Ar-thun Chlew-ad
"Sometimes you just have to bow to the absurd."
I vomited again.
Grass…it was grass. No, the ground was hard. Earthy. I was outside. Frogs and owls started calling. It was cold.
What the hell just happened? Only a few moments ago... I had been sitting at my desk with my LED lamp illuminating a 1:1400 model of the USS Enterprise, the final piece ready to glue to the rest of the ship thus completing months of work. A wave of nausea hit me like a spear tearing at my insides…spreading out like liquid ill, enveloping me with such force and speed that it caused me to double up. I tried calling for help, but produced only a low, agonized moan. A moment later, I had found myself face-down in the shag carpet of my room. I'd laid there like a fish out of water, my eyes unseeing and my mouth gaping as I snapped for air, the tearing in my guts ripping me apart. Thoughts of somehow dialing 911 were interrupted as reality seemed to melt and warp, and then the carpeting became...cold, hard dirt.
Several tense moments passed before I dared to open my eyes and take in the environs. The ground was a shade of green that was a dubious shade of brown, of what terrain it was I could not fathom; the trees were a sort of purple; and the flora was a mismatching clod of ferns, vines and flowers that were swamp-like, which matched the sounds I was hearing, yet the air was arid. The forest looked almost like it had come down with disease and never recovered.
"Jesus." I sat up, covering my face with my hand, taking a breath, trying not to let it become a sob. A sharp pain in my hand directed my attention to my clenched fist. I slowly opened it to see the final piece of my model still there, cutting its outline into my palm. I closed my hand about it again in spite of the discomfort. It was like clinging to a piece of my sanity. I glanced again at the purpled trees.
"Jesus Christ."
I forced myself to my feet.
I unfurled only to a point, too afraid to stand tall, to make it all real by interacting with a bad dream. Forcing my muscles into action, I stumbled forward towards the clearest visible area of forest, my heartbeat riding on the sounds of my sometimes-rustling, sometimes-cracking footfalls.
As I walked I realised what a fool I'd been. I cackled with the manic realization that I had my phone in the breast pocket of my shirt. I clutched my chest in search of it; the impact of the hard chunk of plastic on my palm sent a joyous jolt of relief through my entire nervous system. Body standing down from full alert, I unbuttoned the pocket with a shaking hand, hit 999 and pressed "Call".
A moment's silence. And three sharp beeps answered my plea for help. I knew what those beeps meant. The sob I had suppressed earlier escaped me. No service. No service! I collapsed against a tree and dropped the phone into my pocket.
Somewhere in the back of my befuddled brain, reason was trying to apply itself to the situation, and getting brutalised by instinct and hard reality. Was I cut off from humanity? Was I walking the wrong way? Salvation could be behind that clump of trees I walked past, unknown to me. These thoughts threatened to push me to the borders of insanity.
Keep yourself together, Chester. Just keep your head.
There was no other option open to me, so I moved. I walked. The forest-thing remained the same. The ground remained a greenish-brown. The flora still made no attempt at order. Still the trees looked like bloodshot replicas of swamp trees. At least the feel of movement and purpose, however desperate, had made me calmer. Berries were dangling from outstretched foliage. I wondered if they were "safe".
I saw up ahead a stop in the trees – clear air from what must have been a cliff beyond. Different terrain, something to prove that the entire world around me wasn't the same forest going on forever, was most welcome.
And then, it wasn’t so welcome. I stopped near the edge of the rocky cliff, and beheld a violet sky.
I simply stared at the clouds, which weren't clouds at all, but thin trails that hung in the sky. Some appeared as spirals, others stretched across the sky in snaky strips. Near the horizons the sky grew a lighter shade of violet, like a sunset without a setting sun.
My body went cold while I stood there, thunderstruck with a terrible awe. I slumped down to the ground and stared up at the sky, mind a complete blank, thoughts ceasing to occur. In spite of myself, a smile began to touch my lips. Perhaps the complete bleakness of my situation had started to find cracks and crevices in my psyche, but I was reminded that once, a great man once said that sometimes, you just have to bow to the absurd.
Not without a self-depreciating smirk, I flicked the plastic replica of the Enterprise’s engine down the cliff. Goodbye, sanity. I knew ye well.
I walked along the cliff's edge feeling utterly out of place wherever I trod. The world seemed to be collapsing in on me, pushing me from all directions. I walked with equal parts senselessness and mirthless humour. Occasionally I succumbed to a bark of laughter for the sheer hell of it.
From my vantage point, I could see that the cliffs seemed to spread around a valley that went on for as far as I could tell to either direction. If things weren't already bad, thirst began to make itself noticeable. I regretted passing up those berries. I kept moving.
