First Rule: Torture The Substitute
First Rule: Torture The Substitute
Snowflake touched down in front of Fluttershy's cottage.
Well, for most pegasi, it would have counted as touching down. A little dirt coming off the path, an impression of hooves left in the more-than-sufficiency which remained, and there would have been just a trace of sound from the impact of an average body coming to rest against the ground. With Snowflake --
-- there was a WHUMP! as all of his mass was brought to bear, a huge cloud of dust erupted from the earth and radiated outwards to coat stones, garden, walls... and as for the impression of hooves, well, there had been enough scheduled rain over the last few days to soften the earth, not everything had completely dried out yet...
Snowflake took a careful half-step back and looked down. In his semi-expert estimation, the resulting pair of front divots was deep enough for a shrew to raise a family in, although most mice would insist on somewhat more living space and the security of a back exit.
He sighed. He'd have to fix that.
Again.
Landings were not Snowflake's strong suit.
He glanced back at his saddlebags: nothing had bounced out on impact. All of the Royal Vouchers were still safely tucked within and that was good, because he had no idea how many of them he was going to need.
There was also headache medicine, and lots of it. He knew exactly how much he was going to need there: all of it.
Snowflake was self-employed, which often turned into a polite way of saying that few ponies were comfortable with the idea of having him working for them, much less his being in charge of somepony else. His appearance -- which he was quite aware of, was always careful to tread as lightly as he could around other ponies so as not to startle them too badly -- was unusual for a pony: far bulkier than virtually any stallion, and with his wings... well, nopony in Las Pegasus had really been able to perceive him as taking up a life in anything involving customer service before his cutie mark had emerged, and after...
His primary profession was simple: strength training. Snowflake could take any pony and show them how to improve their muscle efficiency, increase bulk, channel their efforts for the best results, and if those ponies often wound up spending days in bed groaning as the pains of unfamiliar exertions just kept right on echoing, then it meant Snowflake was doing his job and those ponies would feel better than they ever had in their lives once he stopped -- which would be two moons into the course. They would be stronger. Faster. More physically fit than they had ever been. The ponies who finished always thanked him. The problem was that in the course of Snowflake's career, exactly eight ponies had ever finished -- where a mere twenty-two had begun.
There simply wasn't much demand for strength training in Equestria. Professional hoofball teams concentrated more on endurance and the ability to take (mostly illegal) hits over dishing them out: they also tended to have their own trainers in place on a generational basis. Weightlifting as a sport was the realm of the unicorns and the masses they dealt with were levitated: there was nothing Snowflake could do to help there. Weight-hauling belonged to the earth ponies, and most of them were uncomfortable with being trained in their domain by a pegasus -- especially one who could outpull them. A few of the Games called for athletes to gain needed boosts in musclepower and that was where Snowflake came into his own, but -- he was young yet, his name wasn't really out there and while the eight who had finished his course swore by him, the other fourteen just swore at. Even with the Games fast-approaching, he hadn't had many inquiries about his services. And ponies needed bits to live, or at least to live in some degree of comfort outside the wild zones.
So Snowflake, unable to make a steady living off his primary skill, tired of being stared at by the citizens of Las Pegasus, sick of the jokes made behind his broad back (generally very softly in the desperate hopes that he wouldn't hear and retaliate, but Snowflake's ears worked perfectly), wanting nothing more than a place where he could earn some kind of living without having to constantly deal with pegasi who regarded him as an oddly-stunted branch on the family tree, those who saw an endless source of humor as long as they were convinced they had a fast exit available and could so obviously (in their minds) stay ahead of him... Snowflake had listened to rumors, read as many newspapers as he could stomach, and carefully considered his relocation options until he was convinced he'd found the single oddest settled zone in Equestria, one where a pegasus like him would still stand out, there was no helping that -- but the Ursa Minor coming down the street would readily overshadow his own presence. And then some.
Snowflake had moved to Ponyville, abandoned the clouds he'd never felt truly comfortable in and gone to ground. And he'd never looked back.
It had been nearly two years since he'd arrived and for the most part, they'd been two good years. Oh, ponies still stared. He'd never found a very special somepony, but -- in all truth, that was a dream he'd pretty much given up on when he was still a colt and listening to the laughter of schoolfillies as they made jokes about his wings. But he was making a living. There were ponies who trusted him to do -- well, just about anything, depending on the day. He even felt he was on the verge of having a few friends, and there had been a time when he'd believed that impossible. As a youth, he'd felt there was only one friend in his life, and he'd been on the verge of abandoning his market tent after the story reached his ears, rushing off to the train station and throwing his entire existence on hold in order to help that pony...
...but then Fluttershy had arrived.
It was about numbers, really, and not those represented by bits.
Snowflake's self-employment tent had a simple sign over the entrance: Day And Night Labor: No Job Too Big Or Too Heavy. He would do anything anypony requested where his muscles could make a difference and nopony would get hurt. (Some had tried to hire him for just that: injuring others. Snowflake didn't mind serving as bodyguard and scaring ponies off, at least not beyond the reactions when some ponies saw him -- but being asked to inflict pain outside the necessary aches of workouts? No. For those ponies, Snowflake had -- special measures. And some of them even got their tails untied again. Eventually.) And when Canterlot called the Bearers -- when six mares raced from Ponyville to help the realm -- Snowflake did his part by staying behind.
He'd met Fluttershy shortly after arriving in Ponyville, had been advised by his first (only) friend to look her up and say hello. They had some things in common, he and she. They both shared that first friend, and that was a strong bond to begin with. (She was eldest, he not that far behind.) Both loved ground more than other pegasi thought they should. The pair was each looked at as being -- well, frankly, freaks among the pegasi, defective: she for her mark and talents, he for his build and wings. Each was on the skittish side when it came to dealings with other ponies, although Snowflake hid his behind bluster and enthusiastic shouts made at top volume, something he was never sure had actually worked. And it had just felt as if there was a connection between them. Nothing romantic -- just an odd sort of not-quite-sibling bond, as if having had the same doctor (or as he kept insisting, stallion midwife) deliver them somehow put them on the same very extended family tree.
