Glad to be back and I love the new season so far. Miss Derpy though…
Disclaimer: I don’t own My Little Ponies: Friendship is Magic.
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Prologue:
*Many Years Ago*
The rain never stopped.
It was torrential downpour; a constant wave of icy water that sapped the very life from her bones. It was as if the Gods wanted to create a new inland sea and she had been dumb enough to find herself on the soon-to-be seabed. Her body ached, her limbs shook and her hooves throbbed and bled watery red blood. Her body screamed at her to rest, to close her eyes and let the sweet embrace of sleep take her. But she couldn’t. Wouldn’t. She knew the fatigue and pain were nothing next to the danger of the cold. She walked to keep up her body heat just as much as she did to cover the distance. She had been walking for days. Or was it hours?
Weeks?
Months?
Time had no meaning to her in this place, for the rain never stopped. Even when the sun was at its zenith in the sky, it was little more than a sickly orb of light glimpsed behind swollen rain clouds. The rain pounded into the soaked ground, splashing and rippling in the ankle deep mud. This was not the type of rain she was used to. She was soaked to the bone, her fur matted flat against her shivering body. Her mane clung to her head in sticky strands that obscured her vision, but no matter how many times she brushed them aside, they always returned. Her limbs shivered but she considered it a tradeoff. Better numb limbs then the splintering pain of strained muscles from walking for so long without rest.
Sleeping wasn’t an option; not with the ever-present rain bounding the lands. She knew as if by instinct that she closed her eyes, it would be the last time. Her blanket, little more than course woven fabric, would provide her little warm and her traveling hood was soaked. There was nothing to keep her warm and alive, save the constant painful walking.
She had set out from her homeland during the dry seasons, her heart swollen at the prospect of adventure. She had left her herd behind, determined to find something more. To be something great. She remembered her father’s eyes glittering like liquid onyx with unshed tears. That she was his only daughter made his heart break to see her go. That she had chosen
such a brave and challenging life without hesitation made his heart swell with pride.
She had set out with confident steps, a newly acquired tribal mark and the hunger for alchemical knowledge that had seen to the mark’s magical appearance on her flanks. Now that hunger, like the soaked travel pack of cured leather over her shoulder, weighed her down. Each step took a monumental effort, and each was a small victory against the unbeatable furry of the storm, let alone the shards of icy pain in her legs. Lightning flashed in the sky, stretching out in jagged lines of angry light like the webs of a spider. The first hundred times she had flinched at the thunder that followed. The next hundred had seen her accept it bravely for what it was. Now she simply ignored it, too weary to even work up the energy to be annoyed.
She knew it was dangerous to be in the open in a thunderstorm, but she had yet to see a cave or rocky overhang to shelter under. As far as she could see, which granted was limited by the wall of raindrops, she saw rolling but dully flat hills. This land was bleak; lifeless. Not like home.
Just thinking of her far away homelands sent a pang of longing into her heart. The rain back home was friendly; a soft pitter-pat of soft drops on the leaves of the trees. It was like drums and you could dance to it. Even in the savanna, trees and life bloomed and thrived and her heart ached for that land. Back home there was always a way to hide away from the rain, but more often than not she would sit and dance in the rain. If she listened closely, she could hear a beat, a rhythm in the rain on leaves. She would mediate and find comfort in the steady, equal rhythm.
Here the rain was the sound of the ocean. Overwhelming; drowning. She hated it.
The ground slipped under hoof and she stumbled in the mud, cursing under her breath as she landed face first in a mud pile. Pain flared in her hoof and she cried out in pain when she tried to stand. The sticky mud gummed her eyes shut but she simply turned to the sky, letting the deluge wash away the residue. The mud here was nothing like earth back home. Here it was sticky and clingy, caking to her fur in misshapen lumps. She tried to stand again, gritting her teeth against the pain in her ankle. She felt bone scrap and grind against bone. The injury itself wasn’t mortal, but in this rainstorm it was as good as a death sentence. She took a step with a good hoof and it sunk deep into the mud. She tried her broken ankle and screamed. Her ankle collapsed sideways and she stumbled.
Earth became sky. Sky became earth. She tumbled end over end down a hill. She felt rain slicked rocks cut at her skin and her head smashed into a jagged rock. Her vision continued to swim even as she came to a halt, covered head to hoof in thick brown mud. She could feel warm blood running down the back of her neck and her head throbbed in agony. The world faded in and out of focus; shapes merged and expanded and the sky rotated in endless circles.
She began to crawl. Inch by inch, hoof by hoof she pulled herself through the mud. She refused to die her. Refused to let her life’s journey end so quickly and so badly. She would not die in the mud and rain. She spat as mud flooded into her mouth and clogged her nostrils. She dragged her body closer to a rocky outcropping but her hoof was stricken with a terrible palsy and with each passing heartbeat, her strength faded. But even as her mind railed against her body, her arms failed her. The last of her energy leaked out with the blood and she sank into darkness.
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“I’mma tellin’ ya’, I heard a sceam!” The earth pony yelled to be heard over the thunder. His companion pressed her hat tightly to her head and turned her heard away from the rain.
“And I’mma tellin’ ya’ that ya’ heard nothin’!” She yelled back, “Look ‘round Braeburn! Ain’t no pony but the wagon-train fer miles!”
“Then ya’ll can go back, Cobbler.” Braeburn snapped at her, “I lose nothin’ by looking even if there aint no pony out here. But if there is…” His words were lost as more lightning struck overhead and he flinched. Braeburn took a deep breath and began to march through the mud.
“Scratch this!” Apple Cobbler said with a huff, “We is gonna’ catch our death out here. I’mma headin’ back to the wagon train. And when you is sick tomorrow, I ain’t gonna hoof feed ya’.”
“Fine!” Bareburn snarled back, both distracted by and angry at his sister. Though prone to pranks and practical jokes, Braeburn never lied. It galled him that his sister didn’t think he had actually heard a pony in need. His sister turned on her heel and galloped back to the distant lights of the wagon train. Braeburn ignored her.
If there was no pony out here, he would make his apologies in the morning. If there was a pony in need of help, then he would be a hero. Not that being acknowledged was what drove him to search. His pa always said a true heroes does what he does with no expectation of anypony noticing him, let alone thanking and praising him. His pa always said a real stallion helps ponies because it was the right thing to do, nothing more.
But Apple Cobbler had a point. The rain was the worst it had been all week, and their caravan was stuck in the mud until it dried up. The thought annoyed him. He had the itch for adventure that saw him and his sister embark on this journey to the West. To be bogged down by something as pitiful as rain galled him. He pulled his leather vest tighter to his fur and kept walking. He knew the rain could ruin the vest, but it was the only thing he had brought. The life of a pioneer didn’t leave much for luxury and this vest was of good enough quality to last several years if need be.
Braeburn searched for what could have been hours, but was most likely only minutes. The rain was making time slow to a trickle and already he felt a fever coming on. Maybe Cobbler had been right. Normally a cold wasn’t more than a one or two day annoyance, but out here on the trail with nothing but the wagon train’s dwindling supplies available, it may well be his death. Maybe it had just been the lightning or his own imagination. Celestia knew as a foal he had had more than one monster under his bed to bug his parents about. Maybe he was just being an ‘idgit and stubborn to boot.
He was a heartbeat from turning back and scarp together what was left of the stew back with the caravan when something caught his eye. He had seen in a flash of lightning that had turned the world monochrome. It had only been for the briefest of seconds; long enough. Braeburn scooped the fabric off the muddy ground and turned it over in his hooves. It was a brown, thick woven fabric that smelled of spices that tingled his nose in a funny way. It wasn’t a bad smell, but certainly no pony in the caravan had dropped it. Something else caught his attention. A patch of rust colored mud along a tear line. His eyes widened; blood. Fresh too. Somepony was out here!
“HELLO?” He yelled out, “ANYPONY?” his eyes darted around, filled with a renewed sense of purpose and panic. A bleeding pony out here at night would be easy prey for the wilderness beasts if the rain and cold didn’t kill them first. His eyes traveled to a slick and obvious trail in the side of the hill, as if a boulder had been knocked loose and tumbled down. More fabric lined the bath, caught on rocks and terrible spiker bushes. Braeburn made his way through the thicket, grimacing as a few razor thorns pricked his skin.
He gasped. A figure laid in a heap the base of the hill. Unmoving and half buried in the mud. Braeburn pushed through the rain and was at their side in a heartbeat. Absently he noticed the fabric he had found earlier matched the cape the pony wore. He stuffed the missing piece into his pocket for later and turned the pony over. It was a mare. And she wasn’t breathing.