At first I blamed my imagination, but then I was certain: the trees were beginning to grow ever-so-slightly greener. The terrain, primarily lumpy mounds of earth placed at random, began to flatten. And somehow, the air seemed clearer – easier to breathe as compared to earlier. But I was no nearer to anything hopeful.
I spotted a deep, black crevice in a rocky rise ahead of me, mired in darkness. I couldn’t sleep outside on the forest floor; and I had been a vulnerable enough target for any fantastic predators that may roam nearby. Likely, there was nothing in that cave for me to fear.
Heart pounding anyway, I extracted my phone once more and switched to its MP3 player. I could use the phone as a light source – the only one I could think of – and if anything was in there, I would play the alarm tune and run, hoping to get away while the phone's music provided a sufficient distraction. Frankly, this was lunacy. Surely dark caves in forests were better explored in daylight. But that was, of course, assuming that this world had such a thing as daylight. For all I knew, this murky twilight WAS the shade of day. I couldn't wait for a sunrise that might never come.
Holding the phone before me, the cave turned out to be small and empty, barely more than ten by four feet. Although almost impossible to believe, there was nothing here. No traces of habitation, no animal bedding, just an empty cave.
I turned to the mouth of the cave and slumped against the back wall. I had started to approach something that resembled “safety”.
It had been a long time coming, and now was the best time. I bent my head back, looking out at the alien world beyond the cave mouth. For a while I just stared at it, hoping the image would go away somehow, that the environs outside would shrink away until they vanished into an infinitesimal speck. I wanted it so much that I began to hope that force of will alone would cause it to happen.
But wanting something doesn’t make it reality. No, reality was very different to what I wanted it to be. Very different indeed. Even though my memory of how I came here defied all attempts to understand it, I clung to the idea that it was rational, and reversible, like a man lost at sea clings to a rock to protect against the tide.
I was scared, I was tired, and most of all, I didn’t want to be here. Arm sliding along the ground, never taking my eyes from the cave mouth, I lay on the ground and waited for sleep to come and take away this nightmare.
I was chained down to the ground. People stood around me, but I couldn't see their faces; they were obscured by a thick, eternal darkness, darkness that took sight and made it stretch on and on forever. I needed to tell them something, something so important I would give my life to tell them, to make them know, to make them hear me, for just a second. But as I shouted, no sound sprang forth; I strained against my bonds, they asked what was wrong, why could I not speak, would I please stop struggling. I tried to scream, but produced only silence. I thrashed and flailed, but they showed only gentle, loving concern for my violent plight. I began to cry out, but it was always, always, in vain.
I surged awake into a frigid cold; cold from sweat, cold from the air, and my chest hurt from rapid and heavy breaths. My throat was parched. But the nightmare...it made my blood freeze, my muscles deaden. I had to sit and gather myself for entire minutes before I could function again.
The night – or day – beyond the cave hadn't changed. My phone registered midday, but I was dubious as to whether to trust the thing or not in these circumstances.
A morning ritual, something rehearsed, natural, fitting to start the day...wake at 7, turn off alarm, shower, breakfast, listen to the Gorillaz while on the train to university. How that seemed like a comforting luxury right now; how it had been a granted thing only one day ago. All I could do was rub sleep from my eyes with my fingers and feel that weakening thirst in my throat. I missed my bed, my water, my collection of Star Trek models, my desk where I brought all the pieces of a new model kit together, bought with student loan money, and made loving replicas of my favourite star ships, arranged in order of fame from top to bottom.
Bringing my palm down my face to crash back to reality, I considered my situation. Nothing had come during the night to find me lurking in their cave; I had seen nothing as I walked in the forest before I fell asleep. It was safe to assume that there was nothing out there but frogs and crickets, and I was the top of the food chain.
I set off again into the wilderness in search of hydration. I wasted no time setting out away from the forest-facsimile I had awoken in. The soft impact of grass under my shoes as I walked was most welcome. If there was clean water, it would be in this direction.
It'd been some time, walking to the ambience of birds and the wind, before I came across tracks that made me stop and stare, muscles seizing up. Whatever had made them was bloody enormous. They were easily twice as large as my own feet, in the shape of paws, like a giant lion. No size of lion I could even imagine could make tracks like that. Even worse, they were inconsistent; two huge paws, two tiny paws, as if whatever had made them was misshapen and deformed, its front paws twice the size of its back paws. The same could not be said of similar tracks that ran parallel to whatever monster had made the first; tracks that appeared to belong to some kind of miniature horse. Both sets ran in the same direction, together.