And somehow, on those occasions when missions came calling, when Fluttershy had to leave her flock behind for the sake of the nation, he'd become her first and best resort as substitute caretaker.
It hadn't been easy. There had been hundreds of tasks to learn -- literally hundreds, sometimes verging on thousands, plus little variations for each species on the property, and there was no telling just what those were going to be until he showed up. And Fluttershy was poor, just barely able to keep herself and flock fed and sheltered: he'd quietly given her such a huge discount on his services as to barely keep himself alive -- and the guilt of knowing the damage it was still doing to her own finances had nearly crushed him. But then (as he understood it) Applejack had said a few words to the Solar Throne, and now all expenses incurred during missions were covered by a special fund -- including the ones brought on by bringing in replacements for the roles the Bearers filled at home. Snowflake had trotted into his little house one day to find a bag of bits waiting on his kitchen table, with a note attached reading For Your Silent Sacrifices. It had been signed, and that note was now one of the most cherished possessions in his life.
He'd filled in several times now, and the Royal Vouchers meant he was being compensated at a full normal rate. Most of the daily burdens of running the cottage grounds were familiar ones, even if there were things he was still learning. The majority of the animals liked him: they understood how gentle he always tried to be, that he wouldn't hurt anything which wasn't trying to damage him -- and for those who didn't get that -- well, he seldom had to do more than pull his lips back a little. Even so, taking over for Fluttershy was intensive labor, something which exhausted him and made him wonder how the mare managed to survive on so little sleep, Snowflake was lucky to manage five hours when he was substituting and most of that would be frequently interrupted --
-- but it was welcome labor. It was, in a very real way, for the good of the nation. It was helping somepony who was part of his family.
The doctor who had delivered them both had gone missing after a fire. Fluttershy could not go to search: she had a mission. Snowflake could not travel in her place: he had to make sure her duties would be filled while she was gone. Hundreds of others would descend on Trotter's Falls to do their parts: Snowflake understood that. He would have very much liked to go -- but the place he was the most vital, that where he could do the most for Equestria -- was here. Giving Fluttershy whatever peace of mind he could so that she could face the newest threat while knowing her charges were secure.
It was caring for his near-sister. It was his part in service to the thrones, the duty every pony owed Solar and Lunar for the realm they lived in. And in truth, exhaustion and all, it was mostly a job he enjoyed --
-- except for one thing.
Snowflake sighed. Well, there was no help for it. He'd have to do it sooner or later...
Several of the outdoor animals were wandering up to him. An ostrich -- Celestia's tail, when had she gotten that? -- gave him a beady eye and looked as if it was about to jab its beak forward before a bear, an older specimen he'd met before, got in the way and reared up on its hind legs, growling softly. Snowflake recognized the sound: back off: this one is allowed to be here. And the ostrich backed away, but there was visible reluctance in the retreating tread. He'd have to be careful there.
Two familiar badgers nuzzled against his front legs. Not adopted yet, then. Fluttershy had been trying to find them homes for three moons, but -- badgers. The reputation preceded them and often dug its own hole.
And now there was a very old squirrel curled up in the exact center of his back, already fallen asleep.
The cottage door wasn't locked. Fluttershy typically only barred the place when she was inside, and that was just because of fears which never completely went away. But when she was absent -- well, the cottage grounds always had their share of carnivores. Very defensive carnivores. There was a silent understanding that Intruders Would Be Dealt With, although Snowflake had sometimes wondered if Fluttershy would benefit from a sign reading Bill Disputers May Be Eaten. Which still wasn't as bad as --
-- she was counting on him.
Snowflake took a deep breath. The process would have been fascinating for an observer to watch. Muscles got out of the way for other muscles to let muscles expand beneath them. The stunted wings trembled, a quick vibrato which normally would have seemed more appropriate to the cottage's standard pony resident.
He pushed his way inside. Carefully, moving slowly. The squirrel needed her rest.
A small white rabbit was sitting in the exact center of the living room, staring up at him. Dark eyes met red. Neither one blinked. Snowflake couldn't afford to blink. This was the first test. It always was. Snowflake had muscle and the jut of his jaw, a chin he could set like diamond buried in stone and a snort capable of knocking over small plants -- but the rabbit was used to The Stare and against that, everything Snowflake could bring to bear came in a distant second place.
Snowflake held his position.
The rabbit hopped one of its own body lengths forward.
Snowflake snorted. Just a small one, a tiny flare of the nostrils. The ever-present odor of the cottage, urine and feces from every non-housetrained animal resident overlaid with every nontoxic cleaning agent which existed (and still wasn't quite enough to work), flowed back.
Another hop.
Snowflake wondered if he was sweating. There didn't seem to be any extra moisture in his coat, and the dark blond hair of his brush-cut mane wasn't going limp. Regardless, a somewhat larger snort seemed necessary.
The rabbit stood up on its back legs.
Snowflake instinctively flared his wings out to their full length, which might have meant something when viewed against the body mass of a newborn foal.
The rabbit seemed to snigger. And then it dropped back to all fours before running off into the kitchen.
Snowflake sighed and, for the tenth time in his life -- unknown to him, the one hundred thousandth for all of Ponyville put together -- wondered what Fluttershy had been thinking when she'd granted that name.
First round to Angel Bunny.
