ghoul squinted her eyes, then glanced over at me, and shrugged. “Fine. Deal. Talk to Basil at the counter, and he’ll get you squared away. Anything else?”
Tin Touch spit, but shook his head and motioned to Trot. The rope dropped, and the two walked to gather their goods.
A slimy hoof brushed up from under my chin, and my eyes met the ghoul’s grey ones. “Now,” she smiled, Let’s get you prepped.”
“And here, you’ll be given Radaway. Most of the citizens in town are not themselves going to contaminate you by their presence,” Tenacia, the sequined Matron ghoul of The Corral, informed me, “But the dirt and the houses and most of the water will. Twice a day, you are required to stop by Oregano’s desk and procure some. Starting now.”
A lot of things were, surprisingly, being required by the establishment that would be considered healthy, despite the radioactive area it was settled in.
All of the Fleshies were given two meals, ample water, and some minor appropriation of medicine. They earned no wages, and were restricted to locations in The Corral and a few nearby buildings, but most were given a better, more consistent life here than most in the Wasteland.
“You,” Tenacia had explained to me, “Are our business. And we are a business that has survived. We tolerate zero acts of self-harm or violence against the other Fleshies, or any patron, or any other pony here. You will eat your meals, drink your water, and take your medications. Whether you know it or not, you’re lucky here.
“All you have to do is be good at what is expected of you, and you will be given a life far better than what you had, and what most have. You will be called on as necessary to meet the patrons who request you, and you will service them with every part of your body, even if they don’t know they want it. In exchange, you will get to live to a long life.”
The tour had been completed, and I was left in a room at the end of the hall under the sign Fleshies. I chewed on the dry oat bar that would serve as one of my two meals every day, and sighed.
Unlike the entry, with its almost grand appearance, this room was a pit. Several bunks were stacked against the walls, torn and tattered sheets and mattresses resting on them. Broken down and rotted tables were laying about haphazardly. There were no tapestries or paint to cover the cracked and decaying walls.
Two dozen eyes met mine as I surveyed the room.
I swallowed the last of the stale bar, and downed a Radaway. The bitter, artificial citrus flavor left an aftertaste worse than the drink itself.
Behind the wide eyes of all the other Fleshies were wearied and haggard faces. Some were missing tufts of their coat or mane, and many others were so dolled up in makeup and mane extensions that it was difficult to determine how much they were trying to cover.
I forced a smile and waved a weak attempt to break away the awkwardness in the air.
One of the mares started crying, several others around her taking to comforting her. Most turned away and went back to whatever they were doing to stave off time between their calls with the patrons.
Behind me, the door clicked open and an azure mare was pushed in, falling to the floor. A Radaway packet was tossed to her side, and the door was shut, locking.
She had covered her face in powders and fake jewels, but her tears had begun to ruin it, running down her muzzle, leaving streaks of greys and blacks.
I crouched down and began to offer help, when I noticed she was bleeding. She had fresh blood running from the backs of her legs and it was slowly dripping down from beneath her tail.
She sniffed, wiped her eyes, smearing makeup and powder across her hoof and in all manner over her face, then stood up. She started to limp away, but the pain was obvious, and she didn’t make it very far.
I noticed none of the other mares were even looking at her. I was shocked. In Desert’s Edge, whenever somepony or someone was hurt, he or she was always helped. Even when the fighting started and it was getting worse, volunteers from around stepped forward and did whatever they could. Yet here, nopony would even spare a glance.
“What is wrong with all of you?!” My voice scratched against my throat and I slammed both of my hooves down against the concrete floor.
The chattering stopped, the games paused, and all the eyes in the room save the azure pony’s, looked to me. Some of the mares were shocked, and many were cross.
“Fine!” I reached out with my magic, and pulled several of the sheets from the beds, and crumpled them together. “Lay on these,” I said, kneeling down to the hurt mare. I set the makeshift pillow at her nuzzle and she solemnly pulled herself forward to them.
“Now,” I spoke to her, gently, “You’re going to feel…uncomfortable, for just a moment, but I want you to stay calm. I’m going to help.”
I focused, thinking of the spell I needed, weaving together the magic at the tip of my horn. I encased the hurt mare in a light field of telekinesis—to ensure she wouldn’t thrash while I let my magic work its way over and through her—and let the healing spell take to work.
“No, don’t!” She cried out as the first effects of my spell took hold.
“I’m sorry,” I comforted her, “But it’ll be over in just a moment.”
She squirmed under my hold, trying to kick and buck at me. My grasp on her remained solid, but she pushed hard against the limits of my magic. After a minute of not managing an inch of progress, she stopped resisting, and started sobbing.
I focused on the healing, and after a few minutes, the bleeding stopped. Her wounds, mostly minor but internal and easily taken to infection, had healed up considerably. I couldn’t match the full effect of a healing potion with my skill, but I hoped that it would heal and she’d be free of pain, and maybe stave off a crippling infection.
I relaxed my body, exhaling deeply, and dropped the hold on her.
“Idiot,” somepony from the crowd muttered. It was repeated by others several times, and “moron,” “foalish newcomer,” and then the chatter went back to normal.
For the second time in my brief few minutes in the room with the other Fleshies, I was surprised. I helped her, when all of these other mares just ignored her.
I did a good thing!
The healed pony stood, then turned and glared at me. I’d never seen such a pitiful, angry face. “I would have had days off, you bitch.” She swatted at me with her hoof and stormed off, cursing all the while.
My shock had been replaced by confusion, but before I could question it, the door opened, and Tenacia stepped in. “Newcomer,” she smiled, “Looks like you’ve already got company. Let’s go.”
What?
I hadn’t even been sold to The Corral for half an hour…
I was following Tenacia down the hall, unsure whether to make a move at an escape, where I could take my chances with the town of ghouls and the Marejave again, when she stopped and gently pushed open a door.
“Be good,” she said.
She was standing between me and the foyer. I eyed the open space between her and the wall, and thought to dash through it while I still could. Just get out, run away. I looked back at the room with the Fleshies, and sighed. If I left, then who knows what would happen to them. I felt my chance to run had slipped away. I sulked into the room, staring at the ragged wood flooring.