Tentative walking had become a shaky attempt at stalking. As I travelled, the gradual increase of the "wellbeing" of the land eased my nervous state somewhat, but regardless my nerves were on a knife-edge, eyes in constant alert on the trees and even their branches above. As I did so, however, it was unquestionable that the sky was turning shades of blue, daylight beginning to form, moving away from the alien night I'd been so awestruck by only so many hours ago. To punctuate this fact, I saw a sun beginning to form in the sky. It would be far easier to see whatever titanic beast had created those tracks in daylight, even if the same applied to my own silhouette.
Then I saw it, to my left as I kept watch for the beast: a tree with large red orbs hanging on its branches. Unmistakably an apple tree. I would have settled for some freakish, blue, foreign substance as nourishment on this alien world! Perhaps I was in some bizarre, obscure country where the sky could be purple…stranger things have happened.
Once at its roots, I broke a branch from a nearby tree and started to beat an apple down. As one fell to the ground I picked it up like a diamond in the rough, I gave it a cursory examination, and wondered why my careful nibble had suddenly become a ferocious bite.
Mother of all things holy…
This was gorgeous.
It set a tidal wave of taste over my parched tongue that eroded away my mind's rationality. I felt my body go weak from the sheer impact of it; every bite was another surge of pleasure. My once-sandpaper mouth had been flooded with ambrosia, where I would have settled for a trickle of water.
I relished the taste of apple in my mouth as I collected an armful of apples from the tree and set back towards my cave. With food that could both nourish and hydrate, I would be just fine until I found some way back to normality. I had come here; there would surely be some way to go back.
I could almost see my cave when I heard it. Something big. I froze upon hearing it, and dropped to the ground, moving behind whatever could obscure me. Just controlling my breathing – and my booming heart – was all I could do. What was undoubtedly the shape of a lion emerged from the forest.
As expected, this thing was beyond massive. Unexpected, however, was what looked like a massive flap of raw flesh that seemed to be made of dried meat. Behind it seemed to float some sort of beaded rope that coiled towards its head. It was moving away from me, towards a small clearing, whereupon the true nature of the beast became apparent.
A wing. And a tail. A scorpion's tail. It was a Manticore of legend, a gargantuan, winged lion with the tail of a scorpion. Its back legs were sickly and thin, but its front legs were thick columns of muscle. I stared at it, failing to connect the sight to reality. But there it was. At any point it could turn and look my way, and my final moments would be pitiful resistance and then a vicious cacophony of crushed bone and ripped flesh. But the Manticore's slow, lumbering path bore it away from me. All I would have to do is try not to shriek in terror, and I would survive.
I watched it prowl away from me, out of sight, like a man on an electric chair watches a man who has come to free him from its binds, waving a letter of pardon. But in my tension, I had failed to realise that I was carrying a large armful of apples.
I barely had time to register the movement of the topmost few until they had landed against a tree root, bounced up, and came down through the leaves of the bushes where I hid.
I looked down at the apple in shock, and then up to the Manticore.
Our eyes met.
My apples thudded to the floor. I bolted. I ran, as fast as I could away from the thing. As I ran, stumbling and terrified, I could hear it approaching, getting louder and louder as it closed the space between us, taking massive, leaping bounds, terrifying speed, thunderous approach, roars of ferocity singing of the impending carnage it would make of me in mere seconds.
I tore at my breast pocket, pulled my phone out, mashed the buttons in blind desperation and threw it behind me.
As the phone left my hand I lost my footing and crashed forward onto the forest floor. I froze, breathing into the ground, waiting for the beast to expose my innards to the air.
I heard the Manticore's heavy footfalls stop, and turn. I heard a distant, irritating, digital tone grow even more distant. I was still in disbelief for a few seconds, until I heard the Manticore slide to a halt, roar, and begin to run in the other direction.
I scrambled away, listening to a claw the size of a large frying pan pound on cracking plastics. I don't know how long I ran for, but I never looked back.
I had climbed into a tree, and was hugging a tree branch in what I could only identify as shock. The Manticore was so big. It stood as tall as I did, at nearly two metres tall. It was so fast. And when it travelled, the ground shook with mighty earthquakes. I couldn't go for a single minute without remembering the sight of it behind me, growing larger, getting closer, the look of primal fury and open jaws...
A weapon. Something to hold, something to brandish, anything that could help me. I set two hands around a nearby branch and heaved until it broke free. As soon as I clutched it to my chest I began to breathe again.
After much gathering of courage, I scurried back to the cave I'd found earlier. I examined again my weapon of choice. As I held it, gripped it, swung it in experimentation, I was struck with the thought that this may be the first time something has ever fashioned a weapon in this world. For some reason, that thought calmed me more than actually wielding the thing.