The first of the perpetual duties: feedings. Fluttershy staggered them throughout the day and night: some of the flock was nocturnal, some tried to eat when the Sun was first raised, others were most used to supping as the Moon came into view, and the majority would just take whatever they could every time they found it. Unknown to most visitors, the cottage had a basement, and feed bags took up about half of it. A quarter of the rest was Fluttershy's lab. The mare had an extensive collection of pharmaceutical equipment: some of the less delicate pieces were upstairs and were used in front of customers -- but anything which needed protection from casual disturbance, along with the vital herbs and chemicals required for mixing, was stored below. Snowflake always spent a great deal of his time in the cottage accepting deliveries of the heavy bags and moving them into their proper places so Fluttershy wouldn't have to. If he wound up staying for several days (and he slept on the property, the nocturnals needed their time plus he never knew when a night emergency might arise), he might cancel a few of the most local drop-offs and go to pick the stuff up himself in the name of saving her those bits -- if he could safely venture out for that long. Snowflake honestly wasn't sure how Fluttershy managed to shop without finding the cottage collapsed when she returned.
Full bags came up. Empty ones were wadded up to make beds for some of the youngest residents. He caught a wrangle of kittens trying to crawl inside one and shooed them back to their mother.
Angel watched as Snowflake ripped open a bag of junior herbivore feed with his strong teeth. The pegasus carefully maneuvered the hefty sack to the center bowl in the living room, then stamped a golden hoof against the wooden floor.
A small splinter came up.
Snowflake winced. He'd have to fix that...
Several of the smaller animals perked towards the noise and ran up, noses twitching expectantly. Snowflake cautiously tilted his head, pouring out some of the bag's contents until the bowl was full. The animals began to move in --
-- and Angel sprinted through, head lowered, the rabbit went into the bowl and started pushing it across the floor at top speed, heading for the front door --
-- Snowflake was in front of it. He had dropped down so that his massive chest rested against the floor. Part of it, anyway.
The bowl went into him and tilted about halfway up, dumping some of its contents onto the startled rabbit, which didn't quite jump back in time and thus wound up with twin earfuls of feed.
The rabbit made a squealing noise. Fluttershy had told him it meant pain, anger, or fear at being cornered. With Angel, 'anger' was usually the way to bet.
Snowflake grinned.
The rabbit stomped its back left foot against the floor three times, then scampered off.
Carefully, Snowflake nosed the bowl back to where it belonged. The younger animals ate the spilled food where it had fallen, including nibble-tracing most of Angel's path to the kitchen.
Round Two was his. But the battle was just getting warmed up...
Second duty: not being the town's backup vet.
When it became clear that his role as Fluttershy's substitute was threatening to become semi-permanent, she had started asking him over for extended periods. Some of the town's residents had widened their eyes upon realizing just how often he was at the cottage, while some of the more cruel laughed and made comments about freaks naturally attracting each other. (He hadn't had words with Flitter and Cloudchaser yet -- he seldom did with anypony -- but he had stomped a hoof, and silence had politely waited for the last of the echoes to leave before moving in.) But there had been no dating -- simply training. Snowflake was now capable of recognizing some of the most common ailments and could, if working carefully, mix a few very basic medicines on his own. And with those things he was absolutely sure of, he was free to diagnose and prescribe. But if he had any doubts whatsoever, even the tiniest ones, he was to send the visitors away. No guessing, no flipping through Fluttershy's extensive library (the other quarter of the basement) in the desperate hopes of finding the one page he needed -- just a silent head shake and hoof gesture towards town, where the client was supposed to seek out Ponyville's only licensed vet.
It didn't always work. Sweetbark... Fluttershy had explained it to him once: the so-called professional was glad to have Fluttershy plying her own trade on the absolute edge of the settled zone, because Fluttershy gave her somepony to use. Sweetbark wanted to be as close to a 100% success rating as it was possible for any physician to be -- so if something looked truly bad? Send it to Fluttershy. There was a significant chance of failure? Head out via the town's western road, follow your nose and then turn right. And everything fatal went to the delicate pegasus: Sweetbark refused to see or treat anything which might kill, seemed to have never brought a final mercy herself, and threw every bit of that burden onto yellow shoulders which could barely carry it. Snowflake intensely disliked Sweetbark, and the fact that anypony he sent to her was likely to be volleyed back -- potentially several times -- before she realized he was in residence at the moment and nothing could truly be done... well, that hadn't made him feel any more kindly towards her. Ultimately, she would wind up sending those animals to her counterparts in Canterlot rather than take any risk at all. And as for those cases who were truly beyond help...
...Fluttershy had told him to never do it. She didn't want him to live with it. Said nopony ever should -- even though she had to, and remembered every name. Those pets went to Canterlot as well and he would watch their pony companions as they left, legs and wings weighed down with something no amount of muscle could lift, trying not to let his own tears fall until they were out of sight.
Fluttershy bore that burden every day. Snowflake didn't understand how. All he could do was admire the strength nopony would ever truly see.
Still, there remained things he could do, and they made him feel good about himself. He could recognize certain coughs now, knew how to spot the red inflammation of irritation in the throat. A quick mixing of the licorice-scented medicine later and a shocked companion would be ushering her pet out the door, amazed that help had still been available -- and sometimes, just as surprised that he'd been capable of providing it. Some ponies seemed to descend into worlds of shock when Snowflake proved capable of pronouncing his own name.
And throughout his examinations, Angel would -- hover.
The same ponies who never quite seemed to reconcile Snowflake's ability to speak beyond a one-word vocabulary had equal trouble when the pegasus hovered. Snowflake was rather more surprised when Angel did it without wings. The rabbit was never in midair, true -- well, not for a duration beyond that spent at the absolute ascent of a vertical bound, and rabbits could jump surprisingly high for their size -- but he somehow found a way to hover regardless. He would be found staring over Snowflake's shoulder, which took some work before a sight line could found past the muscle mass. He would crouch on the patient's other side and start a fresh staring contest. Sometimes he would stamp his feet against wood while Snowflake was trying to explain something and just not stop until the pegasus made a move towards him -- which meant Angel took the round. He never interfered while Snowflake was mixing medicines: some things were at least semi-sacred. But any other attempt to jar, distract, or bring down any perceived barely-authority which Snowflake possessed -- every chance, every time.