Braeburn pawed at the mud caking her nose and mouth, hoping that would be enough. It wasn’t. Without thinking Braeburn pinched the mare’s nose shut and put his mouth on hers. he forced all the air from his lungs into her, then pulled away, breathless.
“Come on now.” Braeburn swore to the howling wind and pressed on her chest. No response. Growing more frustrated and afraid, Braeburn put his lips to hers again. He felt her twitch and sputter. Mud suddenly filled his mouth and he coughed and gagged on it. He spat on the ground as the mare coughed up her own torrent of disgusting mud. She groaned and her head rolled to one side.
“I got ya’.” Braeburn said quickly to the pony and raised her head with his hoof. He wiped away the mud caking her eyes and one flickered open to look at him with a beautiful blue eye. More rain began to beat down on them and Braeburn noticed a trickle of blood flowing from a nasty looking gash on her head. Thinking quickly, Braeburn unwrapped the scarf around his neck and tied it over the wound. The pony in his arms groaned and tried to speak, but she was simply too weak.
“Don’t try to speak.” Braeburn said as kindly as he could manage under the circumstances, “I’mma get you back to the caravan.” Braeburn hoisted the mare onto his back and grunted at the weight. His legs wobbled with his first few steps but he soon found his stride and moved quickly through the downpour.
His legs burned with every step he took but he kept going, ignoring the pain. Apples didn’t quit and they didn’t let folk down. This lost pony may not have asked for help, but it was his responsibility to see her safely to the caravan. He wasn’t aware of any other settler ponies making their ways through the West this season but it didn’t matter. This pony needed his help and he would give his all if that was required.
The lights of the wagon train began to shine and wink in the rain like fireflies on a summer night. Braeburn would have smiled if his breath wasn’t coming to him in ragged gasps. Her drudged through the mud and his legs threatened to collapse as her drew closer.
“Sis!” He screamed when he was close enough to be heard over the rain, “Sis! Anypony?!”
A dozen faces suddenly appeared from under the hoods of covered wagons. They wore thick clothing and their faces were lined with exhaustion. The rain was beginning to take its toll on the caravan.
“Braeburn?” Cobbler peeked her head out of their wagon and her eyes widened, “Sweet Celestia!” she scrambled from the wagon and quickly was at his side. She leaned against him and let the anonymous mare’s weight be shared between them. Braeburn let out a slow, ragged breath as the weight on his back eased.
“What is Celestia’s name happened?” Cobbler asked. She was already breathless. Braeburn would have shrugged, but his body was too tired.
“Dunno.” He said, “Found her face down in the mud.”
“Then we aint got time to waste.” Cobbler said as they pulled the unconscious mare into their wagon. They eased her onto one of their sleeping mats, ignoring the mud that was covering everything. Out on the trail, something as simple as mud in a wagon was too petty to even acknowledge.
“We gotta’ get her warm.” Braeburn said quickly. The mare was shivering. He stripped the cloak from her fur and set it and the mare’s traveling pack in the corner. His sister found a cloth from one of their cases and wiped away some of the mud coating the mare’s face.
“Go get Dr. Roe or Dr. Venture.” Braeburn commanded and his sister scrambled out the wagon, shouting into the storm. Bareburn pulled a woven wool blanket over the shivering mare and delicately wiped some of the mud from her face. She was…beautiful. Her face was slender and thin. In the poor lighting he couldn’t tell if her fur was black or white. It was probably white and just streaked with mud and blood. One blue eye fluttered open and took several moments to focus on him.
“Howdy.” He whispered, “Don’t worry none. Ya’ll safe. We is gonna’ take care of ya’.” The mare opened her mouth to speak but Braeburn put a hoof to her and smiled softly. “Trust me. Ya’ll safe.” The mare nodded once more before passing out.
“What in tarnation?!” A graveled voice suddenly called out. Braeburn turned to see the balding face of Dr. Venture peeking through the wagon’s cover.
“Dr!” Braeburn sighed with relief, “Found her out in the rain. I think she hit her head on a rock too.” The doctor scrambled in and shook off the layer of rain that coated him. Braeburn’s sister Apple Cobbler was a few second beyond them, carrying the doc’s bag in her mouth. The doctor kneeled next to the mare and undid Braeburn’s scarf from around her head. He took a moment to study the mare.
“Give me some light.” He said gruffly. Braeburn pulled the lamp from its hook on the wall and held it close to the mare’s head. He noticed her eyes closing tighter and her face grimaced. She was awake, at least in part.
“Aint bad, but im gonna’ sew her up.” The Doc looked up at Cobbler, “Hoof me one of them packets of needles and thread. And the bottle of rubbing alcohol. Braeburn, get to work on her other cuts. Clean ‘em good and wrap them. Bandages in my bag.”
They set to work quickly and quietly. Braeburn worked gently, cleaning every cut and scrape that he found on the mare’s body. The Doc, with Cobbler watching with a pale face, sewed up the nasty gash on the mare’s head and wrapped it tightly. They had removed much of the mare’s jewelry and set it in a small bag nearby, although if the ragged tears in her ears was anything to go by, many earring had been lost in the wilderness. Braeburn felt pangs of sadness as he worked. This mare had suffered so much and as far as he knew, she was completely innocent. Still he tried not to think too much about why she had been out in a rainstorm this bad. He concentrated on fixing her. He removed a golden bracelet from her hoof and held it to the light. It was richly decorated with strange carving and runes. He could make out shapes that looked like trees and birds, but of types he had never seen before. There were other creatures too. Massive, thick things with flapping ears and long noses. Squat things with a single massive horn. And tall, spindly creatures with unbelievable long necks. His imagination drifted for a moment; the rain became the beautiful rush of a waterfall. Exotic birds cawed in the air. The ground rumbled with a thousand hooves of every shapes and size. Things brayed and hooted but he found himself relaxing. The air smelled of spice and tingled his nose. It was the same spice from the mare’s cloak. A moan from the mare drew his attention back to the cramped, dimly lit wagon and Braeburn felt a brief sense of claustrophobia. He shook it off and put the bracelet in the bag with all the other jewelry.
He took the mare’s hoof in his and gently brushed away the caked mud and blood from a scrape above her ankle. It was then he noticed how swollen the limb was.
“Doc?” He called out, “Look it. I think her ankle is broken too.” Doctor Venture eyes it for a moment through his half-moon glasses and nodded grimly.
“Sure is.” He said and began searching through his bag, “Good thing ya’ll found her when ya’ did. State she’s in, she’d be easy prey for them thunderwolves. Ya’ pappy be proud.” Braeburn smiled at the rare praise and made the most of it.
“Ya’ll did good.” Cobbler said softly, “Sorry fer leavin’ ya”
“Forget it, sis.” He said with a smile, “Ya’ll get to hoof feed me when I’m sick with a cold tomorrow.”
“Oh joy.” Cobbler sighed and they laughed. The doc scooted over to Braeburn with bandages and splints in his hooves.
“Hold her still.” He said softly, “I’mma snap her bone back into place.” Braeburn and Cobbler gripped the mare tightly. Braeburn rested her head in his lap and held her shoulders firm. The mare’s eyes opened briefly and locked with Braeburn’s. The Doc wrenched the ankle to the side and there was a sickening crunch of wet bone sliding. The mare’s eyes widened in pain but she refused to scream. She shook in Braeburn’s arms and a single tear ran down her cheek. Braeburn brushed it away and smiled softly at her. His grip on her shoulder’s tightened. He wasn’t sure, but he could have sworn the mare pressed herself closer to his body. The mare’s blue eye began to waver and close. Braeburn reached out and pulled the blanket a little closer over her, leaving room for the doc to set her ankle. The mare seemed to get the message and closed her eyes fully before falling asleep in his lap.
“That’s all I can do for now.” The Doc said softly. He stood on his old legs and groaned. Cobbler retrieved a bottle of spiced apple whiskey from a case and hoofed it to him. Doctor Venture took a sip and nodded his thanks.
“What should we do?” Cobbler asked softly. She was well aware the mare was resting in his brother’s lap and Braeburn seemed to be stroking her shoulders calmly.
“Watch over her tonight. Keep her warm. Plenty of water.” The Doc collected his tools and wiped his brow, “I’ll be back in the morn. Make sure she gets extra breakfast if she’s up. Recovery is gonna’ be long and hard for this one.”
“What about a fever?” Braeburn asked worriedly. The doc fixed him with a grim, measured stare.
“I’ll see how much medicine Dr. Roe still has.” He left it at that and left. Cobbler returned to her brother’s side and dipped a cloth in a bucket of cool water. She wiped away the coated mud from the mare’s arms and body. She noticed a strange swirling pattern on her flanks and smiled. A cutie mark. That was something at least.