The stick was a paltry weapon, barely a defence, but it was something. Better than my bare hands. With an idle thought, I wondered to myself: did anything else have hands in this world? Would I be a special kind of gourmet for whatever mythological beast found was to…
Mythological? I blinked. I knew what the Manticore was. It wasn't some alien creature, it was something I knew.It was something that had been documented in my world. Whether it had roots in this one, or mine, I knew of the Manticore legend. There was a connection.
I was of an open mind. Perhaps in dreaming someone had come by this world through their visions, and glimpsed the mighty beast, whose countenance was then engraved upon their unconscious mind to be depicted in legend. I had arrived here; perhaps I was not the first. It could be anything, and I wasn't ready to burden my mind with impossible conundrums when I had threats of the body to deal with.
It was nearly night. I had observed that the violet sky above me did, in fact, change; the "clouds" moved and the sky changed shades over time, ranging from a warm violet darkness to pitch black. I had moved alongside the brighter lands, in terrible fear of coming across the Manticore – or anything else – again. If my cave was right next to – or even in – an area the Manticore considered its territory, I would be wise never to return there again.
But for the first time I had seen stars up in that sky tonight, which confirmed that this was the first night I'd ever seen in this world. This nameless world, I wondered. It was hardly my right to name it, even if I was the only sentient being on its face capable of doing so. The thought was ridiculous – an entire planet without any trace of settlements or civilisation? – but the thought of it made something stir, deep in my spirit; a stirring of wonder, of exploration, of majesty at worlds unknown, and for that split second I was in awe at the very idea of naming a world. I would never even think of doing such a thing, but I couldn't deny I dreamed of it.
From my cave mouth I could see the stars coming out. 'Who are we, if full of care; we have no time to stand and stare'. I pitied those who didn't see the void above us every night, I laughed at those who looked up into infinite possibility and saw nothing of interest in the black, night sky. These stars that shone above me were truly magnificent.
If God existed, and He created the stars, then surely they were His masterpiece.
The idea came to me that I could try and find Orion's Belt – the only constellation I knew – in the blanket of black above. I stepped out of the cave and looked up around the night sky.
The sight hit me like a solemn, heartfelt vow of true love.
Oh god, the moon. It was so beautiful. It was so peaceful, so graceful. It put everything to shame. Everything. The stars were jokes beside it. Jesus Christ, it filled me with such intense wonder. This moon was of such passion that just looking at it made my body surge with what I can only describe as raw love.
It just hung there, moving so gradually over its domain, its own personal night, master of all below. The sight of it seemed to fill me entirely; the colour of it seeped behind my eyes and into my brain, filling every crevice of my body with its gorgeous hue; I felt that nameless colour that it bestowed upon all below, I felt it under my palms, which pressed against my temples. I sat down on the ground and watched it sail through the sea of stars.
Hours passed as I watched her. I made absolutely certain I could see the moon until it was no more, moving here and there, finding trees to climb. When the horizon began to claim the moon back, I gave her a bittersweet farewell, and an aching loneliness ebbed at me as soon as she had vanished. A profound loneliness that planted one irrefutable thing in my mind: I was alone in this world. Cut off. Estranged. But I will see her again the next night. To see her – it was almost a reason to live, in and of itself.
Whether it was above my station or not to give names to this world, I named her – and by extension, this world that she watched - Arddun Lleuad, Welsh for Beautiful Moon.
"Praetor hasn't brought his chess set."
Red Forest emitted a low whistle. "When was the last time he didn't bring it to the field?"
"Are you kidding?" replied Morning Down. "I don't think any of us are old enough to remember that."
The two Guardsponies walked down Ponyville's cosy street, in the cool air of dusk. All lights were out by now; the tents had gone up just before Ponyville had started to collectively drift off to sleep. As ponies were laying their heads to rest, the hustle and bustle had stopped – right on schedule.
Every tent they passed stood up to impromptu inspection; maps prepared, squads in order, rotations clear. Each tent had its search pattern displayed prominently amongst the documents and paperwork, but by now the assembled Guardsponies knew their routes like they knew their own cutie marks. Each tent was stocked with the right herbs and salves they would need.
The inspector duo enjoyed strolling back through idyllic Ponyville at night on their way back to the central command tent. Inside the command tent, as they both expected, Praetor himself was pouring over the same maps he'd been scrutinising ever since he'd drawn them up. Even while sitting, he was easily the most prominent thing in the room; larger than most ponies, as was appropriate, with his being the Praetor of the Guard.