Snowflake had tried locking him into one of the smaller rooms, four substitutions ago. As it had turned out, the cottage was honeycombed with little passages which the smaller animals used to reach their mistress in times of perceived crisis. Angel knew them all and fit down most of them. Snowflake -- didn't. And that had ended the round in a conclusive victory for the lapine side, with the pegasus never trying that tactic again. He could have used wax on every hole he could find, but... well, he didn't know if anything was living within the walls, presumably it needed to come out sometime, and... no.
It was strangely hard to examine a guinea pig's ears with a rabbit staring at him all the while. A rabbit he couldn't lock away.
A battle he couldn't seem to permanently win.
It was all about caps.
The doctor had explained it to him early in life. Two of Equestria's three main pony races had portions of their bodies covered by hard translucent tissue at birth. These were caps. Unicorns had one on their head: a smooth rounded protrusion whose purpose was to shield the womb from the damage that could be inflicted by an uncovered horn. A capless birth with a unicorn... incredibly rare. It was even more rare for the mother to survive it.
With pegasi, the caps were over the wings. Newborn wings were -- delicate, exceedingly so. The pressures of the birth canal were exerted against the caps and the wings beneath emerged intact a few days later when the caps fell away on their own -- or, for the percentage of mothers who believed in earlier removal, once they were gently soaked away with warm water.
Snowflake had been a capless birth.
It was just as rare for pegasi as it was for unicorns. With them, it was rare for the mother to survive. For pegasi...
...with the contractions of labor breaking the wings, bone fragments sometimes driven between muscles and ribs into the torso to inflict deeper wounds...
...for pegasi, the foal was almost always lost.
By all rights, Snowflake should have never seen more than a day of Sun before going into the shadowlands. But he'd had the world's best obstetrician -- the first -- attending his birth. The injuries had been tended immediately, well before the damage could work its way further in. And somehow, Snowflake had come into the world with a certain vigor, a determination, the drive to fight for every breath.
Even so -- there had been his name. Beautiful. Delicate. Destined to vanish under the next touch of Sun as if he had never been.
When that first day had passed, there had been a tiny flicker of hope. After the first week, his parents had been almost certain he would live. Once the first moon had cycled above, they had known it --
-- but the wing damage had been permanent.
Nopony had believed Snowflake would ever fly. Nopony except Snowflake himself.
He had been the subject of laughter for so many colts and fillies. A crippled pegasus, his parents refusing to take ground which would be the only home he could ever truly have. He'd been mocked for the size of his wings and, once his classmates had begun to find the sky, his inability to follow. Of course, the mockery was done at range and retreated into the air at the first sign of danger: he'd grown quickly, developed muscles at speed and then followed that with extra bulk. Some of it had been deliberate effort on his part, for he'd had belief.
His wings -- there was nothing which could be done there. The spell which granted artificial ones only worked on unicorns and earth ponies. Prosthetics had been tried repeatedly over the centuries, never reached any stage beyond that of failed experiment. His wings would always be small, stunted, possessing a fraction of the surface area of any other pegasus his age. He had accepted that, largely due to lack of any other choice. His ability to master the techniques, channeled manifestations of the talents inherent to all pegasi -- only the most basic had ever come to him, and those at low strength. That too had been taken as part of his life, something which could never be improved or cured.
But the muscles behind those stunted wings -- those could be worked on. Perhaps he had only a tenth or less of the pushing area available -- but if that push was occurring with ten times the normal force... might not there be a balance point? A formula where raw effort substituted for what should have been natural talent? Was it possible to fly simply based on sheer strength?
Snowflake had believed it possible. No other pegasus had. His parents had let him try, for they had been unable to stand in the way of his final hope. Teachers had gently tried to dissuade him, excepting the two who had just laughed behind his back. His classmates had simply laughed in his face and then hovered a little higher.
And on the single best day of Snowflake's life, the day his mark blazed bright and beautiful as hooves parted from tacky-feeling clouds, the day he gave chase to a scattering crowd which was no longer laughing in any way, he proved every last one of them wrong.
Snowflake's primary profession was strength training. But that wasn't his mark. His mark said I will move this burden. It told the world I can bear this weight. It was a shout of Anything you can throw at me, I will overcome. And he had.
He could fly. He could hover. He would never have the basic techniques in full strength or the advanced ones at all, but he could work as part of a team and add his bit to the effort. He had enough raw speed and maneuverability to get into the Wonderbolts Academy -- with no intention of joining, especially as techniques figured into the most complicated of their stunts: he'd just wanted to prove he could fly on the training level, and he had. When Snowflake truly set his mind to a goal, he generally accomplished it. A number of pegasi still looked at him as a freak -- but few ponies dared say it to his face. In Las Pegasus, he never would have been fully accepted. But in Ponyville, home of the strange... he'd found some level of place.
However... with the rabbit...
...the rabbit had him pegged.
Angel had figured Snowflake out, seemingly within minutes. Because the truth was that Snowflake had strength, was stronger than any pegasus anypony had ever seen, was the only pegasus known who could outmuscle an earth pony --
-- but he didn't use it.