Cobbler’s eyes narrowed and she got the lantern from the hook on the wall. She held it close to the mare and studied. She studied the mare’s sleeping face and traced the lines of dark and light fur down her shoulders. She tried wiping away the dark spots, but it came up clean. That didn’t make sense…unless…
“Sweet Celestia.” Cobbler whispered. Her brother looked up.
“What?” Braeburn asked, his chest tightening. Cobbler looked at him with eyes wide with disbelief.
“She’s a zebra.”
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She was drifting. Her body felt cool and yet warm. Chills ran up her spine, but she was sweating with heat. She felt warm and safe, and yet she was cold and in danger. Her mind couldn’t focus. Her thoughts were lazy and slow. She remember…what? Rain. Lots of rain. And she fell, right? Something like that. Then what? She remembered blinding pain in her leg and her head throbbing so loudly she heard nothing else.
It came to her in glimpse and fragments. She heard a voice in her head. It was deep, soothing and warm. It was a voice she could trust. She smiled at it. She concentrated on it. That voice was the one constant she had left. Even as her mind swam and she felt dizzy to the point of being sick, she focused on that voice. That saving, perfect voice.
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The zebra drifted in and out of a fevered sleep for the next three days. She thrashed in her sleep and groaned in pain when she was awake. She didn’t eat and drank only sparingly, and even then only if it was Braeburn who held the drink for her. The cowpony didn’t leave her side for even a moment. He had left once at the beginning, but Cobbler had screamed for the doctor, worried the fever would kill the zebra.
They had saved her life again, but it was Braeburn’s constant presence that seemed to keep the worst of the sickness at bay. It didn’t really surprise anypony. The zebra was delirious with the fever and she probably only recognized Braeburn.
At the dawn of the fourth day, the caravan set out again. They made for Dodge Junction to resupply before setting off on the final leg of their journey. Braeburn sat in the back of hi wagon, his attention lost in a book. The wagon creaked at is swayed back and forth. The rows of boxes he and his sister had packed all their belongings into shifted slightly, but they were tied to the floor so he ignored it. the now empty lamp clanked at it swayed against the wall and a thin layer of dust kicked in from outside. The earth had dried dramatically in the last few days, becoming more like the chalky dust he had expected. Breaburn turned over a page and sighed. The humidity made it hard to breath and a thin layer of sticky sweat coated his skin.
The zebra next to him groaned and rolled over. Breaburn put the book down and was at her side in an instant. He took the cooling cloth from her forehead and dipped it in the bucket of cool water next to him before replacing it. he was about to return to his book when he noticed a pair of sparkling sapphire eyes studying him.
“Well howdy there, sleepy head.” He said with a tight smile. The zebra’s face cracked in a small grin and she tried to sit up.
“Whoa, whoa there, easy.” Braeburn put a hoof to her shoulder and eased her down again.
“Creaking wood and canvas I see.” The zebra’s voice was whisper soft and tired, but it was amazing. There was an edge to her words, an accent that captured Breaburn’s attention fully, “May I ask where it is I be?”
Braeburn blinked a few times, trying to process the odd way the zebra spoke, “Ya’ll are on a wagon. Part of a settler pony train goin’ West. I found ya’ll in the mud a few days ago. Been here ever since.”
“Then to you I offer my humblest gratitude.” She bowed her head slightly, “Without your rescue I would certainly have been wolf food.”
“Think nothin’ of it, Miss…?”
“Zecora, of the Zebra race.” Braeburn held out his hoof and she looked at it for a moment. She took it gingerly in her good hoof and smiled at him.
“Braeburn Apple.” He said and tipped his hat at her, “Pleasure to meet you Miss Zecora.”
“Please, just Zecora will do me fine.” She said softly. The wagon cover shifted slightly and the sun bled in through the canvas. The rays hit Zecora’s face and she smiled. Breaburn tried not to think of how beautiful she looked with the sun on her fur, “Pleased I am to see the sun has remembered how to shine.”
“Do…do ya’ll…” Breaburn trailed off for a moment, “Do ya’ll always do that? Rhyme?” if he didn’t know better, he would have sworn the zebra blushed slightly.
“Since the day I could speak my words have been on an endless rhyming streak.” She said with a bashful smile. Braeburn smiled in a confused way.
“Sure enough, I ain’t never met a mare like ya’ before Zecora.” He said and this time he was sure she blushed. Then her stomach rumbled loudly and Braeburn gasped, “Where are my manners?! Here I is makin’ small talk while ya’ll must be starvin’ to death!”
“If my bag is still intact…” She pointed to her knapsack in the corner, “Plenty of food I still have packed.”
Breaburn gave her a soft smile and shook his head, “Sorry but ya’ rations were too spoiled by the time they dried. But don’t you fret none. We got plenty of food in the caravan.” Zecora opened her mouth to speak but Breaburn held up a hoof, “And no, you aint payin’ for it and you aint getting’ up to get it either.” Zecroa smiled and gave his a playful pout. Braeburn tried not to think of how cute she looked with that pouty face on and left quickly.
Zecora took a moment to study her surroundings. Her head and ankle throbbed but they were expertly wrapped in bandages and she knew better than to unwrap them to check the injury. All of the cuts the rocks and thorn bushes had given her were healing nicely and many were gone all together. She still felt feverish though and she pulled the thin cotton blanket closer to her as she shivered. The wagon she was in swayed back and forth and she closed her eyes, partly to calm her dizziness and partly to listen to the swaying of the wood. There was an ad-hoc sense of urgency in the way the world swayed, but it was honest. Nothing was trying to hide from her. She felt a little relaxed. The pony Braeburn was right; she was safe for now.
Zecora blushed; Braeburn’s voice was the same from her fever dreams. His voice had been was she heard in her maddened state and used as a focal point. His voice was so calm and measured and sweet. The wagon’s cover moved aside and Zecora startled at the sudden movement. Breaburn climbed in with a bowl of steaming food in one hoof. He was
followed by a second, older pony with thin glasses and a balding mane.
“Zecora, this here is Doc Venture.” Braeburn said and hoofed her the bowl, “He fixed you up.”
“Splinted leg and sown up head.” Zecora said honestly, tapping each of her injuries gently, “Without your ministrations I would surely be dead.” The doctor clicked his tongue and sighed.
“Ah pony feathers…” He groaned, “That blow to the head must have been worse than I thought.” A look of hurt and anger flashed over Zecora’s face. Braeburn quickly held up a hoof.
“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with her noggin, Dr.” He said simply, “Zecora here simply speaks in rhymes. I think it’s the way of her clan. “ She eyed him with an impressed smile.
“Braeburn, such a sleuth.” She turned to the doctor, “Listen to your friend. He speaks the truth.” The doctor groaned and shook his head. He held up a pen and stared into her eyes.
“Follow this with your eyes.” He said and she did. Braeburn held back, eyeing Zecora worriedly. He really hoped she wasn’t hurt badly. Satisfied with her response, Dr. Venture prodded her ankle and head. Zecora winced in pain but kept silent.
“honestly, I think ya’ll gonna be fine.” He said with his rough approximation of a smile, “Stay off that ankle for a spell. It was broken badly.” He turned to Braeburn, “Change her bandages daily and make sure she eats plenty.” He eyed the zebra with a knowing look, “and keep an eye on her. Any pony-zebra-that is dumb enough to go out into a thunderstorm has a knack for gettin’ into trouble. Make sure she doesn’t hurt herself again.”
Zecora gave the doc an evil grin. She felt a small thrill at the idea of adventuring out again. The doctor took a bottle of something from a nearby trunk and left. Zecroa turned her attention to the bowl of steaming vegetables in her hooves. Her stomach growled and she glanced up at Breaburn.
“Vegetable stew.” He shrugged and something like shame crossed his features, “Sorry it isn’t much but it’s hot. We don’t have a lot of supplies now.”
“Please, do not go into a huff.” She spooned some of the steaming broth into her mouth and smiles, “Your hospitality is more than enough.”
Braeburn stood and retrieved a ceramic jug for the corner and poured a generous measure into a small wooden cup. “Here. Some honey water.”
Zecora took the cup and downed it in one gulp. The dry fire at the back of her throat was finally quenched and she sighed happily. The water was cool and sweet and left a pleasant taste on her tongue.
