He pulled his leg forwards, straining against the packed earth, the attempt shorter than the last. Breathing was difficult, and he was unsure how the tiny pocket around his face had kept him alive, much less conscious, for the past hour. Then again, maybe blacking out wouldn't be so bad after all; pain told him his sternum was broken, his chest crushed by the large rock that restricted his breathing. It was a terrible birthday already, his worst yet.
Another hour passed, during which his thoughts wandered over many possibilities for relieving his pain. Rescue was ideal, but it would take at least another hour and he was unable to hasten it. Sleep would delay the problem, but he was in too much agony to sleep. A pain-relief spell? Wishful thinking. Death? Now there was a simple solution; a bit too permanent, but he would keep the option open. He laughed, wincing as his torment doubled.
"No more... jokes," he whispered.
Why hadn't he been rescued? His friends would know generally where to dig, even if they were not sure of his exact location. Even his enemies would not leave him to this fate; they would just take longer. His rescuers, friend or foe, should have reached him hours ago.
A full day he lay in darkness, but his prison remained unbroken. At any moment now, the last of his friends would stop searching, not aware that he still drew breath; they would abandon him in darkness, and he could find no fault in that. He could no longer laugh at his joke; it would be reality, and he prayed that it would come soon. After another day, he meant it.
The dirt above him crumbled when a hoof plunged through to grab him, joined by others as strangers pulled him from the grave. The night sky sparkled above him as fresh air filled his lungs, only to be expelled as he coughed up dust and dirt. Someone passed him a glass of water, from which he drank greedily.
"Thanks." It was all he could say, and would remain so until the flood of emotions became more manageable.
"You're lucky to be alive." An unfamiliar face appeared in front of his, its impressive beard almost hiding a smile. "We thought you'd suffocated; hay, we were only hoping to retrieve your remains." The burly stallion turned, then stopped and added "Your family is at the Hay-N-Stay; they'll be here soon."
Sure enough, it was only fifteen minutes later that he caught sight of his family hurrying along the path. He waved weakly; they froze when they saw him. His sister was the first to recover from the shock, her smile reaching her ears as she ran to him, easily outpacing his mother and father when they followed her.
"Borry!" she shouted as she lept into his outstretched arms, knocking him over just like always. He smiled and pulled her into a tight hug, not daring to let go, not seeing her tears of happiness replaced by tears of pain. She cried out, and he looked down to see her skin cracking, turning to dust around his touch.
He let out a strangled yelp and stumbled back, but it did not save her. The affliction spread before his eyes; his beloved sister screamed in unimaginable pain while her skin and flesh disintegrated. She looked into his eyes, pleading for help, calling his name one last time before her skeleton fell to the ground.
He ran to the pile of dust and bones, but his sister was gone, killed as he held her in his arms. No... killed by his arms. He looked to his parents, pleading for help, but they backed away horrified. Something hit his head from behind, and darkness took him.
He woke in darkness. His tears formed mud around his eyes, and his scream was muffled by the earth. He was underground still, packed dirt holding him exactly as before the rescue. He was still trapped, and dehydration would soon kill him. The rescue was only a dream, and for that he could not be more thankful.
Another minute passed. Or was it a year? If there was a difference between the two, the years of immobility and darkness had destroyed its meaning. Aspects of existence changed, but guessing how quickly was an excercise in futility. The most recent alteration was an uncomfortable pressure on his back, directly behind the final rib; with no way to confirm any of his theories, he had abandoned his attempt to discern the cause.
Sleep was his only refuge from the eternal darkness; with its aid, he could evade even time itself, but with it came the possibility of nightmares. He'd noticed a pattern in his nightmares. Any dream, no matter how happy, was a nightmare if his sister appeared. She would find him, mistaking his attempts to save her for a game of hide and seek; her smile would melt his heart, would give him hope that this time was different. Then she would die, screaming for him to save her. The cause of death was unpredictable; sometimes it was a wolf that tore her flesh, sometimes it was strange magic. The worst nightmares forced him to kill her, and he would not forgive himself for it.
How long had it been since he last slept? She would not leave his mind, her face bringing with it happiness, peace, and fear. He could not risk murdering her, not again.
He barely noticed as the dirt that held him grew damp. Until now, the only moisture his prison had was below his eyes. He tried to move a limb, any limb; the earth held firm.
With a prayer for mercy, he let go of consciousness.
Resting on the blindingly white beach, he saw his hoofprints stretch to the horizon, orange waves crashing parallel to them. Both sand and sea were delicious, as he had accidentally discovered; the beach was formed entirely of sugar, while the sea had the flavor of oranges. He rolled over, deciding to watch the fluffy pink clouds float by. He was certain they were cotton candy, but each attempt to reach them ended in a mouthful of either sugar or orange juice, and he had given up on such clumsy plans.
A new, elegant cloud-eating plan had just emerged from the planning stage when a familiar face appeared above him. He closed his eyes and resigned himself to waiting for the screams. A gentle hoof touched his cheek, and he risked a glance at her. She was smiling, but her eyes spoke of sadness.
"I never gave you your present..."
His questions were cut off when she reached out and lightly tapped his nose.
The dream left him, but the sound of water remained, as did the tapping. Each impact was on a random part of his muzzle, chilling the place it hit. The dirt that held his head softened and became harmless mud which was washed away from his eyes and ears.
His eyes traced upwards, taking in his dim surroundings. His head was poking out from the side of a hill, mud sliding down from his neck to his muzzle and continuing down the slope. The world flickered, illuminating a dense forest stretching far above a washed out path, then flashed white, blinding him before thunder followed. He cried out and tried to blink away the afterimage, but it persisted.
Several minutes passed before he regained his sight, only to lose it as lightning struck again. In time, his eyes adjusted to the periodic flashes, allowing him to study the forest at his leisure. Gnarled trees extended as far as his eyes could see, their dense canopies and drooping branches lending the forest an eerie aura. Below, bushes and uneven ground promised a rough journey, made dangerous by a thin layer of wild grass which might be hiding anything from hoof-catching holes to a deadly cockatrice.
Craning his neck, he saw that a particularly large tree was close to sheltering him from the rain. He smiled, briefly, as he realized how narrowly he had escaped the earth. The smile returned when he confirmed Back Pain Hypothesis #143 - the tree root hypothesis - and broadened with the realization that he could relieve it. It was time to leave the earth.
"Looks like I'll be taking the path," he mumbled.
When leaving a hole in the ground, the first thought that would go through a certain pink mare's head is that you are not leaving the hole; the hole is leaving you. Rational ponies grab an edge and push down. The stallion failed miserably at pushing down, unable to dislodge the packed dirt that completely encased his limbs; grabbing an edge was impossible for the same reason. His efforts were not completely without purpose; a trickle of water down his back hinted at an alternate solution. He struggled, waited for water to soften the dirt, and repeated the process.
He'd almost finished softening his restraints when motion on the path caught his eye. A dark shape was approaching from the right. He froze, watching it, trying to see what it was. It was smaller than a grown pony, and the eerie forest would scare off any foals. Lightning crossed the sky, illuminating a familiar filly.
"No..." he whispered, "Please, not again."