Fights... well, if about nine ponies were piled on top of him, he couldn't get away and there was a chance of real pain, then a fight would happen, and it would be brief. But one on one? Snowflake knew too much about strength to feel comfortable using his against other ponies, not unless it was the absolute last resort -- and it typically had to be a pony other than himself who needed defending. He never picked on anything smaller than himself, and that was just about everything. Fluttershy's animals trusted him because... well, he wasn't entirely sure why. Part of it might have simply been having her approval. But some might have been because even though they could see his size, so much larger than she was -- they also knew how gentle he tried to be, how very careful he was, because nopony knew more about how it felt to be small, weak, helpless and fragile, with every moment under Sun as the possible final one. He would never hurt anypony if he could possibly avoid it in any way.
Some ponies had figured that out. Unfortunately, Flitter was one of them and when he was alone, she felt free to regale him with as many remarks as she could invent or steal, with Cloudchaser echoing when the occasion suited. He would defend Fluttershy -- but not always himself. Rarity too had worked him out within minutes and had been carefully coaching him on The Art Of The Last Devastating Word, giving him several to memorize. But he wasn't always comfortable with that either: too many phrases had been used against him for there to be any consistent pleasure in verbal attack, and he often felt as if he was on the verge of becoming like those who mocked him. In general, Snowflake tried to let stomps and snorts and narrowed eyes do the job while hoping never to follow up on any of it.
And Angel knew it.
Angel pushed and prodded and interfered and generally got in the way and disrupted with the absolute security of the knowledge that waiting at the end of all the hijinks, was -- nothing. A word to Fluttershy? At best, that would put the rabbit on despised iceberg lettuce for a day -- a day he would spend racing about stealing food from nearly every other animal on the estate, including some of the small carnivores because if he couldn't have any pleasure in his meal, why should they? And it never stopped Angel from starting up again the next time Snowflake came around.
Fluttershy had tried to tell Snowflake that overall, he was doing well with Angel. That, believe it or not, the rabbit tried less than with any substitute caretaker before him -- which had made Snowflake pause and wonder exactly what other ponies had suffered through and, according to Fluttershy, ran away from at top speed, never to be seen again. He'd tried to take it as a compliment. He also knew Fluttershy wasn't a good liar: if nothing else, Angel had managed to drive ponies off with the same stunts -- and perhaps there truly had been more.
But it was still a fight. One Snowflake couldn't permanently win because no part of him ever wanted to launch the first real kick -- or the second, third, fourth...
Still, Snowflake wanted to do his job. He wanted things to be as set as they could possibly be when Fluttershy returned. And as long as Angel kept fighting him, kept disrupting...
Angel hated anypony who wasn't his mistress (and, from what Snowflake had seen, wasn't all that kind to Fluttershy either). There was nothing Snowflake could do to change that. And so the battle went on.
Snowflake lost more than he won.
A lot more.
Third duty: cleaning.
The scent of the cottage never completely went away: it was soaked into the wood, every last piece of furniture, seemed to emanate from the ground outside. (Fluttershy had shown him a special soap which would get it off his own coat and the foaming green stuff had never failed, even though it made him itch for twenty minutes every time he used it.) But it had to be kept from getting any worse. New arrivals didn't have the concept of 'go outside' down yet, visiting animals would walk into the overlay of musk and freak -- with the first result of their panic being an instinctive effort to make certain they would taste bad. Several had done exactly that today, with one puppy completely losing it upon realizing that horror beyond horrors, she was about to be given the first grooming of her life. Fluttershy had taught Snowflake how to do it with skill and delicacy, and the stallion who'd been very surprised to see him performing the task had been equally shocked by the results. But the aftereffects still had to be scrubbed away, and Snowflake spent most of his free time in the cottage -- or what could laughably be called such -- fighting new stains while trying to make older ones fade. He could bring more raw power to the task than Fluttershy could, and she inevitably found things at least slightly improved at the end of each durance.
Of course, sometimes his golden hoof pushed at the scrubbing pad a little too hard and put a hole in it.
Snowflake winced. He'd have to replace that...
There was a sudden weight on his back. And that wasn't uncommon in the cottage: more than a few of Fluttershy's flock saw him as a place to sleep -- but this minimal mass seemed to be slightly heavier towards the back and have hind feet larger than the fore. Snowflake glanced backwards.
Angel was on him. Down on all fours -- but on him.
Snowflake snorted. Fine, if that was how the rabbit wanted to play it. If anything happened which bothered the substitute caretaker, all Snowflake had to do was lean far enough to one side for the groove between his back muscles to stop serving as safe ground and Angel would be forced into a jump to the floor. For now, though, the rabbit was just sitting in place -- and while it was annoying, it was doing no harm. Back to cleaning.
He scrubbed. The fresh stain began to come away. The rabbit walked down his spine, moving closer to his head. Snowflake's ears went back. Angel had never bitten him, but -- rabbit teeth were sharper than most would suspect. Some real damage could be done. Maybe he should consider tilting himself before anything happened --
-- and then those teeth closed.
But not on his skin.
Snowflake wore earrings, typically in gold. It was his personal fashion statement, one he openly made in the comfort that anypony who remarked on that would have gone through a very long list of qualities before ever reaching the loops. He liked his earrings. He was just about the only stallion in town who used them. Zecora had complimented him on several styles and occasionally helped him pick out new types.
His ears had gone back. They had moved within reach. And now Angel was gnawing on the left loop.
Snowflake, startled, reared back -- and found himself bearing the weight of an entire adult male rabbit, all hanging off his left ear. And he was strong, the strongest pony anypony had ever seen -- but all he could do with ear muscles was the same as everypony: rotate, twitch, flatten.
Angel didn't weigh much. But it was all hanging off his ear, pulling on the skin around the piercing, and it felt as if the hole was getting larger...
Snowflake yelped, spun, instinctively tried to get his head turned fast enough to swing the rabbit into his mouth for a very gentle hold: I'll let go of you if you let go of me. But he couldn't make the movement work in such a way as to create the proper whip. All it did was swing the rabbit, and that put still more pull on his poor ear as Angel refused to let go.