“More?” Breaburn laughed. The zebra held out her cup but her mouth was filled with too many veggies to respond. The cowpony poured another cup and set the jug down next to the zebra. Zecroa devoured the meal quickly. Her body was weak and her stomach angry and she ate and ate to satisfy it. Breaburn sat back and munched on one of the few apples they had left. Most of their last harvest was divided up between baked goods to earn enough money to make the trip and dry seeds for planting when they get to wherever they were going.
“So, what was ya’ll doin’ out in the rainstorm, Zecora?” Braeburn asked. The zebra took a delicate sip from her glass and thought for a moment.
“My life on the savanna was calm and measured. Uncomfortable I was with feeling so leisured.” Zecora spooned another helping of broth into her mouth before continuing, “With pack and cloak I set out to find anything that could get me away from the grind. Many moons I have been traveling too, but nothing have I seen like the horrible monsoon.”
“Ya’ll an adventurer?” Breaburn asked with a smile, “Well don’t that beat all. I’m out here doin’ the same thing, ‘course I brought my sister with my to save us for a not so good living.” Zecora gave him a questioning look, “Oh I ain’t gonna bore you with sad details. She and I needed to start a new life, so we paid our part and signed up for a caravan.”
“Looking after family is something to be proud of, “Zecora said softly, “for your sister you must have much love.”
“Where I come from, folks look out for their kin.” Braeburn said and rested his head against the wall. Zecora watched him for a moment. His jaw was firm and his face handsome. His blonde mane was shaggy but looked smooth and clean. Zecora blushed slightly at how handsome he was and looked away. She had finished her bowl of stew and had all but drunken the entire jug of honey water. Zercora’s eyes started to get heavy and she rested against the mat she was on.
“Go on and get some sleep there.” Braeburn said with a smile. Zecora smiled back pleasantly.
“I’m sure you have obligations that you cannot break, but please be here when I am awake.” Zecora said with a yawn. Braeburn chuckled and quietly walked to her side. He pulled the blanket closer to her and nodded.
“I’ll be here.”
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It took the caravan a full two weeks to reach Dodge Junction. In that time Zecora met Cobbler Apple and the younger Dr. Roe. Although at first the settler ponies had been hesitant of her, life on the range made friendship quick. There wasn’t time for prejudice or even much of anything. Breaburn spent most of his time with the injured zebra. They talked over meals and shared stories. Sometimes Braeburn would read from the adventure books that he had packed in his case. Zecora’s favorite was the story of the pirate ponies on the high seas. Growing up in the savanna Zecora had seen only a few rivers and streams. To hear of ponies living boat their entire lives sent a thrill of excitement through her. She pictured herself as a swash buckling pirate, taking plunder and treasure from other boats. She blushed as she imagined taking Braeburn as her personal prize. The cowpony had shown nothing but patience and respect to her. She had heard it said zebra’s weren’t treated well in Equestria, but Braeburn and Cobbler had shown nothing of that.
In that time, Zecora’s ankle had gotten better and her head was all but healed. She still had to wear a splint on her leg, but with Braeburn’s held she was able to hobble a little. It wasn’t until Braeburn helped her out of the wagon on her tenth day there that she got a sense for how big the caravan was. There were dozens of wagons stretched as far she could see.
Oxen, cows, ponies goats all traveling to a better life just over the horizon.
She met several of the other settles. There was a gruff and naturally unfriendly pony named Silver Star and a kid who fancied himself a roughish bank robber named Billy the Goat. Zecora liked most of them. Though not entirely friendly, they were polite and respectful and those who were in poor moods quickly excused themselves so as not to cause a scene.
Every night, weather permitting, the caravan would stop and start a fire to roast their evening meals. Braeburn explained to her that it was safer for everypony that the caravan circle up at night. There were predators in the wildness, eager to pick off any stragglers.
They told stories over the campfire, and Zecora had been asked to tell her tale. The children of the caravan laughed at her rhyming words while the adults simply accepted it as her way. She was a zebra after all, and that was no different than an ox, goat or even a pony. Out here in the desert they were all equal.
Even as she spoke to the entire camp, Zecora was always aware of Braeburn nearby. She smiled every time she saw him. He had shown her nothing but friendship since the beginning. Having him around calmed her in a way only the savanna rain ever had before. His smile was delicate and careful, as if he was always on edge. Zecora had noticed he kept a close on his sister and her whenever he was around. He was a very caring pony and Zecora found that her heart had started to beat faster whenever he was around.
The days went by slowly, but pleasantly. The foals of the caravan always wanted to visit the mysterious zebra and she was happy to entertain them with stories told by her tribe. Though she enjoyed all the company, she always looked forward to the peace and quiet of just her and Zecora. Apple Cobbler seemed to be a very popular mare in the caravan and Braeburn once told her that his sister was a master card player and was often out earning them some extra bits until they could start a farm.
Zecora sighed happily and let the dry acrid air of the desert sweep into her lungs. It was burning and hot but she had come to enjoy it. It was so different from the sounds and smells from the savanna. She smiled when she realized that this was simply part of her adventure, not a detour from it.
Breaburn finished reading from the book in his hooves and set it down. The zebra at the edge of the wagon turned and Zecora’s face made it obvious she wanted so much more, but the day was fading fast. Braeburn stretched his sore neck and sat next to her. Zecora sipped from her bitter drink; coffee the ponies called it. The taste was awful but she was grateful for the energy it gave her. Over the days and weeks she had grown used to Braeburn’s companionable silence. Though he was more than able of talking her ear off, Zecora got the sense he only did that when he was nervous. That he was capable of sitting in silence with him spoke volumes.
“So, we’ll reach Dodge Junction tomorrow.” He said conversationally, “Any idea what ya’ll do when ya’ get there?”
“I don’t fully know.” She motioned to her ankle, “With a leg like this, I’ll just be moving very slow.”
“Well…ya’ll could stay, right?” Braeburn whispered, “I mean ya’ left ya’ home for adventure. I’d say nearly dying in a rainstorm and ending up in a settler pony caravan is adventure enough.”
“You’re offer is welcomely received.” Zecora said with blush. She had thought about staying for the last few days. Braeburn and his sister were decent folks and she was sure she could find a nice living in whatever town the caravan founded. She glanced out of the corner of her eye at the handsome cowpony next to her. Would it really be so bad? Life on the range, working every day and falling asleep with a deep sense of pride? Part of her longed for that, but another part, a restless part, wanted more.
Braeburn wanted to start a new life for is sister. Zecora wanted to live hers for the first time. She wasn’t ready to settle down yet. She wanted to explore; to go on adventures and make a name for herself. Much as she would like to stay, she knew she would just be in the way. She didn’t have the heart and passion to be a settler pony and it wouldn’t be fair to burden the Apple family any more than she already had.
“I fear if I stayed you’d be nothing but grieved.”
“What? Pony feathers!” Braeburn said with a laugh, “Ya’ll is great company Zecora, make no mistake.”
“But my heart is not here.” Zecora said sadly, “I don’t want my sense of adventure to simply disappear.” Braeburn was silent for a moment.
“I’ll be sad to see you leave.” He said softly and Zecora blushed. She leaned against him and sighed at his warmth. It felt strangely right to be this close to him.
“As I will but my spirit has an urge to fly.”
“Life on the range will get pretty boring.” Braeburn laughed and Zecora smiled at him.
“Braeburn, you have much more patience than I.” She said and touched his hoof, “But I still want to see a hundred different skies.”
“Sounds like a hell of an adventure.” Braeburn said with a laughed. Zecora became aware how close their faces were. Braeburn gulped and scratched the back of his head.
“Seeing’s how this is your last night with the caravan, I want you to have something.” He took the book he had been reading and hoofed it to her. Zecora touched the worn leather cover gingerly and looked up at him.
“But this book brings you so much bliss.” She tried to hoof it back, “ I…I cannot accept this.”
“From me.” Braeburn said softly, “So you don’t forget your time here.”
“Ha!” Zercora laughed and shook her head, “You’ve done so much for me and I hate there is no way I can repay.”
“Aw, shot Zecora, meetin’ you was the best thing that’s happened this trip.” Braeburn laughed. The two locked eyes and Zecora smiled knowingly at him. He was so close to her that her mind felt muddled. All these days being in this small wagon with him had caused unknown feelings to stir within her. There was something about this stallion that was truly unforgettable. Braeburn reached into one of the sacks of food and fished something out.
“Here” He said and handed it to her, “Don’t go tellin’ Cobbler I gave ya’ this.”
“What is it?” Zecora asked curiously. It was small and wrapped in paper.
“Chocolate.” Braeburn said with a smile, “ I was savin’ this last bar for a special occasion and this seems like the right time.” Zecora tore a small corner from paper and snapped off a piece. She sniffed it carefully and popped it in her mouth. Her eyes widened. It was rich, creamy and delicious. It was like nothing she had ever tasted before. Braeburn laughed at her reaction.