“Oi, cunt,” a familiar female voice broke my thoughts. “It’s bad manners t’ not look at yer patron, isn’t it, whore?”
I looked up at Post, who sat on the satin-covered bed, grinning wildly.
“I had t’ do a lot of sweet talkin’ and pleadin’ to get a chance in here with ya. I can see why that ghoul-bitch got the better o’ Pa on yer deal.”
My heart sank. I had just seen what sort of damage could be done here, and I figured they probably allowed for even worse—not enough to endanger our lives, I hoped, but the patron likely had a lot of leeway. And this was Post, the sadist that would have just as soon dragged me behind the wagon the whole way as she would piss on me.
But she was a mare, so she was limited in what—
“And you would not believe the kind o’ toys these fuckers have.” She pulled out a thick cylinder, rounded at the top. Jutting along its exaggerated length were rounded spikes. “Looks like I really can make ya bleed, and now that th’ bastard Tin ain’t ’round, I s’pose all limits’re off, wouldn’t y’say?”
I blanched at the sight of monstrous, vicious dildo that she held, and felt my heart sink.
Post hopped off the bed, the oversized sex toy hanging by its handle from her mouth. Her blood-red eyes sparkled in the lamplight. With each passing moment I cowered further into the corner, her sadistic appearance pushing me down in my cowardice.
She reared up and brought both hooves down on me, one splitting skin above my brow, and the other hitting with a meaty thud against my neck. I was knocked to the floor and disoriented, pain throbbing from my new wounds.
She bit down on my tail and dragged me across the floor, then hefted me onto the bed.
My head swam in disorientation and pain, but my senses were starting to come back to me.
Post stood at the edge of the bed, looking down at me, her maniacal smile half-hidden behind the monstrous toy she had picked up again. She swung her hoof down over my head again, and everything went white.
I felt my eyes blinking, and with sudden, fearful clarity, I remembered what Post had intended, and swung my head around the room to find her.
She was standing behind me, and was tapping my cutie mark impatiently with the oversized toy. “Oh good, I’d hate f’ ya to miss the best part,” she snickered, and slowly slid the toy inward.
I panicked. “No!” Screeching, I kicked out, and my hoof glanced off her shoulder.
“Oh you cunt,” she snarled, standing up, her frame towering over mine. “Don’t you know th’ patron always gets what she wants!?” She dropped the toy and turned, raising her hind legs.
I scurried off the bed as Post bucked. She missed me, but her kick shattered the rotting wood of the headboard, and knocked a small picture frame from the wall.
I leapt aside as she crashed down at me.
“Oh good,” she scowled, “Yer gonna make this a lot more fun.” She inched toward me, pushing me back toward the bed.
My flank bumped against its edge, and my heart skipped a beat. Cowering back from the sadist onto the bed, my hoof stepped on the rubber torture-toy. I quickly focused my magic and brought the dildo to bear over Post’s face with as much strength as I could muster.
She staggered to the side, and I dashed for the door.
Locked. My stomach twisted, and I felt light-headed.
Post crashed into me, smashing my face to the door. “You know what that purple bitch told me? She said there’re no limits in here!” She bit my neck and tore my head from the door, ripping a strip of flesh from me in the move.
I screamed in pain, and slumped down the door. My magic hold on the toy dropped. Warm blood flowed quickly down my shoulder and chest.
Post spit the bloody mouthful of my body, chuckling, “Ah, I’m not that fucked. But y’see, in here, I could be.”
My horn glowed, and I focused on bringing a spell to it that could mend my flesh, but my concentration was wrecked when Post’s hindlegs both came crashing into me. My breath was knocked from me, and a new surge of pain radiated from my upper leg.
“No magic, cunt!” Post yelled, bucking at me again.
Post’s brutish strength crashed into my gut, and with a crash and crack, I was sent through the shattered door into the hall.
I heaved for air, and coughed bile.
“Ma’am!” A voice called out from the side.
In my swirling vision, I could barely discern the shapes of two ghoul ponies galloping up the hall. They stepped into the doorway.
“You were informed of the rules regarding proper behavior with a Fleshie, and our establishment,” one scolded her.
I rose to my feet, vision clearing and breath returning.
“You will have to compensate for the destruction of prop—”
“Oh fuck off, I don’t care about yer property,” she spat. “Yer ruinin’ the patron’s fun.”
Post pushed forward, but was met with a telekinetically held pistol, pointed directly at her head. “Consider this your only warning,” the unicorn ghoul glowered.
I turned toward the foyer and focused my magic once again, bringing a coagulation spell to mind. As I let it work on my bloodied bite wound, I saw Tenacia turn into the hall.
She stopped just ahead of me, causing me to stop, and glanced down the hall. “Let the psycho by,” she called out. As Post pushed by the guards, Tenacia looked down at me. “Doesn’t look like your patron is satisfied, dear.”
“Y’ got that right, whore matron,” Post hissed.
The spell had nearly finished, but my heart was racing and my mind flashed image after image of the torture Post would put me through now, knowing she had no limits with me.
Adrenaline pumped and panic took over my senses. I fled, crashing over Tenacia and rushing to the entrance. My body’s painkillers dulled the screaming pain of the weight on my broken leg, but my gallop hitched and jerked as I dashed through the hall.
I have no other choice!
I barreled into the door, hoping it would split wide, but fell back with a dull thud. I scrambled to my hooves and grabbed it with my telekinesis, wrenching at it to open. The heavy doors creaked open an inch, then another, in agonizingly slow fashion, until it was nearly fully open.
Something crashed into me from behind and we barreled into the slick street. I rolled away from Post and screamed at the pain of my broken leg as I put my weight on it, and fell to the ground.
Post scrambled to her hooves, and bucked at the ghoul guard that rushed to restrain her. She yelled at the other, “Yer whore matron gave me free reign on this slut! Fuck off!”
The ghoul guard paused for a moment too long, and Post struck him, scraping strips of flesh from his face where her hooves made contact.
I shakily made to my hooves, and keeping my weight off my broken leg, hobble-galloped as fast as I could. Each step sent a spike of pain through me like a blazing fire was lit under my skin. My vision flashed white and red on each step.