He got a glimpse of Angel's face on one attempt. It looked like the rabbit was grinning.
Snowflake took off. Felt a drop of liquid against his ear as the pain increased, wondered if it was sweat, Angel's saliva, or if the piercing hole was simply beginning to tear wider. Rotated in midair, whipped his head again (and it only increased the pain, but it was the only move he had), shifted sideways --
-- the rabbit was pressed against a clock. The minute hand was lightly jabbing into tiny ribs. Not enough to hurt -- just enough to let him know it was there.
Snowflake hovered, his right eye squeezed shut against the pain. The left one moved just enough to look at Angel, pressed between his head and the clock, rabbit teeth still clamped around his earring.
Angel's dark eyes fixed on him, seemed to say Comfortable?
Quite, Snowflake's red eye agreed. How about you?
Oh, I'm fine. I can do this all day.
Funny, that's just what I was thinking.
So basically, I'm going to be pressed into this as long as your ear is under attack?
Looks like.
You do know the minute hand will be moving soon, right?
That's how a clock works, yes.
So... The rabbit seemed to be thinking it over. ...draw?
Why not?
Snowflake tilted his head slightly away from the clock and Angel kicked off it, letting go of the earring and landing on Snowflake's back. The pegasus slowly descended to floor level, and Angel hopped off, heading towards one of the miniature staircases, presumably going to pester some chipmunks. For Snowflake's part, he headed into Fluttershy's bathroom to check on --
-- sure enough.
First blood to the rabbit.
Fortunately, Fluttershy was perpetually overstocked on equine-compatible disinfectants.
His left ear had been wrapped in bandages by a helpful visiting unicorn who hadn't asked about how it had gotten that way. (The piercing hole had just been overstressed. It would heal -- but not quickly.) He hadn't taken the right earring out. In one sense, it was an open invitation for Angel to try it again -- but he wasn't about to let the rabbit have a victory through surrender.
Fourth duty: checking on the garden.
This was something Snowflake would freely admit he wasn't that good at. Ponyville was an earth pony majority town, and that meant the Cornucopia Effect was strong enough to spread out beyond the land worked and allow even unicorns and pegasi to cultivate vegetables freely -- although he was amazed it had reached all the way to Fluttershy, whose cottage was right up against the wild zone's fringe. But he'd never tried to do it himself. And as for examining the results -- he could spot leaf rot and get insects off places they didn't belong, but telling whether something which was mostly under the ground was sick... well, for the most part, the carrots had to fend for themselves. Not that he minded, given who ate most of them. Although the rabbit certainly wasn't getting any today and Snowflake was wondering if there was something worse than iceberg lettuce in the pantry...
But he still had to perform the best check he could before getting a nap in -- and that had to happen within two hours, tops. The Sun would be lowered soon, and he could snooze across the Moon being raised before rising to start caring for the nocturnals.
He could number the duties. He could try to check them off every day, for the duration of the unknown time the Bearers' newest mission would take. But those duties never stopped. There were sick animals who needed their medicines. Recovering ones to check for signs of relapse. Pregnant mothers getting close to That Time and he was always attentive there, making nests for them in dark corners where they wouldn't be disturbed until the first cries signaled triumph. The cottage's population had to be counted (with new additions figured in) and if any of them were missing... well, the last thing before his nap was the sunset census and should the number be short, he would have to go and look for the missing. Doing so might put him in the fringe, or even within the Everfree itself -- and while he was better-equipped to deal with some of its threats than many ponies, no journey into the heart of a wild zone could be made without fear.
Fluttershy worked herself to the point of exhaustion every day. She had to in order for anything to get done at all. Snowflake, so much stronger, was barely capable of getting through her routines -- and that was after subtracting the things he simply couldn't do. He admired her. He worried about her. And on the first day of his newest durance, when he didn't know how many were to come, he worried about her charges. Whether he could get through it and take care of them all. It was a question he asked himself every time he tried to substitute for her (or as much as anypony ever could) and so far, he'd come through...
...but it scared him.
He had to carry the burden, though. It was what he did.
So he tended the garden as she'd taught him. Plants were watered. Bugs were removed, frequently by mouth and then spat away as far as he could manage, followed by using the water again on his own tongue. (Outside of snorting, he could not create the small wind gusts to blow them away -- at least, not with any reliable aim.) And then he began the slow tour of the cottage and grounds, working through the census. She had briefed him at the market square before heading to the library for pickup, told him about every last change to the population -- and Snowflake had a good head for numbers: it was necessarily for calculations of force, at least on paper. Each species was mentally filed into its proper slot.
Squirrels, check. This included the one who had tried to sleep on his back for the second time. It had offered him a nut before settling in. He'd eventually moved it to a cushion.
Chickens: check. He spent a few seconds fussing over the newborns and gathered eggs for the next day's delivery to the Cakes.
Bear: fast asleep.
Raccoons: trying to get into the pantry.
Rabbits...
...rabbits...
...he was one short.
The one.
Snowflake finished the count, checked the entire cottage, rapped on the walls before sticking his uninjured ear against them, searched the entire grounds. There was still a single Angel missing -- or hiding. And he couldn't rest until he knew just where the rabbit was.
His right front hoof pawed at the garden ground (he'd finished where he'd started), going into a carrot --
-- he'd have to replace that --
-- in his irritation. Typical. The rabbit had decided to play a new game: Let's Cost Snowflake All His Rest Time. He might have found a new hole to curl up in, perhaps even digging himself one somewhere Snowflake couldn't readily get to. He would force Snowflake to search the grounds over and over, possibly moving from hidden burrow to concealed trench, staying just ahead of pegasus eyes and nostrils -- not that picking up the rabbit's scent would work around here. Silently laughing at him the whole time, secure in the knowledge that even if Angel emerged well after midnight, the rabbit could just smirk at him -- Looking for me? Well, here I am! -- and then run into the cottage, leaving a weary Snowflake with nothing he could do. And perhaps the new game would continue every evening and night until Fluttershy returned...