They approached, and both Guardsponies bowed. Morning Down uttered a respectful "Sir" before Praetor looked at them. That scholarly look was well known to both Guardsponies that stood there; Praetor always looked like that when he was examining plans or strategies: intelligent, focused, intent.
"Ah, there you are, gentlecolts."
Red Forest and Morning Down stood at attention. "All squads are ready to begin in the morning, sir. No shortcomings to report."
"As expected. Marvellous. Before you retire for the night, I have made a slight error in regards to the third and fourth search party routes. Here are the revised documents – would you be so kind?"
Red Forest bowed slightly. "I'll take them, sir. Not a two-pony job, Morn. You go get some shut-eye."
Morning Down put a hoof over his mouth to cover a conveniently-timed yawn. "I think that's my body saying 'Yes please', Red. Thanks." Red Forest smiled in camaraderie, took the new routes in his mouth and left the warm glow of the command tent.
Morning Down watched him leave before he turned to Praetor, who stood facing him expectantly.
"Sir…" began Morning. Praetor nodded, encouraging him to continue.
"What will we do when we find whatever it is we're looking for?"
Praetor considered for a moment. "If it's an object, we'll simply take it back to Canterlot. If it's a beast of some description, should it cooperate, then we won't have a problem. If it doesn't, well…"
Morning waited with baited breath as Praetor thought to himself.
"We shall perform our function by any means necessary," Praetor spoke quietly, as one who understands the gravity of his words.
"I see, sir," spoke Morning.
After they had parted, and Morning Down had crept into his tent and taken place in his bed, he felt hopeful. If anypony could find what they were looking for, it was Praetor.
The very fibres of my being cried out for something. Close the distance, I felt my body singing. Try as I might, I could only feel an inexorable, intolerable, inevitable fading...it could be saved by just a few words – words which bound lips could not produce. No mouth, yet must scream. Bound lips, yet must shriek.
Wordless, yet must produce sound.
This state is not unknown to me.
I awoke, tearing from one nightmare into another. Rock walls, sick trees, violet sky.
Breathe. Just breathe. Think of her, think of Arddun. Thoughts of the moon covered me with warmth, steadied my haggard breaths, slowed my jackhammer pulse. I turned away from the cave mouth; I didn’t want to see the world.
Finger and thumb pinching the bridge of my nose, as I drew long, steadying breaths, I kept that luminescent disc in my mind’s eye, and suddenly nothing was as bad as I’d believed...
Why? came the thought, quick and painful as a lightning bolt. Why does the moon have such an effect on me?
She was glorious, my Arddun. She was glory. But why have I suddenly become a moon-worshipper overnight? Not even overnight – in seconds? I saw her, and that was that, I had no qualms about suffering in her name. Was the moon magical? Did it cast a spell over everything that saw it, making them her thralls?
Ridiculous. She was benevolence and majesty and love all at once. The concept of my Lady of the Night brainwashing people was nothing short of insane. Yes, I saw how it might fit, how I had come to love her so instantly. But it just didn’t make sense.
Arddun loved me too much to do that to me. Of this, I was absolutely certain.
And so my next dilemma was decided, as I breakfasted on an apple, picked up my stick and set forth into the world once more. I wouldn’t find a way out of this world just yet. For now, I just wanted to see Arddun again, tonight. My family and friends could wait – after all, they wouldn’t believe me if I told them the truth, so what did it matter, a few extra days to concoct stories for?
The apples were enough to both nourish and hydrate. But my clothes began to stick to my skin and a day of sweat and grime had started to make my hair thick and greasy. I needed a source of water.
I’d started my cautious trek for only a few minutes before I stopped, blinking. I didn’t care if my hair was thick and greasy, or if my clothes stuck to my skin. Not when there were more prominent matters, such as legendary beasts prowling the forest. Then why was I walking?
Alarm crept into my heart as I realised the truth: the truth was that I wanted to look my best for Arddun, when she sees me tonight.
This is really wrong. I’ve been completely brainwashed. I can’t stop thinking about her!
Palm on a tree to anchor myself to quasi-reality, doubled over, the world around me offered little solace whilst my thoughts sped through my head.
Holy hell – did I just think place the moon above my family and friends back there?
How can I fight this? And then, the most dangerous question:
Do I even want to?
For all I know I was the only sentient, civilised being in the entire world. Maybe the brainwashing won’t completely claim me. Maybe all she wanted was someone to love, and I was that someone. If divinity chooses to bestow it’s adoration upon you, do you look up and say, ‘No, for although you are a celestial deity, I am wary of you, and reject your affections, O Moon’?