I twisted and turned around corners in thoughtless abandon. Post would be on me any moment, being uninjured and larger, healthier, so I hoped to lose her around a corner. And behind her would very likely be some of the Corral’s ghoul guards, looking to drag back Tenacia’s precious merchandise. Or the pieces of it, I grimaced.
I turned a corner, but my legs gave out from under me, and I crashed against a concrete wall, flopping down into a puddle of radioactive sludge.
Get up, get up! I screamed at myself.
I panted, looking desperately for any sign of being followed, but only heard the sounds of chatter and the stomach-churning noises of ghouls making their way around the city.
Get up, run! They’ll find you! Of course they would, and the longer I stayed in the town unprotected, the quicker the radiation that oozed from every building and many residents would send me to a horrid death. But with this leg…
I made to stand, but the pain from my leg caused my vision to flare white, and I bit deep into my tongue to avoid crying out. I buckled and I fell back to the sludge. I wouldn’t be able to take another step with that pain.
Taking a deep breath, I remembered Brightmane’s spell, and the feel of her magic pushing away all the pain of that Dash-hangover, if just for a while. My horn glowed, and the magic worked its way through my body.
The tearing pain dulled. Still present, still uncomfortable, but tolerable.
“Oi, Pa!” I heard, Post shouting in the distance. “Ya seen that fuckin’ medic whore run past?”
I stood, and turned—coming face to face with one of the Corral’s ghouls.
I immediately bolted the opposite way, crashing into another of the ghouls, just beyond the sidewalk, and fell, tumbling into the main street. In a panic, I jumped back and tumbled over some rubble. Further ahead, stopped at a shamble of a stall, was Tin Touch, Trot, the young stallion, and the wagon.
Post screeched an “A-ha!” and reared up.
Then I had an idea, formed from panic and desperation.
I forced shut my eyes and manifested the cantrip spell, twisting its formula for intensity instead of duration. A small orb appeared a few feet above the ground just in front of me. It sparked into a shimmering white light, floating, spinning in place. Then, a moment later, it exploded, and beams of light shot out in all directions.
For that brief moment, this one street in Fleshgrove lit up like it had been hit by a balefire bomb.
The light had temporarily blinded the ghouls behind me, and, whether by accident or not, a strange glowing beam shot from the front of the box, and struck a wheel of the wagon, disintegrating it instantly. The wagon toppled, and crates crashed to the floor. My medical overcoat spilled out along with my saddle. A small hypo, filled with a swirling rainbow liquid, poked out from a pocket of the coat.
I rushed toward my coat, past the merchants that rubbed their eyes and teetered, screaming curses at me. The effects of the spell would only last a few seconds at best, and soon their eyes would recover from the blinding flash, so I did the first thing that came to mind. I focused my magic on Trot, and wrapped him in a telekinetic field. He was heavy—extremely heavy with the massive battle saddle and its equally-oversized rifles—and I was struggling to lift him off the ground.
But it didn’t take much. The moment I had lifted his hooves from the ground, he seemed to come to a decision. His rifles fired.
Two shots zipped through the air, one hitting a building and bursting through the concrete wall and several more behind it, and the second hitting one of the Corral security ghouls in the neck. The force of the shot tore the creature’s head from its body, and it sprayed acrid mess before collapsing to the ground.
Trot’s saddle rifles fired again, two miniature explosions deafening the area. The distinctive piercing sound of the ghoul’s weapons echoed through the street in response.
My heart was racing, and the pain of my leg was starting to break through the numbing spell. I floated up my coat, my saddle, and a bundle of Radaway. I turned to the alley, and crashed into Tin Touch, breaking my magic hold on the items.
“Issat you, Post? Zip?” he called out, swinging his hoof, still blind from the light of my spell.
I quickly sat up, and a pale turquoise light missed my face by inches. A fwooosh followed a split second later. The body of Tin Touch was vaporized instantly. Pink dust sprayed out around the area he had just occupied and more fell to a pile in sludge.
The sounds of the other flesh ponies behind me quieted down, Trot’s gunfire became a dull rumble, and everything around me seemed to slow.
I had seen ponies die before, even as close as that, but it was different. I was the one that turned this quiet street into a gunfight. I was the reason he was shot at. Killed.
I turned back to the scene of violence over the toppled wagon behind me. Trot fired his guns wildly, the bullets blazing out over the rotten mud ground and blowing the limbs off of a ghoul—not even wearing Corral clothing, just some unfortunate creature that hadn’t cleared from the street.
Several more ghouls were closing in, and numerous sickly greenish-blue shots frisked at the three scrambling flesh ponies. One struck the young stallion Zip, and vaporized an arm, his shoulder, and most of his neck. Blood and gore gushed from the missing half of his body, splashing across the ground. His body toppled and fell into the squirming pile of his own guts. Another connected with Post’s foreleg, ripping the hoof and half of her leg from her body. She screamed and reared, blood spewing from the mangled flesh. She spun and fell.
Run!
The world and all its sounds of gunshots and anguish, the fetid smells of death, decay, and the insides of ponies, and sickly greenish-yellow sunlight came to me.
There was no time to think—I had to get out of there. I started down the alleyway directly ahead of me, wrapping my telekinesis around everything I could grab from the wagon as I fled. I teetered and stumbled into a small alcove at the base of a half-collapsed building, splashing into a pool of faintly-glowing water. My magic’s numbing effect had worn off and I had long-since exceeded my limit. I struggled to stay conscious, and the magic fell from the items, dropping a pair of crates into the alley.
Behind me, the sounds of Trot’s gun and more of those strange Corral weapons were echoing off the walls, mixed in with cries of rage and agony.
Ducking into an open doorway, I wrapped my overcoat around my wounded shoulder, and loosely strapped the saddle around me—it would be less effort to flee with them on. I focused on a crate, yelling at myself that I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t fall, that I had to just make it one more minute, and do this last thing. My magic faltered and I strained to open the heavy crate. The top popped off and sacks of dried oats greeted me. My magic gave out and dropped the food into the wet street.
Trot’s gun, I noticed, hadn’t fired since I managed to strap my saddle back on, but there were shouts and I could hear anger.
I just used them to get away. They’re probably all dead.
I murdered all of them, just so I could get away.