Or he might find rabbit tracks -- heading directly towards the fringe. Ones which then went deeper in. And he would find himself wandering through the Everfree, desperately hunting for any signs of rabbit presence while a lapine who'd doubled back over his own footprints smugly sat in the cottage and hoped for the worst.
Snowflake ground his teeth. There was a chance he was giving the rabbit too much credit, imagining strategies the animal would (could?) never come up with. But it was Angel. Just about anything was possible, especially if it made somepony uncomfortable or worse. How Fluttershy ever put up with him at all...
There was no help for it. He had to search again. And just to get the worst out of the way, he would start by looking for tracks near the fringe. Overly obvious, carefully stamped-in tracks.
Angel Bunny. And there were ponies who felt Snowflake had the biggest lie of a name in all of Equestria --
-- something kicked his back left hoof.
He glanced back again. And there was the rabbit, who seemed to be vibrating slightly. The ears were all the way up and twitching, the large right hind foot stamped against the ground three times...
So either it had been a very short game, a trial run for the real battle tomorrow, or -- Snowflake had to be fair -- he'd simply overlooked his nemesis, who was now hungry and demanding dinner. Snowflake sighed. Well, it was better than scouring the grounds and beyond, and perhaps he could even find a little sleep before the next shift started. He began trotting towards the cottage.
The rabbit kicked him again.
Snowflake frowned, looked back and down. The rabbit's ears were twitching faster than ever. He stamped his right hind foot again -- then raced four of Snowflake's body lengths away, heading towards --
-- the fringe.
More stamping. Another two body lengths. The rabbit stared at Snowflake.
He couldn't communicate with animals the way Fluttershy could. He got along with most of them, but talking never happened: his talents lay elsewhere. But it seemed to Snowflake that the rabbit was sending him a very clear message: Follow me already!
Into the fringe.
And possibly beyond.
Angel dashed back up to Snowflake, kicked him again, raced back to the last spot, stamped, moved two more body lengths closer to the border. Almost completely off the property now. Mere steps away from leaving the settled zone.
The rabbit hated him.
The rabbit hated just about everypony.
But for the rabbit to try and get him killed...
...the thing about leading somepony into the fringe and perhaps the wild zone beyond it was that you were both in the fringe. And getting deeper. The risk was always dual. The rabbit could go places where Snowflake would never fit and hide, but he could also come up against things the pegasus would never consider to be a threat. To assume the rabbit would lead him on like this as the darkest of jokes or worse... he had to have a sense of self-preservation if nothing else...
Race back. Kick. Race away. Wait.
Was it possible for a rabbit to look desperate?
Snowflake snorted. His hooves dug small trenches. The wounded ear flicked back.
Angel stared at him. Waited.
The rabbit was not the most effective guide.
The Moon was waxing towards full, but would not be there for several nights: there was enough light to see obstacles by, but making out real detail from a distance was almost impossible, especially as fringe became wild zone, the Everfree grew thicker and the rabbit led him farther away from the main path. The little white body was easy enough to spot -- if he didn't vanish under the shadow of a branch or wander into tall grass. And he was being careful about that. If he decided Snowflake couldn't see him, he would scurry into a more visible spot, then stop and wait again.
For Snowflake's part -- he had never been meant to fit through small spaces. He couldn't go too far up without losing sight of the rabbit below, and the branches only became more clustered the higher he ascended anyway. So he forced his way through those spaces, some of which were considerably larger after he finished. So far, he was managing to follow Angel's trail -- but the rabbit still wasn't the most effective guide because it couldn't tell him where they were going, much less why. It was just moving deeper into the wild zone, as quickly as it could, by what seemed to be almost a straight-line route.
He wondered about the plants he was pushing through. Fluttershy had told him about Poison Joke. He was too high for it to reach him -- at least for the moment: there had been times when he had dipped to ground level in order to find passage, and it was too dark to tell what color the local flowers were. What would it do to him? Something similar to Applejack's temporary fate, a loss in height and body mass? The weakening of his bones until they were all as fragile as his wings had been on that first day? Would he live long enough to reach the cure?
His ears, injured and whole, rotated, trying to attune into the sounds of the wild zone. Listening for growls. Squeals. Screams. But there was nothing yet, nothing he could hear beyond the breaking of wood as he forced his way through another too-narrow gap --
--- except for a faint, distant rapid thumping, like a terrified heartbeat.
He wondered if it was his.
The rabbit dashed ahead, towards what seemed to be a patch of clearer light. Went over the shadow border into illumination. Snowflake followed --
-- a clearing, with the Moon almost directly overhead. A fallen trunk, an old one, six body lengths long and about as tall as Snowflake, not hollowed yet, but with signs of the process well under way: several termites scurried away as Snowflake's shadow fell across them. And the rabbit, stopped at the middle of the dead wood, waiting.
Snowflake landed: loose dirt went up in all directions, making the rabbit cough and glare -- but it didn't make him move away from the trunk. The pegasus backed away slightly, looked down.
It seemed as if there had been dirt scraped away from just in front of where the rabbit was standing. Digging. Not even a hoof-height of clearance -- because some of what loose dirt still remained was leaning outwards. Pushed away from the inside. A little hollow under the fallen tree...
The remaining gap was just enough for Snowflake to see the reflection of Moon off tiny bright eyes. Scared bright eyes.
He looked down at Angel. The rabbit nodded.
All right. Something was trapped down there. But it seemed to have trapped itself. If it could dig in, it could dig out. Which meant it was hiding. Hiding from --
-- and then he heard the growl.
Snowflake turned.