“That good huh?” He said with a grin.
“I’ve never had such flavor!” She said with a grin, “You were right to think this was something worth to savor.” She unwrapped some more and broke off a chunk. She held it out to Braeburn and he smiled. He sat next to her and munched on the piece. He closed his eyes and let the piece melt in his mouth. Zecora, on the other hoof, tore into the remaining bar like a foal. It was gone in seconds and she sighed happily. That was amazing.
“Uh, Zecora?” Braeburn chuckled, “Ya’ll have food on ya’ face.”
“This was such a delicious feast, but I apologize if I ate like such a beast.” She said and tried to wipe the smear away. Braeburn chuckled and took her chin in his hoof.
“Let me.” He whispered and gently brushed her cheek. Zecora sighed and leaned into his hoof. It was so warm and comforting. She put her unbroken hoof on his and smiled at him. Their eyes locked and Braeburn’s hoof cupped the back of her head to pull her the final few inches.
Their lips met in a blissful display of pent up tension. Zecora pushed her tongue into his mouth, tasting the lingering chocolate there. Braeburn groaned into her mouth and pulled her closer. Zecora pressed herself against him and sighed into him. His lips were dry and rough, but there were everything she imagined they would be. For his part, Braeburn tasted that tingling spice on her lips and loved it. She was so exotic…so other. Zecora let herself fall to the make-shift bed she had been using and Braeburn fell with her.
“Lie with me here this last night.” Zecora whispered to his ear, “Please, before I must leave your sight.”
“I…are sure?” Braeburn whispered between furious kisses, “I won’t be able to forget you if we do this.”
“Remembrance is the key.” Zecora said with a smile, “These feelings we have are shared, we agree. Do this so you always remember me.” That was enough for Braeburn. His desire for the exotic zebra took over and he captured her lips in a burning kiss. He pressed his body tight against her. Zecora moaned his name and wrapped her good arm around him. Their tongues danced in a hesitant way, neither really knowing what they were doing but unable to stop. Zecroa tried to undo Braeburn’s vest with one hoof, but she groaned when she couldn’t. Braeburn smiled into her lips and undid the vest himself. Zecora took the hat from his head and flung it to the side.
“Braeburn? Zecora?” A voice suddenly called out. The two broke away suddenly as a face brushed away the wagon canvas. Apple Cobbler peeked through and gasped. “Sweet Celestia!”
“Cobbler?!” Braeburn gasped. Zecora hid her face in his firm chest. Her face burned with embarrassment. She had never tried seducing a man before and it had been going so well to. Braeburn was the perfect stallion to be her first mate. She tried not to glare at Cobbler.
“I uh…that is we…” Braeburn stuttered and his sister broke out into loud guffaws.
“Oh hoo hoo nelly, I am never letting you two live this down.” She said with a evil grin, “Now before ya’ll go any further, come eat with the camp, otherwise every pony will know it’s just the two of you in here together.”
Braeburn and Zecora gave a collective sigh and the zebra let herself melt into the earth pony’s embrace. Cobbler left laughing and the two looked at one another
“And now that my lust has been bereft, I find my appetite has all but left.” Zecora sighed. Braeburn laughed and kissed the top of her head.
“Then how about ya’ll come keep me company?” He asked, “I’m sure I could use a zebra by my side tonight.” Zecora smiled.
“Such an offer I cannot refuse.” She blushed, “Best to get there quick so Cobbler cannot spread her news.”
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The following morning the caravan pulled into Dodge Junction. The entire town was alight with activity. Celestia had approved several new warrants of travel for settling companies and the race was one to settle the West and garner the princess’s approval. A dozen different caravans, some with the same desitnation, others bound for distant lands, packed the small trade town.
Ponies and animals of a dozen races kicked up great clouds of dust as they traded. Mole diggers traded their skills and tools to would-be gold miners. Oxen offered themselves as carrying beasts for high prices. Ponies from every edge of Equestria gathered to trade and travel. Some traded raw materials or food stuffs. Some acted as guides, both sensible and fraudulent. Others decided to stay in the town and open their own stores. The Cherry family was trying to but a plot of land to start a farm and bakery in the small town.
Zecora walked hoof-in-hoof with Braeburn through the small town. She enjoyed all the sights and sounds. It was so much different than the savanna. Back home, patience was the name of the game. A zebra could go hours without seeing anything come through the brush. Here, there were hundreds of different ponies and animals going about their frantic business. Braeburn’s hoof tightened on Zecora’s and she leaned closer to him. She hobbled on her bad leg and used the cowpony to support her. She had her traveling cloak on and her knapsack was slung over her back. Braeburn’s book was tucked safely away and the Apples had given her once last priceless gift by fully resupplying her at the corner store. Zecora felt a sense of gratitude towards the cowpony that she knew she could never repay.
They arrived at the train station a few minutes later and Braeburn sat the zebra down on a bench and quickly went to get her a ticket. She had no idea where she was really. None of the towns on the destination list would be familiar to her, but she trusted Braeburn implicitly. He would never send her someplace dangerous. If anything, he would send her someplace safe and she would have to find her own danger. Zecora grinned as the thrill for adventure began to burn in her breast.
“Zecora?” Braeburn returned a few minutes later and sat down next to her. He had a hoof full of paper with him
“This ticket will get ya’ to Bitter Springs.” Braeburn hoofed her the bundle of paper, “Form there this other ticket will take you to Ponyville. There’s good folk there and it’s near Canterlot. I reckon ya’ll could go anywhere from there.”
“Words alone cannot express my gratitude.” Zecora smiled at him, “You’ve had nothing but the most generous attitude.”
“Ya’ll is special, Zecora.” Braeburn whispered, “I just wish ya’ll the best.”
“Many things I have left to do, but know Braeburn I will always remember you.” She said and put her hoof on his. They smiled at each other and he helped her stand. Zecora leaned against him, sighing at his familiar warmth. She felt pangs of guilt and loss at the idea of leaving, but her spirit was restless. Maybe when she had calmed down and her travels were over she would return. She nodded to herself. She would return when she could offer Braeburn the type of fillyfriend he deserved and needed.
They reached her train.
Train 8 to Bitter Springs. Zecora felt her heart beating fast in her chest. She was excited and filled with dread at the same time. The weeks she had spent with the cowpony had been so happy and carefree it would be hard to leave it behind. Braeburn seemed to sense her thoughts and kissed her cheek.
“Do ya’ think ya’ll gonna come back?” Braeburn whispered softly. Zecora looked up into his eyes with a sad smile.
“Many things there still are for me to see and do.” She whispered back, “but I want nothing more than to come back to be with you.”
“Ya’…ya’ could stay.” Braeburn said and Zecora knew he was serious, “I mean I’m just a settler pony but life on the range can be full of adventure.”
“You have a sister and a town to found.” Zecora tried to keep the sadness from her voice, “Your responsibilities I have no wish to compound.” Braeburn opened his mouth to protest but Zecora kissed him instead. The lips melded together and it was just as sweet and amazing as the first time. Somehow she still tasted like spices and Braeburn felt his blood rush. When she pulled away, Zecora embraced him.
“Soon your life will be filled with stress.” She said and stroked his cheek, “Without a marefriend for you to obsess is the only way to reach success.”
“How will you know where I’ll be? How will you find me?” He asked. He tried not to worry and to tell himself it was a simple crush, nothing more. But the thought was weak in his mind.
“The heart is a strange and wonderful thing; I believe the spirits want mine to sing.” She touched her chest then touched his, “Worry not my wonderful cowpony. I’ll be back before you even get lonely.”
“I dunno.” He said with a grin, “It’ll get lonely awfully fast out on the trail.” Zecora smiled and blushed slightly.
“That is good news to my ears. Won’t be long before I’m out on the frontier.” The train whistle blew loudly and the conduct called out.
“All aboard!” Braeburn looked over at him then back to the zebra and tried to hide the tears brimming in his eyes. Zecora brushed them away and shook her head.
“No tears my friend; this is not our end.” Zecora fought to keep her own from spilling.
“I hope you find what you’re looking for, Zecora.” Braeburn said distantly. He stepped back and tipped his hat to her. Zecora slung the pack over her shoulder and turned to board the train. She stopped and looked back at him.
“I did.” She said and left.
Breaburn saw her briefly through the window of the train car before the whistle gave one final, somber blow and the train began to move. Braeburn removed his hat as the train pulled from the station. He was about to turn back when the back door to the train opened and Zecora stepped out. Braeburn was about to call to her when she let something go into the wind. Their eyes locked and he nodded at her with a weak, but happy smile. Zecora turned and the door closed behind her.