I had to force the thoughts out of my mind—there would be plenty of time to think later, I told myself. For now, I had to get to my hooves, and get out of there. Stand. That’s it. Ignore the pain. Get the Radaway. Come on, that’a girl. Focus on moving. One step. That’s it. Another. Keep going.
I couldn’t focus on anything but those few words. My teeth grinded into my lip and ripped into the skin as I inwardly yelled at myself to ignore the pain.
At the end of the alley, I stopped, and cautiously peered around the side of the building. I scanned down both sides of the street, which was eerily empty. It was wide, and devoid of anything moving.
My body was ragged, torn, and I had surely surpassed its normal limits, but looking to the edge of town, seeing its unbelievable distance from me, I knew it wasn’t enough. There wasn’t enough left in me to make it across the street, never mind from the town completely
I leaned against the building, and slid the rainbow-colored hypo from a pocket.
Hydra.
A miracle drug, able to mend broken bones, even regrow limbs, Brightmane’s voice whispered in my head. But it’ll ruin yer life just as quick. Yer insides’ll warp and rot in ways even yer worst nightmares would pale in comparison to. It’ll heal ye, then yer body’ll never be right again.
Never, ever use it. Those were the only words she ever said to me about it. Never.
The sun passed behind a cloud and the city fell into shadow. The atmosphere glowed with a faded green that also lined the buildings and shimmered from the puddles of sludge all around.
I was going to die. Whether my body would collapse of exhaustion and I’d bleed out, or the contaminated city itself would leave me a pile of rotted guts and blood, I knew I wouldn’t last the night.
I will not die here! The little pony in my mind screamed.
I shoved the thick needle into my leg, screamed, and squeezed down.
The toxic drug flowed through my body, mending the damage at incredible rates. The swelling from bruises disappeared instantly. A burning sensation, uncomfortable and unnatural, lingered where each wound in my body was repaired.
The open flesh on my neck bubbled and began to move and squirm, swelling in a grotesque mass of blood and muscle. It settled and a new patch of skin and muscle filled the hole Post had bit out of me.
The muscles and tendons around my shoulder began to move, to twist. My vision swam from the pain, and I passed in and out of consciousness for those moments. The bones began piecing back together, and I could stand once more.
It would have to be good enough for now. I rounded the turn, and started to the north.
I moved past decrepit buildings, collapsed stalls and piles of rotten wood. I splashed through puddles of sludge that were ringed with a sickly green glow.
The Hydra had fixed my leg within only a few blocks, and my body moved like it had never happened. But it felt wrong. I didn’t feel fixed.
I ran, knocking aside and crushing pony skeletons to dust under my hooves. Dozens, then hundreds.
The road to salvation was littered with the remains of ponies as far as the eye could see, but I would not stop.
——
Party Status:
Alert!
One party member is suffering from high levels of radiation contamination. Recommend immediate Radaway usage and treatment at a clinic.
Vitia: Rapidly-increasing health. Extreme stress levels and highly elevated hormone levels indicate severe physical trauma. Moderate levels of Dash toxins. Warning: Taint contaminants detected.
Quest Perk: Wasteland 101 Survivor
The Wasteland kicks you down but you keep on getting back up. Your quick thinking has gotten you out of situations before. Your perception and endurance increase by 1 when you are at 20% or less health.

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           Vitia's Tale, Part 3: Crossing Paths            
//-------------------------------------------------------//
Vitia's Tale, Part 3: Crossing Paths
Author’s Notes:
This is part three and the conclusion of the side story that chronicles the life of Vitia before the main story in Medicine & Mail (https://www.fimfiction.net/story/100213). It is not required reading for the main story, but is meant to provide additional background information for her.
Rating: Teen
Contains: Gore (disfigurement); Mild Language; Mild Violence.
Genres: Drama, Slice of Life
Vitia’s Tale, Part Three
Crossing Paths
“When the whole Wasteland is broken like this,
And you see someponies turning a profit,
You have to ask: Who’s paying their price?”
The late afternoon sun blazed in the sky, and my hoofsteps were becoming increasingly torpid. The heat of the day weighed on me heavily.
I peered back around languidly, and a weary smile tugged on my lips. Fleshgrove was now gone from view, the decrepit and irradiated heap a speck that shimmered in the waves of the heat that rose from the sandy road in the distance.
For the first few hours since my departure, I clung to the low cliffs that occasionally rose near the roadside. Hydra had mended my bones and repaired my flesh but did nothing for the fear that grew in me. I had expected a pack of ghouls tracking me down from The Corral, eager to turn their boxy energy weapons on me if I didn’t obey and return.
When the sporadic wind had finally stopped, nausea had overtaken me and I ducked under a rock outcropping. As I looked back on my ragged walk from Fleshgrove, I realized I hadn’t considered how lucky I was to have grabbed a few packs of Radaway in my rush to escape. Instead, at the time, I had only thought of the overly citrus liquid as a way to quench the thirst that threatened to overtake my senses with that hot, dry pain.
Tin Touch would have needed these, I had thought. If I didn’t get them killed, I chided myself.
I shook my head and sucked the last drops from the pack before tossing it aside. I knew if I let myself think too hard about the scene I instigated in the street, I’d easily become overwhelmed and wear myself out. I could berate myself and bemoan my actions later.
A brief blast of air broke the thick heat, but left my sweaty coat matted with dirt, and was only a short reprieve. The unpleasant scent of what seemed to be rotting eggs lingered in its wake, and my nose wrinkled. The odor was foul and thick, and I didn’t smell it so much as taste it.
In the distance to the west, the rocky ground eventually gave way to small sand dunes and a ragged terrain. Its muggy yellow surface shone harshly in the fading light that reflected from it. Further up north, unnatural shapes began to take form along the horizon.
I pushed on, concentrating on putting one hoof in front of the other.
Before any shapes had become definable, the cloying stench of the small town nearly bowled me over from nausea. Its horrific, lingering smell rivaled that of Fleshgrove, and the thick sulfur left a vile taste on my tongue.
I passed through the gates just as the sun dipped below the low cliffs to the west, and picked my way over piles of refuse, past many smatterings of discarded junk and scraps. Ponies walked the well-worn pathways of the settlement, eyes glossy, greyed, and staring absently into the distance. Some others scratched and jittered, and glared at me with a twisting scowl.