It felt so right. Nothing in my life had felt more right, than to be devoted to her, in body, mind and spirit. And what alternative did I have? Live alone in this world? Would my resistance of her freely-given, flowing love warm me at night? Would it grant me serenity? Would it grant me the strength to get back home?
It was not within me to resist her; I was not capable. I found it hard to believe that any man would be capable.
She was my Arddun Lleuad, and I, her Chester Llewellyn.
Something in my chest – or my being – clicked into place. I felt…at ease. I felt fine. I felt more “fine” than ten seconds ago. I felt more "fine" than I had in a long time.
I set forth towards the apple tree I’d found earlier. As the sky reclined into a cheerful blue, I had the chance to notice the clouds had changed as well, to become proper clouds. I was walking from a darkly-lit hell into something resembling habitable lands again, away from where I’d fled from the Manticore; the feeling of the near-fatal chase still made my limbs feel numb.
Passing the apple tree I had found, a small thrill began to rise in my chest, slow and inevitable as the rising tide. Here I was, a true explorer, spreading his knowledge and mastery over an alien landscape. I may be the first to tread these lands in all of humanity, and that thought spread through my body with its magnificence, even with the danger that may lie all around.
I was almost upon a break in the trees. As I moved forward, I discovered just how habitable the land was.
Past the trees I looked out on some sort of a dream. The fields before me looked as if they’d been placed here by a fantasy movie crew - everything you could expect from a mythical land was right here: picturesque trees, a warm and gentle breeze, the greenest grass that swayed in the wind. Momentarily stunned, I walked forward in hushed awe, like a man entering a cathedral of legend...for as far as I could see, the world had suddenly become pristine, a paradise, a Garden of Eden. A perfect picture.
Before me, was nothing other than a road, smooth and yellow, set into the ground, stretching from left to right, winding lazily into the distance. I should have been overjoyed, whooping in overwhelming elation, hurtling down the road leaving only dust in my wake on my way to civilisation. I was not.
Instead I stood stock still, and just stared at it. It was set into the ground in the most perfect way; as if it was part of Nature’s design that the road be there. Bending low, I ran a hand over it. Not only was the path smooth enough to have been laid there only seconds ago, but the grass beneath my other palm felt like each individual blade had been hand-crafted by an angel.
It’s too perfect. Too much like one of those painted postcards that makes you stare at it with a distant smile for a few seconds before you go and buy it. The kind of smile that’s always tinged with a “If only I could go there one day” feeling.
The hills across the road and over a field were utterly littered with apple trees. I had feared before that the solitary apple tree I’d found may have been the only one for miles. Glad as I was to see I'd never want for apples again, it was still far too perfect.
Approaching the trees, unsettling as it was to have waltzed straight into Paradise, it was hard not to be disarmed by the very feel of the air, and the colours, good God, the colours instilled a sort of zest for life that I would be hard-placed to find anywhere else. The temptation to give in to the heavenly aura that surrounded me was nearly overwhelming; I wanted to cartwheel through the meadows, take off my shoes and socks and feel the grass on my feet, to lie down and sleep for a thousand years.
A wise man once said that events are like cowards: they wait until they can spring together, all at once. Such was the case with my frequent discoveries of the world of Arddun Lleuad, but this was the largest so far. On a small rise above me, barely twenty paces away, was a white picket fence.
I stared in awe, blinked for a few moments, and crept up to the fence. I reached out to it, before I could see beyond into its enclosing territory, and felt the rough wood. It was real. Then, I looked past the fence.
A farmstead. A massive farmhouse. Acres upon acres of apple trees that left no hill for all I could see. There, dragging an old plough was an alien horse. Orange mane, coat a shade of red. There was nobody around to control the beast of burden, yet it moved with purpose, driving the plough through the field alone. On its hindquarters was a large picture of a sliced, green apple. The mark must have been to help identify the beast’s owner. A tattoo or a brand.
I watched it make its rounds. Nobody came to supervise it. As the beast came to a stop, I knew it would have to be set on the correct path. Its unseen attendant would make itself known, or it would display phenomenal training and intelligence by setting itself right and continuing its task unassisted.
A bright orange figure appeared out of the farmhouse with strangely-shaped brown-and-blond hair from this distance and began moving towards the field. From this distance it was difficult to tell what kind of being it was, but it was longer than it was taller, and walked on four legs. Another workhorse?
The first workhorse glanced in its direction, and then, for me, the entire world seemed to shatter in the next few seconds.