Braeburn caught the fabric as it blew in the wind and smiled at it. it was the piece of her cloak that he had found in the thunderstorm all those weeks ago. He had assumed she would sew it back to her cloak, but apparently she had kept it separate. Braeburn tucked it into his vest. Not it was his keepsake. His reminder.
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What do you think? Worth continuing?
By the way, writing in rhymes is really hard. Seriously this chapter almost had me in tears so any advice and I’m all ears.
Let me know.
Zecora’s eyes opened.
The sun shone brightly through the crystal clear window, warming the zebra’s face and pulling a contented moan from her lips. She rolled over, embracing the endless comfort of her blanket and pillow. This is what she imagined it was like to sleep on a cloud. The blankets were of the finest quality, woven and unbearable comfortable. She found herself sinking into her mattress, all too happy with the idea. She was on a bed. A very nice, comfortable bed. Inside a warm room. She looked around, taking it all in. There was a red floor rug, and two separate dressers. A window on the far end of the room was ajar, allowing for a comfortable Fall day breeze to flow in. She could hear birds, and there was the unmistakable salty smell of the ocean.
Then the sounds of laughter brought her from her sleepy haze and she turned back to the window. Outside a chestnut brown stallion was throwing a ball with a giggling and prancing little filly. Zecroa smiled to herself and got out of bed, determined to join them. She took a moment to brush and braid her mane and tail, and hung golden rings from her body. Zecora left the room through a plain wooden door and found herself in a hallway. She opened the first door she saw and found another, smaller bedroom. This one was obviously for a child. Toys, dolls, and stuffed animals littered the floor. But there were also books, and a harpsichord sat in the corner. Zecora picked up one of the books. It was a child’s primer guide to chemistry. She opened it and found that several chapters had already been completed. In messy, large handwriting it had to be said, but completed none the less. She took a moment to look it over, finding to her delight whatever child did this had a knack for science and learning. Zecora set the book down and left the room, closing the door gently. The next two rooms were a washroom, with a deep bathtub, and a hall closet. Zecora noticed three pairs of winter clothing and boots, as well as some other household supplies.
At the end of the hallway she found a wooden staircase, leading to a lower floor. Slowly, she walked down and found what could only be the front door. In a side room, Zecora found a living room with a dull fire burning in a stone fireplace. On a mantle above it, she saw various tribal masks from her homeland. And next to it, a picture frame. Zecora studied it closely. It was her, and a handsome blond stallion in a cowpony hat. They were embracing and gazing lovingly into each other’s eyes. In the picture, Zecora was wearing the traditional wrappings and jewelry of her tribe’s maidens, her face lined with white and black paint and the man had on a fancy dress tunic. She could only guess it was their wedding day. It was then Zecora noticed the entire house was decorated like a hut from her distant homeland, although perhaps a bit more modern and ostentatious.
Zecora set the picture down, and walked to the front door. She opened it to a sight that took her breath away. She was on a cliff, high above the shore, overlooking a vast blue ocean. It was a clear, bright day. In the distance she saw an expanding acres of fruit trees, mostly apple but she could make out others. And yet it felt so open. Like she could run around and gallop and be free. Further away stood a marvelous, deep and dark looking forest. She grinned; it looked like the perfect place to have adventures, find mystical artifacts and conquer ancient evils. She took in a few lung-fulls of the rich, scented air; salt water, apples and a hint of spice that reminded her of home. No, she thought, this was her home. This was where the ancestors had chosen for her to be.
She knew it in her bones.
Zecora noticed two figures in the distance, coming closer. Thinking quickly she trotted over to the kitchen, finding it stocked with everything an alchemist would ever need. She moved quickly, picking berries, nuts and leafy greens and washing them in a wood bowl. She sprinkled just a hint of seasoning and balanced a tray of the salad on her head as she walked outside.
The sun was even hotter and she radiated in its warm glow. The stallion and filly stopped playing, glancing up at her with dazzling smiles. His smile was breath taking and it warmed her body more than the sun ever could. His shaggy blond mane flowed in the wind and his green eyes blazed with life. But it was the filly that drew her undivided attention. Her fur was a stripped masterpiece of dark brown and grey, accentuated by an onyx black mane and emerald eyes. She wore rings of silver on her ears and legs, and her hair was braided in the traditional savanna tribe way.
“Mommy!” She called out and charged forward to give Zecora a hug. The zebra set her tray of food down and embraced the little filly tightly. She loved this little filly with all her heart; she knew it instinctively.
“Well look whose finally up.” The stallion said with a grin and gave her a chaste kiss, “Mornin’ sleepy head.”
“Playing catch for so long, to feed yourself you must no prolong.” She motioned to the plate of nuts, berries and greens.
The filly dove right in, smiling and chomping away. The stallion put his arm around Zecora’s neck and she glanced up before he pulled her into a full, passionate kiss. Time drifted away for a moment and she sighed into his mouth. The kiss lasted only a few brief seconds, but the tongue he brushed just over hers let the zebra know he was far from finished with her.
“You get enough sleep?” He whispered as they nuzzled softly.
“Plenty but to my dismay, when I awoke I found my husband had gone astray.” She whispered back, earning a chuckle from his lips. They held each other close for a moment, watching their daughter eating, oblivious to everything but her meal.
Zecora took a moment to savor the feeling in her heart and soul, to relish it for what it was. Content-ness. Pure, unadulterated happiness. A sense of joy and belonging she never thought possible. She had a home in a land she could explore to her heart’s content, and a husband who worked hard and provided well. And her daughter. Her perfect, beautiful daughter with her shaggy black mane and the sparkling silver jewelry she wore.
Then a sound pulled her from her bliss. The deep rumble of thunder, echoing off the cliff face. She glance up, noticing thick grey storm clouds coming inland from the sea. She grimaced, noticing a sudden drop in the temperature as a brisk breeze rushed by.
“Aw nuts and shoes!” The filly swore as she too heard the storm approaching.
“Language, little one.” Zecroa chided gently, “Nature is not something to be cursed and shunned. The clouds wish to rain, so being outside we should no remain.”
“Come on Apple Spice, bet if ya’ ask real nice, ya’ mama tell ya’ more stories of her travels.” The little filly looked from her dad to her mother, eyes wide with delight.
“Will you? Please? Pretty please! I’ll do all my chores!” Apple Spice suddenly squealed. Zecora laughed and took her daughter into her arms, letting her rest there.
“No need to be so enticing, little Spiceling.” Zecora said and kiss her on the forehead, “To spend time with my family is all the reason I need.”
Her husband led them inside even as Apple Spice began to bombard Zecora with question she had asked a thousand times beforehand. Zecora paused in the doorway, glancing one last time at the dark clouds moving ever closer. The wind picked up; lightning flashed and she gasped, suddenly out of breath…
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Her eyes snapped open, breath hiking in her chest. Zecora sat in the very last seat in the final car of the train as it powered through the night. Her friend Braeburn had bought her a second class ticket, so she should have had a nice spot in a communal cabin, but the nasty looks from earth ponies had unnerved her. Twice when the train had gone through a tunnel and the cabin had gone dark, a little filly had screamed that the zebra had cursed the sun. It was too much for Zecora and she had stormed out and found the most isolated spot she could.
Already she was wondering if she had made the right choice leaving Braeburn. Not two days outside the caravan and she was already feeling a bit homesick. It was strange; she had spent maybe a month with Braeburn and his sister and already she was thinking of them as home rather than the savanna tribes she grew up with. A small smile parted the zebra’s lips as she imagined her handsome stallion friend and his painfully kissable lips.
She tried not to thinking about him, but it was impossible. In her hours of self-enforced exile, she was alone with only her thoughts. She fantasized about Braeburn throwing caution to the wind and going with her, or chasing after her to drag her with the caravan. Part of Zecora bristled at the idea, the other part felt seriously aroused at the idea of Braeburn being so…demanding. Oh why did that sister of his have to interrupt them?!
A bitter thought entered the Zebra’s mind and she scowled. Would she have been so eager to leave if she had mated with him? Would she have even wanted to? Was she even eager to leave now? She had known Braeburn for what? A month and a half, and yet it felt like years. She felt lonely without him.
The door to the car opened and the nightshift conductor came through, “Last Stop, Bitter Springs.” He turned and glared into the darkness he knew housed the zebra, “You better be leaving to. We don’t allow homeless to sleep here.”