Small shacks had been constructed against ruined buildings and built into other similar heap-scraps. Rotting wooden beams held the rickety shelters together, and thin, damaged tin sheets and siding laid atop them, held in place with bricks and ruined beams.
Further along the north side, beyond the packs of scrawling, emaciated ponies and hovels, two notable buildings caught my attention. One was a misshapen dragon, its saturated colors worn with time but exaggerated features unmistakably out of place, and the other looked to be a lengthy housing unit. Unlike most of the rest of the settlement, a few lights flickered in some of the rooms, through sealed and broken windows.
I stepped onto the cracked tarmac surface, and soon into the long building. The door with the lights beaming from behind it was primarily tin scraps and chunks of wood, but was partly open.
“Hello?” I asked, stepping in cautiously. As I rounded the doorway, I noted a buttercream-coated mare with a curly, desert-lily mane.
She teetered slightly against the disheveled counter, rubbed her eyes, and yawned. “What is it?” she asked through the yawn.
I opened my mouth to speak, but a hollow, dull pain emanated from my stomach, and a loud gurgle caused me to change my words, “Do you have anything I could eat?” I felt a slight blush creep up my features, but I held my gaze on the mare intently, eager for her response.
Across from me, she arched her thin brows high above her hazel eyes. “Are you daft? I don’t even know you.”
Hope gave way to disappointment. “I’m sorry, I’m…nopony, I guess. I just haven’t eaten in so long,” I whimpered. “Look, is there anything I can trade for something?”
She grunted in disapproval, “You another half-shod, addle-brained transient, lured to Cancy for Dash? What, now you can’t find anything to eat in this pisshole?” She glared.
“What? No,” I tried to protest.
“Look,” she cut me off, dismissively. “I know I’m the medic here, and I know that makes many of you shit-sniffers think I’m apt to just provide everything I have, but I simply can’t go giving hoof-outs to everypony.”
“Medic?” My spirits lightened as I haphazardly flung my saddlebag open and floated my overcoat out. “Look, so am I. I can help.” I was grinning for the first time in days, and I felt genuinely giddy. I had my in, and this would work.
But the mare still looked apprehensive, and eyed me with disbelief. “You could have stolen that.”
“Oh by the goddesses,” I nearly screamed. What is wrong with everypony? Does nopony trust anypony out in this damned desert?
I snorted in frustration and shoved the coat into my bag, but before I could strap it closed, my anger had subsided and I was left with an inexplicably powerful sadness. Tears gathered at the edges of my eyes, and there was a catch in my throat.
“Nothing’s right,” I moaned, fighting back the welling emotions. “Everypony just wants to hurt somepony else for nothing.” My thoughts voiced themselves unwittingly. “What am I even doing out here?”
I dragged my hooves as I made my way toward the exit, when I was stopped by the mare’s voice a few steps from the door, “Hang on.”
What, did you figure out some way to con me into—I stopped myself. I didn’t want to think that of her, when I didn’t even know her. And it’s not as though the myriad of emotions I’d displayed in the last few moments did me any favors.
“Look, I know it’s rough out there. It’s not great here, either. You’re a medic, then?”
I nodded. “I thought to take over Brightmane’s practice in Desert’s Edge eventually,” I admitted. Desert’s Edge felt so far away.
“Well look,” she offered, making her way around the counter. “We got a trader coming by tomorrow, but I’ve been too busy to prepare my usual package for him.” She paused for a moment, and offered a shaky, eager grin. “Do you know anything about healing potions?”
I turned to her and tried to grin. Their ingredients weren’t common, but the process wasn’t complicated with the proper equipment. Brightmane made sure I kept our stocks full whenever the supplies were available.
“Well, I can’t say I have the best materials for it, but what do you say? I don’t have anything very tasty, but maybe we could scrounge something up before we get started. I’m Raspberry Tart.”
Tart, as she preferred, procured some cactus slices and a thick soup of cooked-down cactus pod from within a locked case. It was bitter, and the sharp taste stuck to my tongue for long after, but it settled the complaints from my stomach, and masked the manure smell. Most of it, at least.
The meal was lively, as she asked me questions about my experience and travels continually. I figured she still didn’t trust me, not that I could expect her to so suddenly, but answered each in turn to the best of my knowledge. She seemed satisfied and invited me to her lab after I had finished eating.
The lab was incomplete, with many useful parts missing. She had converted the room in the building that used to be a motel, and kept the entrances secure under several locks and chain. Heavy steel plates were bolted over the window, and parts of the room that had been damaged or collapsed were grated off with rebar and tin sheets. All of the furniture was converted into shelving or tables.
“This looks like a torture room,” I remarked when we entered.
“Because,” she explained, “Most of this stuff can be used to make Dash, and as you know, this shithole is the Dash capital of the Marejave.”
She didn’t have everything for the potions, but it would be enough. She brought out a small bundle of dried herbs and set several tin containers with powdered chemicals on a metal slab that we took for a workspace. All the key components were accounted for, but the effectiveness due to the low-quality materials and missing catalysts would be minimal at best.
“Well, if that’s everything,” I said, “We just need to start passing in some water and get going.”
Tart rolled a cart with a large tin drum atop it toward the counter. The uneven wheels squealed loudly in protest as they rolled with a hitch over the dirt-strewn patchy carpet.
“We don’t have the luxury of working with filtered water, I’m afraid.” Tart unwrapped a rubber hose from the drum and twisted on a handle. A thin stream of muddied water ran through the tube and collected in a glass bottle that had uneven measurements scrawled onto its side.
“Hold on, that’s what we’re using?”
“I don’t know what it’s like in your old place,” she replied briskly, “But the pumping station here is constantly in disrepair, and I consider myself lucky to get this much, even if it’s got a bit of a grime to it.” She twisted the tap shut and reached for the bottle.
“No wait,” I interrupted. “Just, hold on a second.” I scratched my brow and sighed. “I can filter it, just give me a moment.”
I concentrated briefly, the spell I intended to call immediate and almost effortless. I felt the surge of magic as it coursed through my horn and coalesce at the tip. I brought the tip of my horn to the container, and the pink glow of my magic wrapped around it. Dirt, bits of matter, and oils separated from the water and after a short minute, the loam tint was gone from the water.
“What was that?” The earth pony asked, bewildered.