The workhorse tending to the fields shrugged off the plough’s harness and walked towards a fence between it and its new company. As that company approached, I saw the differences between the two of them; the orange one’s eyes were far larger, giving the thing a bizarrely sweet look of innocence, but also some sort of intelligent look about it. In its mouth, it balanced a tray of bottles, filled with a muddy liquid, and straws mounted on it, and when it neared the first workhorse, it reached up with one of its legs, grabbed the bottle with its hoof, and began to drink. And the orange horse’s lips began to move in an incredible fashion as if it had suddenly become rabid.
It was talking. There was no denying it – the thing was talking. And then it began to laugh, and then it gave a large, emphatic nod. The red one smiled an endearing, lazy smile.
By this point I was in a state that I am barely able to describe. Before me was nothing short of insanity and madness. But time wouldn't wait for me to collect myself. Instead, the entire scenario threw its coup de grâce at me.
For on that orange horse, was the most bizarre mane – lumped on its head in the most incredible fashion. And upon realising that, its true countenance was revealed. I wasn’t looking at a mane. I was looking at a hat.
A cowboy hat.
That horse was wearing a hat.
Backing up, back down the rise, I replayed what I had just seen in my head twice and found no room for doubt. To boldly go where no man had gone before, indeed.
Somewhere in the distance to my left was a sound of a small cry. I was completely out in the open in my current position watching the mind-bending events beyond the picket fence, and, checking in all directions, I scurried down the hill and crept as quickly and quietly as possible into a large bush, laying my stick down.
I waited for some time, and the squeals began to approach, closer and closer. I remained motionless, staring out at the approaching figures from what I prayed was a safe hiding spot, keeping it steady, and the tertiary matter of not having my psyche explode into thousands of tiny pieces while whatever-the-hell-it-was was approaching me along the road.
I heard voices. And footfalls. No, I heard clops. I heard hooves. More horses were coming down the road making unintelligible noises at each other in high, sweet tones which gave me the bizarre feeling of listening to honey and sugar. It wasn’t until one made a distinct laughing sound that my fraying mind connected the dots. They were talking. In a bizarre language that I could barely even describe. It was like listening to gravel, falling down a mountainous xylophone.
I hid there and listened as they passed by the bush I was hiding in and continued down the road. The opportunity presented itself to make good my escape and dash back to the obscurity of my forest domain.
If only I would take it.
Logic and reason was rallying in my brain, making smart, safe courses of action. Go back to the woods, find your cave, don’t come near the crazy equine civilisation again. Lay low, don’t be found. And from the wellspring of plans of safety that swirled around my mind, a single thought shone with a brilliant lustre that drowned all others.
Go where no man has gone before, Chester.
Once the road was clear and no signs of watchful eyes were around me, I dashed back to the cover of the forest trees, and began to follow the road from where the two horses had come.
I stalked the path into the evening without seeing a soul. Soon enough the trees gave out and I had to risk the open plains. I told myself this, but the truth was that there was more than adequate cover to conceal myself; I had emerged to bask in the moonlight of Arddun as she begun to rise over her domain. As soon as I saw her, the full idiocy of my doubting her made me pall before her. But she forgave me. As I knew she would.
Under her benevolence, though I didn’t question why, I felt different. Lighter on the ground, loftier, and most of all, her light illuminated much. I could nearly see as much as I could during the day.
One such detail was the light, glistening jewels of moonlight on running water. Skulking to the stream, running the cold, crisp feel of it through my fingers, I saw a single light dancing in the flow to my right. I looked down at it, and then up to its source.
What I had mistaken for a hill was in fact a house, that looked exactly like a hobbit-hole that had had its hill removed. A single light had come on at the topmost window, and shut off again under my gaze. I scurried away from it, down the stream, out of sight.
For the next half-hour or so, I learned a deep appreciation of the necessity that just two days ago I had taken for granted, even if I had to do so alert for any noise or movement. My eyes never left the direction of the hill-house. Not a sound or sight came from its direction.
Washed, I made a low approach, and once I could see it, not ten meters away from the door, I realised I in fact had the intention of investigating this residence.
Was I really going to do this? Break into someone’s house to satisfy my curiosity? Not to mention the alarming risk, this was the abode of what might very well be a person in this world.
I saw myself sat in my cave for days on end, ruminating without end over this very moment, imagination going haywire over what might lie inside those four walls, cursing myself for letting it pass. I’d never dared to dream that a chance like this might happen, to see how another race lived, how they built their homes!
And what if I found something I could use? A knife? A bucket? A cushion? A book? Oh, a book – the very idea of alien literature set a fire within my brain. But I would be stealing. Even now, in my situation, I could not surmount my own principle against the theft of someone else’s potentially-beloved personal property.