“Have no fear my pony friend. When this train stops, I fully intend to disappear.” She said bitterly, but with her accent she
wasn’t sure he heard the reproach in her voice. The conductor fixed her with a distrustful glare.
“Don’t go stealing anything either.” He said and left quickly. Was there a hint of fear in his eyes? Zecora smiled for a moment, and then frowned. She had found a place where she could have been judged on her merit, not her race. She had found a pony that genuinely cared for her. And she had left without it all behind. Suddenly the train car felt cramped and she need to run. To be free. She looked around, trying to calm her racing heart and pretending not to hear the braying of animals from her savanna homeland.
The train lurched and she was on her hooves as soon as it stopped. Her only baggage was the travel pack she had brought from home, freely restocked by Braeburn and his sister before she had left. Zecora hefted the bag onto her shoulder. For a moment she wondered if this was the heaviest the bag had ever been? Had Braeburn given her more supplies and food than even her own tribe? Than her own father? Zecora told herself it wasn’t so.
She left the train out the rear exit, unwilling to pass the ponies she had traveled with. It was late and the Alicorn princess’s sun had already set. The air was chilled but it lent energy to her limbs. Zecora took a deep breath and made a face. The air was dust and sour, with an unnatural acrid taste. It was nothing like the clean, crisp air of the savanna after a rain.
Zecora hoped down from the train and adjusted the traveling cloak over her head. She hoped that late and night and in poor lighting she could rent a room without any lodge owners noticing her race. She made her way quickly through the cobblestone streets. The town, Bitter Springs, was as grimy and unpleasant as its name suggested. The shapes of tall buildings loomed in the shadow of night, somehow menacing. A few street lamps swayed on rusted chains, leaving an ever shifting array of islands of light in the darkness. Even the sky seemed muted, as unclear as oil through the haze of industry from the smoke stacks that dotted the far corners of the town. If this was pony civilization, then she had made a grave mistake leaving the savanna. Nothing had lift here. It was all industrial steel and wood, dirty signs and pale light. This was no place for a wild spirit like her.
Why had Braeburn sent her here? But even as a kernel of anger at her friend began to build, she knew it was unfair. This was only a way station. She had a second train to catch in the morning, to a place he promised her was filled with decent folk. Ponyville. She trusted his judgment, even if this little stop left a lot to be desired.
Zecora walked the streets for a few minutes, squinting in the darkness to see any signs for lodging. She heard a few hoofsteps behind her and glanced over her shoulder, but saw only darkness. Briefly she wondered if something moved, like black shifting on black, but dismissed it. She was just nervous and a little anxious.
The sky gave a hard bark of thunder and she flinched, glancing up as an arc of lightning stretched across the black sky. She scowled, remembering the last time it had rained. A sympathetic pain, like an echo, ran up her leg and she rested on her other three, suddenly feeling self-conscious about her injury. Had she left Braeburn’s care too early? Surely she could have stayed a few extra weeks…or perhaps a little longer...just to be on the safe side.
After what felt like hours, but couldn’t have been more than thirty minutes, Zecora found a hotel. Thankfully she had found it before the rain had begun to fall. She pushed open the glass door, startling at the bell above it. She guessed it was to alert the owners because in only a few heartbeats, an older stallion came out.
“Well, glad ya’ made it in before the storm, aren’t ya’?” He said as pulled out an old looking book and quill.
“Most glad indeed. Of a place to sleep, I am in great need.” She said, trying her best to hide her accent. The old man looked at her quizzically and right before she took the quill from his hooves, he pulled it back and shut the book. The clock went on ticking, measuring the painfully silent seconds when he just stared at her.
“Lemme’ see your face, stranger.” He said none too kindly.
“Please sir, I am just a simple traveler. Lodging is all I require, there is no need for you to enquire. “Her heart fell at the glare the old pony was giving her.
“Take off yer’ hood, missy.” He said through his teeth. Zecora sighed, heart hitting rock bottom and did as the older pony asked. For a moment he just stared, one eye wide in shock and something akin to horror, the other wondering lazily through the room. Zecora held her breath and shied away from him, turning her head in shame.
“We don’t serve yer’ kind here.” The crusty pony said with a growl, “Ain’t nothin’ but thieves and vagabonds, the lot of ya’ stripies!” Zecora hissed in a breath at the racial slur and narrowed her eyes. She felt the tinges of tears in her eyes but turned to fully face him and stood taller, unwilling to hide who she was.
“I am Zecora of the zebra race, but my culture I do not expect you to embrace.” She reached into her traveling bag, noticing the older pony backing away in sudden fear. Where these ponies really so ignortant and afraid? She pulled out her small coin purse and put a handful of bits on the counter. “ My coins are as good as any; see here, nothing to fear, it is just a penny.” She tried to scoot the coins forward, but the old pony shook his head.
“Keep yer’ curses and tribe speaking to yer’ self, ya’ hear?” He shouted and pointed out the window. It was pitch black out, save for the occasional flash of lightning, “Now go on! Git, ‘efore I call Sheriff Strong-Arm!”
Zecroa looked at him hard for a moment and swiped her money back into her bag and turning on her heel. Tears prickled her eyes but she refused to let the son of a mule see her like this. She stormed out, slamming the glass door behind her, hoping in her anger to break it. No such luck though. Instead she glanced up into a sky filled with rain and lightning.
The cold drops hammered her face, mixing with her tears she now freely let fall. Thunder rumbled through the streets and she glanced around, seeing only darkness. The wind had blown out the street lamps, leaving only shades of darkness. Zecora pulled up her hood, fighting the shakes in her body that she swore was from the cold, and not her sobbing.
She walked into the night, cursing herself for ever leaving Braeburn’s side.
0000000
He had to get to her, had to save her. He ran as fast and as hard as his body would allow, and then he pushed himself to go even faster. His legs trembled, his muscles ached, his breath was ragged and deep and his heart beat so hard he was sure he would burst.
Braeburn didn’t care. He could die of heart failure, so long as he saved…her.
She was screaming. He just knew it. He heard it in the howling winds, like the terrible scream of a banshee. She was in so much pain. She needed him. Her figure was just on the horizon.
Always just on the horizon.
No matter how hard and far he ran, she was always just on the horizon. She was calling to him, begging, pleading for him to save her. Like he did that night so long ago. That night she came into his life and everything changed. The world had seemed brighter, food tasted better and even the littlest thing was so amazing. She had shown him all that. She had shown him his life, only viewed through her eyes. He would never forget her. Even if he had to save her every single day, over and over again, it would be paradise just to see her beautiful blue eyes and hear her wonderful voice.
If only he could get to her.
Braeburn ran as if the hounds of Tartarus were chasing him, as if his entire life depended on getting to her. And as far as he was concerned, it did. What was the point of living a long life if she wasn’t there? How could there be any wonder or excitement in his life if she didn’t bring it? Braeburn gritted his teeth and pushed his legs to faster.
The wind kicked up, biting into this skin with its icy teeth. Braebrun stumbled, his front legs giving out under him and he tumbled, end over end, through the air. He landed with a bone-jarring crunch of skin tearing on rocks and bones snapping. He felt the pain flood his body in an unrelenting wave. He screamed as his life blood seeped from numerous fatal gashes across his neck and legs. But he refused to die; refused to let her down. He stood, the shards of his broken ribs cutting his lungs and filling his mouth with blood. He took several steps, his teeth clenched. He would not…could not let her suffer.
His body failed. Braeburn collapsed, his lungs unable to supply his body with the oxygen it needed. He could see her now, just a few feet away. She was hurt, crying. She needed him. Her stripped fur was caked with blood and mud and she wept openly into her hooves. That scent of spices that always followed her filled his nostrils and for one brief moment he felt he had the strength to carry on. He tried to crawl, but his limbs were numb; gone. He would never use them again. She looked up as she heard his labored breaths. Their eyes met; his sky blue to her jungle green.
“I’m sorry.” He breathed as the last of his blood seeped into the ground.
0000000
“Zecora!” Braeburn awoke with a scream, the name dying in the cold air of the night. His heart hammered in his chest and he was drenched in an ice cold sweat. He glanced around quickly, panic momentarily robbing him of his awareness. Seconds ticketed by and he slowly came to the realization where he was. He was in his tent on the outskirts of the Lucky Strike Gold Mine. Braeburn sighed and fell back onto his cold bedroll. He rolled over and pulled the cheap coarse blanket tighter over his body. For an instant he imagined he could still smell her spicy scent and he smiled. It had been just three weeks since Zecora the zebra had left his life, and despite the promises they made to one another, he had a sinking feeling they would never meet again.