I shifted a bit and tapped at my cutie mark. “I’ve got a talent for it.”
Tart moved her eyes from my waterdrop mark to the water, then sniffed cautiously. She glanced at me momentarily, then took a sip of the water. “Oh,” she remarked. “Yes, that’s good. That will work.”
“I can’t do very much,” I said, floating chemicals to their intended instruments, “So this will take a while.”
We worked long into the night. Tart began to yawn and measurements got sloppier, and I insisted she get some rest. Even after she finally agreed and curled up in a small corner of the room, I continued filtering, boiling, mixing, and brewing.
I considered stopping when I realized I was seeing double, but vague worries began to creep in to my thoughts. Tin Touch’s vaporization replayed in my mind. Post’s leg shattered from another shot and blood sprayed out in thick streams. I shook my head and went back to work.
I knew I would get no rest that night, so I filtered, boiled, mixed, and brewed.
“Are you sure I can’t convince you?” Tart stood in the doorway, a half-chewed cactus pod hanging from her lips.
I shook my head. After a long night of potion mixing, we had completed a batch for her trade that morning, and I continued to mix up extra. She had insisted I take some for the road, just in case, and gave me provisions and some of her water for the road.
“You’ve done plenty. Thanks, Tart.”
It was still early in the morning, but the sun had crested the eastern horizon, and as I made my way out the northern gate, the light shone off the purple-and-green dragon-shaped building in the distance. What could possibly have convinced anypony to make something that hideous?
I found traveling easy that morning, and pressed on with a slight spring in my step. I even felt a bit giddy, but couldn’t decide if that was the lack of sleep or satisfying night of working.
The wind was blowing about more often than the day prior, but it kept the rapidly-increasing heat at bay for some time longer, and I welcomed the trade-off.
That is, until the occasional wisp of dust that accompanied it turned into an almost constant pelting. I sheltered my eyes with a hoof and peered further up the road, but the sight before me was frightening. The horizon was missing, and from the ground rolled a monstrous wave of roiling brown. It towered above the hills and cliffs around the landscape, and stretched nearly completely from the far east to the ridges in the west.
I increased my pace, looking for shelter, but as the dust storm approached and nothing stood out to me, I began to gallop frantically.
A wall of wind and painful flecks of rock hit me suddenly, stopping me dead in my canter. It passed a moment later, and when I squinted, a large recess in the cliff came into my blurred view.
I ducked into the cave, and took a quick glance around. It was large enough to move about in with little awkwardness, but in the limited light, I could only see a small distance into it.
Behind me, the storm hit with full force and the wind howled across the entrance. Little curling wisps of dust were unsettled by the wind as it hit the far edge of the cave, but inside, it was calm.
I stood at the entrance, watching the waves of the cloud of dust pass by. For brief moments it would thicken considerably, and I found myself unable to see the bushes and boulders just a few feet from the entrance, but it thinned as well, and then I could make out the road in the distance.
A dark shape in the distance caught my attention, and I squinted to watch it. It followed the road, roughly, but with each thick wave, the shape had managed to veer off. Gradually it grew closer, and soon I could make out that it was a pony, and I called out, hoping to maybe guide the poor traveler nearby for shelter.
I covered my mouth with my hooves after calling out, and considered that may not have been the brightest idea. What if it’s some crazy pony like Post? Or worse, a Raider? I had no weapons, no fighting skill, and despite the good mood of the morning, my body was worn and tired.
I couldn’t tell if the pony shape heard me or not, but I didn’t have long to worry. Another shape quickly crossed my vision and a loud crack echoed over the howling wind.
I floated another stick from a dead brush into the small fire in the cave. The storm passed soon after I had half-dragged, half-floated the collapsed pony back to shelter.
She was knocked unconscious and one side of her brow had been quick to swell. I had wrapped it lightly, and used what magic I could to try and prevent lasting damage, but the minutes turned to hours and the mare showed no sign of waking.
I had considered leaving several times, but shook my head. Somepony was hurt and I needed to do something. The few dried cactus pods given to me by Tart were quick to go, and I had slipped small sips of the weak healing potion into her mouth until the bottle was empty.
The sun had long-since passed over the cliffs above the small cave. I stared at the crackling flames, and tried to keep my mind from wandering. As the flames ate through the wooden fuel, I noticed I had begun to sway uncontrollably.
I dozed and immediately watched as a crude visage of me, bloodied and broken, lying in a pool of irradiated water, shoved a needle into her leg and slammed the plunger. The image warped and twisted, and the little white unicorn stood immediately.
A part of her flesh twisted and squirmed, running from flank to neck and settling near her shoulder. It erupted from within in a spray of red. Bone and tendon snapped and shot out. A vile rainbow sludge wrapped around them and faded into pale pink skin and a thin white coat quickly grew over it.
I scampered slightly as I woke, the ghastly image still front in my mind. My breathing was shallow and rapid, and I could hear the pounding of my heartbeat in my head.
The fire had sputtered out significantly, but small flames still licked along a few charred branches and a thin smoke floated up and out of the cave. The pile of wood scraps was gone, so I stood to go collect more.
The mare slept just as she had been some time ago. The wrap around her head was loose as the swelling had dissipated significantly, and her breathing had steadied.
Night had fallen onto the desert many hours prior, but the moon shone brightly and I could make my way down the ragged hillside easily.
I floated a bundle of dry sticks into the cave and prodded the fire slightly. Sparks flew into the air and wisps of flame kicked about, eager to consume the fresh fuel.
Light filled the cave as the flames grew ever higher and brighter. The sticks snapped and popped as the fire slowly ate through them.
Crack, I saw Post crash to the wet stone ground of Fleshgrove. She raged and screamed, clutching furiously at her missing limb. Beside her, a roiling mess of organs and blood sloughed over the rocks and dirt. Grime mixed with bile and Zip’s entrails glistened with a sickening green glow.
Pop, crack, snap, bullets clattered off and shattered into stone buildings. Trot stood massive in the street, his rifles blazing. Corral ghouls had limbs torn from their bodies and holes blasted through them, leaving oozing flesh and rotted organs in their places.
I watched, terrified, as the scene before me grew ever more gruesome. “This is your fault,” a voice croaked beside me.
