Forest Fire

Spitfire's body was awake and reacting before her mind had. Trying to find a way out of free fall, she twisted and kick. She rolled into the thorns of the bush she had hidden in, one of her hind legs lashing out and getting stuck in the barbed branches.

The burst of pain caused her eyes to snap open, but panic kept her from seeing where she was. A noise of pain and fear escaped from her as she twisted and kicked, trying to fight whatever it was that had her. In her blind fear, she was not aware that she was hurting herself more. Each yank and kick of her leg pushed it against the thorns, some times even sliding back and forth against the sharp points. Every shift and turn caused her to either get stabbed by the plant, or have her uniform snag and tear.

After exhausting herself, Spitfire collapsed, panting. As she tied to catch her breath, the blind panic subsided and she started to remember where she was and what had happened. With a sigh, she brought one of her forelegs up and smacked herself in the face with her hoof.

"Great work," she grumbled to herself, "a Wonderbolt getting beaten up by a thorny bush she chose to get into in the first place. If my team mates found out, I'd probably never hear the end of it." Feeling calmer, she was able to extricate her hind leg from the hole of thorns she had gotten it stuck in. Once that was done and she was able to stand back up, she decided to give herself a check over.

She could still see fine, but a gentle probing revealed that the area around the eye was swollen and tender from the shattered goggled (thinking back, it was a miracle she had not been blinded). Not only was there a gash, but probably a bruise beneath her fur. Her uniform was torn and tattered. Really it was not much more than stretchy rags. Each tear also marked a place where she was scraped, scratched, cut, gashed, or gauged. Every injury was noted by a bright red of fresh blood, or dark rusty brown of dried. Her legs were feeling a little stiff and sore, but it was minor and barely noticeable compared to the rest of her. Especially her wings. They hurt and refused to move, so much so that Spitfire was doubtful she could use them even if her life depended on it. Considering the way things had been going for her, it very well might.

Removing the remains of her Wonderbolts uniform, she dropped it to the ground. She felt guilt flutter through her heart as she did. It was so torn, tattered, and stained it did not look like a uniform any more. At the same time, it was a symbol of what she had accomplished and who she was. It was not the only one she owned, nor the first she had to give up (some damaged in the line of duty, others just worn thin from regular use). Still, it felt like she was disrespecting The Wonderbolts by abandoning her uniform like this.

Pushing the guilt aside, Spitfire quickly made her way out of the bush before she could change her mind. Figuring out which way she had come, she turned and continued to head what she hoped would lead her back to where some other ponies lived.

As she started to walk, she began to wonder what time it was. With all she had been to and having either slept or passed out on multiple occasions, her internal sense of time was screwed up. Looking up did no good, because the forest was so thick that even if the sun (or moon) was up above, none of the light was getting through.

After walking for ten minutes (or twenty, or thirty. She had no idea), Spitfire let out a sigh.

"What else could possibly happen?"

The sound of a growl filled her ears as a blast of warm, foul smelling air blew against her.

Her heart and legs froze. Slowly, Spitfire turned her neck and saw the Timberwolf.