He glanced around, offering silent thanks to Celestia that his dream hadn’t woken up his sister. She was curled up in her sleeping bag next to his. Her mane was ragged and thick with grime and dirt, and her features looked exhausted even in sleep. Braeburn felt a swell of pride in his chest. Apple Cobbler had worked tirelessly alongside her older brother for weeks now. Braeburn was just as exhausted as he knew she was, but the work was a good, even if it didn’t pay what he wanted.
Glancing out his tent, Braeburn saw the sky was the dull blue of early dawn and decided there was no point in going back to sleep. With a groan and a wince from the pain in his strained legs, Braeburn staggered out of his tent into the chilled air of the desert. He took a deep breath, letting the cold air settle in his lungs and shock him awake. The air reeked of sweat, oil and other less wholesome odors. But one in particular stuck out and made his mouth water.
The camp he lived in was an odorous backwater shanty village, situated on the base of a mountain in the North Western corner of Equestria. The mountain, the Fools Gold Peak, was the largest known deposit of gold in the mainland. But it was also the most dangerous. For generations ponies had tried to mine the mountain dry, with incredibly varying degrees of success. The rumor mill was Celestia herself had to sign the mining permits; such was the danger of mining here. The mountain range, the Mammoth Mountains, were infamous for their wild creatures and monsters. Timber Wolves, Thunder Wolves, mountain trolls and other more unnatural things haunted the peaks. Not that claws and teeth were the only threats ponies faced. The mountains themselves seemed to hold a grudge and a pony was as likely to die from landslides and earthquakes as they were at the fangs of wolves.
The expedition Braeburn and Cobbler had signed up with had claimed they cared about the safety of their workers more than anything. Two days at the campsite proved otherwise. Already three goat surveyor teams and two ponies had gone missing. Security had been beefed up, but Braeburn doubted it would do much good. The stern faced bulls and stallions that patrolled the camp looked menacing, but against a timber wolf he doubted they would be much good. Still, it was better than letting the camp being picked apart every night. As he walked, Braeburn tried not to notice the draggled state the camp was in. necessities were kept to a bare minimum, with food and drink being the only available resources. Tents hung from loose poles and dripped dirty rain water from the miserable day before.
He passed a larger tent, seeing a dead-tired pony peak his head out and nod grimly at him. Briefly Braeburn caught a glance inside at a mare kneeling over the body of a little filly, who looked anything but peaceful as she slept. Rumor was little Gentle Breeze had been bitten by a rattler and her family had no money for medicine. It wasn’t likely she’d live to next week. Braeburn would have happily donated supplies or bought medication himself, but he and his sister were dead broke. The only thing he could do was offer the filly’s depressed father a knowing nod.
Further down the line he caught sight of a team of goats preparing for another mountain climb to survey the ranges. There were twice as many as needed; almost eight fully prepared and grim faced goats. Doubtless management figured larger groups would keep predators at bay. Braeburn hoped that was true and that they weren’t just offering the Thunder Wolves a larger meal. He passed Gospel Choir, the resent preacher and bowed his head. Though not a believer himself, he knew his sister was and that some ponies needed to believe in the Maker to get through the day. He didn’t begrudge his sister her beliefs.
The scent he had picked up from his tent now assaulted his nose with its mouthwatering aroma. Old Man Trots had already begun making breakfast for the camp workers before the sun went up. The days the miners put in were horrifically long and management hated wasting time by letting them eat, but laws were laws. They were entitled to two paid for meals a day and a chance to purchase a third. Though not the first one up, the other ponies who were already eating kept to themselves, whispering and mumbling to avoid being heard.
“Howdy, Trots.” Braeburn said with as much forced joy as he could manage given the circumstances. The older pony glared at him for a moment, then sighed, as if too sleepy to get angry at the young pony’s enthusiasm.
“Mornin’ to ya, Braeburn.” He said and spooned a helping of a brown mush into a bowl; mostly ground beats and turnips made to go a long way, but it made the cowpony’s mouth water and stomach grumble. He took the offered food gratefully and sat a distance away from the other mining ponies.
Braeburn stared into his meal for a long time, watching the steam rise and fade in the morning air. The images of his dreams floated into his mind. Zecora had been so scared, so sad. What had it meant? Surely she would have gotten to Ponyville by now, and if he knew cousin Applejack, his zebra was in store for one hell of a welcome. He tried to push his worries away, but they niggled at his mind, like an itch he couldn’t scratch.
He missed Zecora. He knew he would the second she left. Braeburn understood why she had left; she was like him, a spirit of adventure. The only difference he had a sister to look after, so his adventures had to come through. He had to earn a decent paycheck. A swirl of excitement swelled in him. Once they were done with this mining expedition in a few months’ time, they’ll collect their earning and catch the next caravan to the frontier. Hopefully by then Zecora would have had her fill of adventure, maybe have a few stories to tell, and when he eventually wrote to AJ, she could let the zebra know where he was. Braeburn hoped that Zecora wouldn’t be annoyed he had sent her to a town he knew she would be safe at, and more importantly, a place he could contact her at.
A second pony suddenly appeared next to him, startling the cowpony and drawing him out of his thoughts about a certain zebra.
“Howdy sis.” He said by way of greeting to Apple Cobbler, whose muzzle was half in her own bowl of food. She glanced up briefly, eyes responding briefly before turning back to her meal. Braeburn spooned some of the tasteless paste into his mouth, trying not to make a face. What he wouldn’t give for a dash of salt. He wondered briefly if Zecora could cook…
Braeburn shook his head. He was crushing on the zebra, sure, but he had to keep a clear head. He was on a dangerous job and Zecora was nowhere nearby. Obsessing over her would just lead to trouble.
“Heard ya’ dreamin’ last night.” Cobbler almost whispered and Braeburn sighed, cursing under his breath, “Heard ya’ mention that zebra’s name again.”
“Just a dream, sis.” He shot her a glare, both of them knowing full well she had interrupted his moment with Zecora a few days back.
“Why don’t ya’ go after her?” She asked, “Plain as can be that ya’ like her.”
“Ain’t gonna deny that part, Cobbler, but I gots a responsibility.” He said softly, “I promised pa I’d build you a better home than he ever could. I aims to keep my promise.”
“This aint ‘bout me, this is ‘bout you.” Cobbler said fiercely, “We been traveling West for years now and we aint no closer to buildin’ a home than when we set out. Maybe it’s time to pack our things and head a different direction. Ya’ll got Zecora a ticket to Ponyville, right? We could go visit Applejack and give her some help on the farm for the summer. That way ya’ little fillyfriend and ya’ can have all the time in the hayloft that ya’ wants.”
A moment passed as he considered it. It did sound like a small piece of paradise, but he shook his head, ever prideful.
“No, not yet. We can stick with the mining expedition for a few months, get back on our hooves and really make a name for ourselves. It aint right that our family is always the poorest of the Apples. I won’t have us turnin’ into charity cases.”
“It ain’t charity, its family!” Cobbler snapped back but sighed, knowing how stubborn her brother was. That pony would literally work himself to death before he accepted a helping hoof from anypony. It was how they had been raised by just their dad; self-reliant, proud and hard working.
“Maybe.” He conceded, “Once we get our paychecks from management ,we’ll talk more ‘bout it.”
“Heard from one of the cows last night that they lost another survey team up in them mountains.” Cobbler motioned to the peaks looming in the distance and shuddered, “Second this week. This place aint natural, Braeburn, I can feels it in ma’ bones.”
“It’s dangerous, I’ll give you that.” Braeburn said with a nod, “Soon as we get paid we’ll be like ghosts.”
“Here’s hoping we don’t end up one before hoof.” Apple Cobbler snarked at him. Braeburn gave her a look and shook his head.
Most of the camp had begun to wake up, and slowly the ponies walked over to the cooking tent, either one at a time or in small groups. Braeburn glanced around, suddenly feeling a loss of appetite. The grim, hopeless looks the other ponies wore was simply too depressing to be around. Not a week ago he had thought he found the pony-err zebra- of his dreams and maybe, just maybe, a way to a happy life. Now he was in this runny, raining and cold shanty town, wondering if he would die today.
“Here.” Braeburn pushed his meal over to Cobbler, “Ya’ worked hard yesterday. Gotta’ keep up ya’ strength.” Cobbler was about to question him, he stood and walked away, determined to be alone with his thoughts before the work shift started.
When he was out of the sight of the others, Braeburn reached into his vest pocket and found a small fold of cloth. It was of cheap, woven type but it smelled of spices and an exotic life. It smelled like her. Braeburn touched it briefly before sighing deeply and walking back to his tent. He cursed himself for letting Zecora leave his side.
It was going to be a long day.