Half of Zip’s body slithered toward me, pulled along by his one remaining hoof, dragging visible ribs and spine behind him. His eyes were vacant and pupils missing. Red seeped from them and rainbow sludge dripped from his mouth as he uttered incomprehensibly.
I scampered back frantically, and slammed my hoof into a pile of pink ashes. They were warm against my coat, which quickly turned to a stinging pain and a cloying stench.
I woke with a startle.
The fire had all but gone out, a few smoldering scraps all that was left. The sun had barely begun to crest the ridge in the east.
Across the remains of the fire lay the mysterious pony, still asleep, unmoved from the day before.
I prodded the fire and slowly fed new fuel into it. You didn’t do anything wrong, I thought to myself. Don’t regret your actions.
Something Brightmane had hammered into my head years prior came to me. “Regret is th’ surest sign of a foal,” she had said. “Everypony does what they do at th’ time for good reasons. Maybe there are better choices but not ever’pony has th’ luxury of choice. Things are only as bad as you let them be.”
The mare shifted and moaned. I turned, watching her cautiously. She opened her eyes slowly then hissed and shut them.
“Still with us, I see.”
Bit Flip was first to leave the cave, and I watched from the entrance as she haphazardly made her way to the road then broke into a gallop southward.
I took a deep breath and turned the opposite direction. Junction 144 was fairly close, if my estimates and Tart’s directions were accurate, and my stomach grumbled.
Travelers were sparse along the way, but served enough to slow me down some several minutes as I hid off the road, waiting for them to pass. I chided myself for becoming so suddenly untrusting, but it was easy to rationalize when I considered that any one of them could be another Post.
I looked around to see the rushed construction of the junction town along the main road along either side of me. Unlike Desert’s Edge, Junction 144 seemed to have little coherency in its construction or design. One building made of stone and steel would rest against another barely held together by what I could only figure was pure luck.
The only consistent facet that came to me was the design of the junction itself; it was split by a wide road, and grew along its length instead of outward. I proceeded further in, and the highway split in a T-section.
The crowd had begun to thicken as I made my way into the center of the town, and the place started to come together. Traders moved with small carts over the wide roads, their goods rattling and jingling amidst the ruckus of the other townies. Heavily-armed griffins traveled abreast minotaurs clad in rough leather clothing, and peered through the crowd carefully. Ponies in muck-covered overalls rushed by with toolboxes rattling with tools.
In every direction, hundreds of ponies went about their daily activities, oblivious to the short white unicorn in their midst.
“You lost?”
I turned toward the sound of the thick voice, and looked up to see a scarred grey minotaur clad in layers of thin cloth that hung between small plates of steel. His hair was coiled into a strip of cloth, and several thin strings of it hung from piercings in his ears. A faded badge adorned his chest.
If you’re looking for information on anypony decent, check with the Wing Haven company, Tart had offered, back in Cancy. They seem to think it’s their job to keep tabs on us all.
“I’m looking for the nearest Wing Haven facility,” I replied.
The minotaur’s stern expression remained fixed as he looked me over. “Want to head to Old Fort Celestia then,” he said, motioning along the west road, “Go a ways. It’ll split north. Can’t miss it.” With that, he turned and strode through the crowd.
“Huh,” I hummed.
The sun had reached its peak when I walked up to the gated building. A pair of stoic stallions in a heavy white barding eyed me as I nervously made my way through and stepped into the reinforced structure.
Thick glass panes lined the wall above the entry, and lit the entire tiled building within. The ceiling in the lobby area was several stories up, and two open hallways crossed above. Numerous cacti and pots with resilient desert brush lined the walls and halls above. Worn and faded posters were hung on the white walls, most with portraits of ponies and a slogan. Reading is Magic read one with a lavender-coated pony. PROGRESS, stated another in bold orange and green shades.
One pony stood stoic at each of the doorways, garbed in the thick white barding that I assumed to be military. The hoofful of ponies that wandered through the lobby wore coats dyed with strong colors: some were colored a powerful purple rimmed with white, many were in a blazing orange set, and quite a few others in mulled about in longer lab coats of a lavender shade.
“Good afternoon,” a pleasant voice said. The chocolate mare had a gentle grin, and wore a white outfit cropped low, with yellow and pink designs along the collar. “If you’ll just sign in, I can direct you to your destination.”
She wrapped a thin clipboard and pen in an exuberant orange glow, and floated them to me. She glanced at the name and set them down again gently. “Pardon, I’m probably going to mess this up. Vi-tee-uh?”
“Vi-shee-uh,” I corrected.
She nodded. “Alright then, Vitia. You’re looking for medical, I assume?” she asked, nodding to my overcoat. “Down the hall behind you, and to your right. Follow the Ministry’s colors and you’ll be there in no time.”
The vast, open design of the lobby and first hallway soon gave way to shorter, squattier paths. Gone were the potted plants and posters, and shortly, only my hoofsteps echoed on the tile.
A small placard beside a door, framed in yellow and pink, read simply “Canopy, Doctor, Research.”
Through the door, the room was immaculate. Polished steel shelves lined the walls, with glass-encased cabinets at each corner. Several ponies in long white coats with pink and yellow collars worked busily at different steel tables, some running tests on differently brightly colored liquids, and others writing into thick books.
I was interrupted from my awe-struck moment by a curt voice. “Can I help you?”
The lime mare staring me down wore her pristine white coat with grace, with every button clasped and not a wrinkle to be seen. Her brow was flat, and lips taut as she looked down at me, standing a full head taller than me.
I had no idea what I was going to say, or even why I was in that room. I sputtered and tripped over some words, “Uh, I was just told to come by here.”
The lime mare’s expression stayed unfaltering for several long moments, and I continued running my mouth, hoping to string together something that sounded reasonable. “Something about delivering some new samples I got here, and then on to the next station.”
My teeth rattled and I tried to quell the shaking in my legs. The mare’s expression remained stoic.
I felt a cold shiver run up my spine, and my mind filled with frantic voices, all trying to piece together something I could use. The anxiety built, and more lies came forth. “Look, it’s not my field,” I said, feeding from my own agitation. “They pulled me off my work to have me play at errand girl halfway across the desert.”