He didn't know what the creature was, wondered if Fluttershy would have. He couldn't name the thing -- only describe what he could make out of it under Moon. Dark, sleek, a roughly feline shape to body and head. Keeping its body low to the ground, but it would have been his height if it fully stood and much longer. Green eyes gone luminescent. What seemed to be tentacles attached to its spine, six of them waving back and forth. Thin, ropy, stretching out, snapping back.
Something which wanted to eat whatever was trapped under the log.
Something which was more than happy to substitute pegasus on the menu.
It sprang.
Snowflake went up, thanking Luna for the clearing which gave him room to fly, granted a pegasus his best advantage. The snapping teeth missed, the tentacles stretched as far as they could and did not reach him. The thing growled at him and the sound was not catlike: there was a bubbling warble to it, as if something was trying to speak through air which had somehow become water. The teeth snapped again.
There was a sound of digging.
Snowflake looked down. The rabbit was pawing at the dirt in front of the little hollow. It was trying to get under the log. The creature turned towards the noise and Angel kicked it in the nose, powerful back legs going right into the soft tissue, drawing a little blood. This produced a howl -- but it also brought the tentacles forward, going directly for the rabbit --
-- except that Snowflake had seen all that during his dive.
He didn't have much in the way of techniques. His wind manipulation was best off left joined to that of others, his lightning aim had always needed work and there wasn't a cloud around to use anyway, the more advanced abilities seemed forever beyond his reach.
But he was still the strongest pegasus anypony had ever seen.
Snowflake's teeth clamped onto the thin tentacle which was whipping towards Angel and he went up again, lifting the entire creature by that one ropy extrusion, wondering if it would hold, if the thing could release it like a lizard's tail, fall to the ground again while the dirt was still close. Or just reel the thing in, draw Snowflake closer. The tentacle could be poisonous, the taste was foul, he was biting hard and realized the burning in his mouth came from the creature's blood.
It howled. More tentacles came up. Two encircled Snowflake's hind ankles, constricted, and he tried not to grunt at the pain, couldn't risk opening his mouth. Another went around his torso and squeezed. The tail, the lashing tail he'd thought was catlike, that was another tentacle and it was going after his throat --
-- he accelerated, got more height but not enough to let his dangling burden clear the trees, slammed it into the canopy. The tentacle around his throat loosened as another howl ripped through the wild zone, but those around torso and ankles tightened still more, and he could feel a burning in those places. Acid. He was taking some weak acid into his mouth, it wasn't the blood or maybe one fluid was diluting another, the pain was increasing, more tentacles came up, the thing was trying for his wings and missed, targets too small for easy encirclement, he flew around the perimeter of the clearing, found another tree which looked as if it could take a slam, the creature seemed to be retracting the excess tentacle length, the snapping jaws were coming closer --
-- another impact, harder, and he bit through the burning rope in his mouth.
The creature screamed and fell to the ground --
-- twisted in midair. Not a cat, but landed as one. The drop had been high enough to prevent complete absorption of the impact: its legs were hurt, its tentacles had not quite served as springs. But it was still moving. It couldn't reach Snowflake where he was: the tentacles simply wouldn't stretch that far. But it could still go for the fallen trunk, for the unknown creature cowering beneath it and the rabbit who hadn't been able to dig it out during the aerial portion of the fight, the trembling little animal standing his ground, ready to kick again for all the good it would do.
The thing howled again and sprung. Tentacles whipped forward. Claws were unsheathed.
Snowflake came down on top of its head.
Gold hooves slammed into the skull, all of his strength brought to bear on a single point, and the thing's head went into the dirt six inches away from Angel's shivering form.
The creature did not move. Grass died where the black liquid touched it. Liquid which was flowing towards the little hollow, moving faster than the rabbit could dig.
Snowflake jumped off the body, got his massive left shoulder against the log, planted his hooves, shoved.
His vision reddened. Several splinters embedded themselves in his shoulder.
Again.
Then again.
And again.
Angel had led him to Zecora's. Most of it had been on hoof.
The zebra had named the thing: vine cat. He had bitten into acid -- but a weak one. And because he'd gone to her immediately, she could treat it. His tongue would heal, but she advised him to avoid much in the way of speech for a few days and warned him that all food would taste like medicine for the rest of the week. Similarly, the singed areas of his coat would grow back -- quickly: she had just the right poultice for it.
She'd examined his hooves for impact cracks, found none. Frowned thoughtfully at them.
"Coat of white, but hooves of gold," she remarked. "Colors note warrior of old..."
Another thoughtful look, this time at his face. And then she'd changed the dressing on his ear, applied extra disinfectant to where she'd removed the splinters, and escorted him back to Fluttershy's --
-- well, he and the rabbit.
With their guest.
The tiny brown bunny -- or perhaps a hare: the ears and feet were of a different proportion than the rabbit's -- spent the entire trip riding on his back. She shivered. She trembled. She refused to leave him, even to get food: Angel had to bring leaves up to her, and sacrificed a cherry.
Zecora offered to take the night shift, looking after the nocturnals while Snowflake got some much-needed rest. A weary nod gratefully accepted the offer, and he moved to the blankets he'd laid out in the middle of the living room floor. (Taking Fluttershy's bed while she was away just didn't feel right.) He carefully pulled them over himself with his teeth, and the little animal hopped -- just enough for the blanket to clear her, and then she settled right back down between his covered shoulder blades. Snowflake sighed to himself and was thankful for being an extremely still sleeper.
Angel ran up. Stared at him. Lay down on the floor, stretched out to his full length -- then curled up and closed small dark eyes. Within seconds, the rabbit was asleep.
Snowflake glanced back over his shoulder again, looked at the tiny brown burden he was carrying.
He would have to fix that.
For starters, once he got her back to his home, she was going to need a real bed.