After a moment, the lime mare squinted and huffed. “I don’t know how many times I’ve put in requests for more samples. Slowest damned operation.”
She sauntered to a counter, remarking along the way about how it had probably been wiped from the map for all anypony knows. “Fine.” She waved her hoof absently at some empty counter space, “Just drop the swill there and be on your way.”
The ponies around the room all looked at me and then to each other before returning to their work. I took a slow, deep breath, and floated the last of Tart’s healing potions from my saddle onto the table.
“Is that it?” she sighed. “You need something else or can we get back to work, doing, you know, important studies?”
“Ah, right,” I nodded. “Uh, to be honest, I don’t know where I’m supposed to go next.” The gears in my head churned and an idea was forming. “Need to find some trader for the next delivery, but I don’t know where he is. Do you have a record of the locals around here?”
“Ugh, yes,” she moaned. “You’ll need to speak with that damnable scatterbrain. She’s in the Laughs section, so follow those ridiculous pink markers and hope you didn’t have to be at whatever pisshole they sent you to in a hurry. It might take some time.”
“Right, okay, thanks.” I turned and stepped out, trying to keep calm. The door shut behind me with resounding click. I breathed a heavy sigh. My heart fluttered and my hooves felt tingly, but I decided to press on.
I passed through the hallway lined with a thick pink stripe, and noticed that all of the rooms were closed off. The small window in the center of each was covered, and the plates at each were empty.
The room at the end of the stripe was wide and seemed to be of the same design as Canopy’s, but the interior itself was the complete opposite: a disaster. Stacks of paper rose in uneven towers nearly to the ceiling, with piles of binders and pads filling the space everywhere else. A walk had been mostly cleared that led to the center of the room, which branched out to the doors at each end.
The doors beyond led to rooms of a similar fashion. Shelves filled with books and loose papers filled the third room. I made my way through it, carefully, the dim, flickering light above barely enough to see with. A door at the end with a placard above read “RECORDS” in faded and chipped letters caught my attention.
Unlike the others, the door was locked in place by a terminal system attached to the door frame. The monitor glowed with a dull green, and the blocky text in the upper left corner read only “ENTER PASSWORD”.
The system seemed similar to one I had worked with back in the subsystems at Desert’s Edge. I looked behind me, contemplating my next move. If you’re quick, it should be fine.
I concentrated, and my horn came to life. I pressed the keys on the terminal with a light telekinetic push, and paused briefly before hitting return. Several notices appeared on the screen, sending term signals, waiting for kernel response, and then it was off. A moment later, the screen came to life once more, and the system indicated it had started booting to recovery mode.
The main navigation menu appeared, and I smiled. The terminal only had one notable function, so I entered the command and stood back as the bolts slide from the doorway and the heavy metal frame tilted inward.
Inside was a single terminal against a dust-covered shelf. Some pads were strewn about, and papers flittered away as the door swung open.
The terminal had no password, but contained lists of thousands of names in what appeared to be no rational order.
I tapped into the console a search query for Silver Sheen, and waited impatiently as the system churned through the thousands of entries in the database before finally returning a single result.
SILVER SHEEN
PARENTS: BLAZING BLUE (FATHER), SAGE (MOTHER)
SIBLINGS: TRAIL (OLDER BROTHER, DECEASED), SCOUT (OLDER BROTHER, DECEASED), SANDY (OLDER BROTHER, DECEASED)
FAMILY OWNS PROPERTY ON OUTSKIRTS OF BUFFALO RIDGE. CURRENT CONDITION UNKNOWN.
I stared at the screen. It was useless. I already knew everything it presented. I had wasted my time.
I slammed my hooves against the metal cage of the terminal and yelled in frustration.
“You should treat other ponies’ property with more care,” said a toying voice.
My throat clenched and heart jumped. I spun around. Behind two stallions in the white military barding stood a mare with the brightest yellow coat I’d ever seen. “I think we’ve caught ourselves a rat.” Her face lit up and her mouth widened in a wicked smile.
“Leave her for now,” the yellow mare said as the coal grey stallion shut the bars of the cage. “I think the rat can hold for tomorrow. And besides,” she cooed, leaning in close, “It’ll give me plenty of time to think of wonderful ways we can play tomorrow.”
She and the two guards turned and walked out from the room.
I shifted, but movement made me dizzy. I felt like I was screaming in pain, but my throat was dry and I couldn’t afford the energy to sit upright. My body shuddered in anguish with each beat of my heart, radiating from my horn.
I curled up, finding only mild reprieve as I cradled my horn. It was all wrong.
I blinked my eyes, and slowly woke from my dizzying bit of unconsciousness. I rolled onto my other side, and cringed from the effort.
The flaring pain had subsided from my horn, but I was left with a feeling of coldness, and emptiness. I reached for it carefully and pressed my hoof to the thick metal band that had been attached to me.
I shuddered. I closed my eyes, and saw memories of myself as the two stallions held me down. The yellow-coated mare entered from the edge of my vision, and mumbled something. She fitted a cold brace to my horn. “Don’t want you making a fuss,” I could remember her saying clearly.
The next moment, I began screaming unwittingly, and couldn’t stop. My whole body burned, and I screamed and pleaded for it to stop, but it didn’t. I watched in my mind a white unicorn consumed by anguish as something was driven through her horn, into her nerves and flesh beneath. And again, and again.
My eyes watered, and I sobbed quietly.
I heard a voice faintly in the distance, then again it echoed, slightly louder. “Hello?” the voice called out.
I rolled onto my stomach and strained to look around in the tight cage. I hadn’t noticed my surroundings until then, and realized I was surrounded by similar cages, most with ponies in them. The one nearest me was lying perfectly still, and a moment later I realized it was a corpse.
Fear raced through me, and I suddenly found myself on my hooves, pedaling away from the corpse with my back against the cold metal bars.
I turned and saw a shape a short distance from me. “Hey! You!” I called out.
The shape turned toward me, and in the dim light, I could make out a few familiar features. “Ah…shit,” I thought aloud. “What was your name again…?” I fought for the name, cursing myself for being so slow.
The pine-green mare looked about for a moment and turned away to leave, when her name came to me.
“Bit Flip?”
——
Party status:
Vitia: Good overall physical health. High stress levels. Magic suppressed.