Lying there on the grasses, staring at the hill-house, I came to an internal compromise. I would sneak in, and anything mundane – a cutting instrument, like a knife, I was thinking of most – I would take. Easily replaceable, and though I could imagine how I would react if someone stole my favourite breadknife back at home, I knew I would quickly get over its loss. And although I did so with much internal conflict, though I permitted myself to look at a book, I would not take one with me.
As the path to the hill-house climbed, so too did my pulse and my excitement. I was terrified, exhilarated and tense all at once. I looked over a windowsill and peered inside.
It was too dark to make anything out...so Arddun provided. Whilst I focused hard to make out details in the blackness within, a single spear of moonlight filled the room with a pale glow.
It felt so good, not to be alone, with my eternal companion above me.
Looking at the door, I had to smile – two half-doors, one on top of the other. It was like someone had designed this door as a sort of joke on the equine populace.
I gathered my courage, pushed open the top half of the door, and stepped over the lower half.
An animal paradise. Little stairs ran all over the room, which was spacious and welcoming. A fireplace, couches, colour-coordinated, comfortable. I felt invasive for walking into such a den, but already I had seen so much, I couldn't turn tail now.
Whoever lived here was not only an animal lover, but was intelligent enough to know how to care for them, how to make their pets happy and fulfilled. In fact, this horse...no, this person...must have lived for their pets; a spring of respect and affection sprung from me for the occupant and their lifestyle. He or she already displayed more intelligence than many I had met who walked on two legs.
The room was fascinating in the extreme, but before I set to examining every inch, first I needed to know if I was going to be interrupted. I crept up the stairs in the centre of the room – odd place for stairs, I thought – with all the grace and stealth of the world's most nervous burglar. Come to think of it, at this moment, I might be exactly that.
A light glowed over the walls as I moved up, but I heard only a soft, rhythmic snore in the silence; no second breaths, no pages being turned. I peered out from behind some furniture and lay eyes on the occupant.
There was a faint glow beside the bed; a night-light. Poor thing must be scared of the dark, I thought.
And if it's scared of the dark, it would be scarred by finding me in its room while it slept. I thought of turning back and leaving it well alone, until I caught sight of some odd texture on its side.
The horse was cream-coloured, adorable pink mane and tail falling all around it as it slept. What had caught my attention was on its sides...not a coat of fur, but feathers.
Sweet holy hell. A living Pegasus, before my very eyes, sleeping in complete serenity. Walking around it, I could see on her face – for I could not imagine it to be a he - the most peaceful, faint smile, like she was dreaming blissful dreams.
She was utterly entrancing. For a while I stared at her, feeling intense revulsion at myself for staring at someone in their sleep – even a horse – but how many men had stood so close to a creature of legend? Had anyone?
I wanted so much to touch those feathers. In fact, I had the bizarre urge to brush that mane, that tail. To protect her. To respect her. I felt no bodily, carnal urges; simply…the drive to make her happy.
With a start I caught my own hand raised in the air, towards her – a hand I quickly dropped. She, too, was having an effect on me, just like Arddun Lleuad! Time to go before I lose myself completely, I thought.
Then something stabbed my frigging ankle!!
Gasping, I stared down my leg to see the meanest-looking rabbit I have ever seen in my life. For a moment I looked at it in dumb shock, and then I turned back to the slumbering Pegasus, which was, of course, no longer slumbering.
As she screamed, I had a single instant in which to burn the image of her face into my memory for the rest of my life.
I whirled around and lunged for the stairs, crashing to the floor, having tripped from the small bundle of infinite rage, still embedded in my leg. Scrambling up, diving for the stairs, I grabbed at the white rabbit-thing, wrenched it free and tossed it aside the room.
A horrified gasp and an exclamation from the Pegasus told me that I'd just made a large mistake.
I catapulted down the stairs; she was running behind me now. Halfway across the main room of the house, mid-way through bounding across the floor, something nudged me in the back. Two hooves had planted themselves on my midriff with barely enough force to make me recognise them.
Turning my head to see whatever had just poked me, I looked down at the Pegasus “pounding” me with its hooves with enough force to make a mouse feel cuddled. Eyes scrunched, face turned away, making tiny grunts of anger.
It sliced my heart into tiny pieces, how this creature was trying to defend her home, her beloved pets. With that heartache, I had a brilliant flash of inspiration.
As she struck her hoof against me, I bellowed out in terrible agony, launching myself forward, stumbling as I turned to give the Pegasus a look of fear. She was flying with a hoof held over her muzzle, eyes wide with surprise. I backed away from her out the door, making fearful whimpering sounds as I did so.
I tore from the house, running to the forest, making sounds of panic, casting terrified glances over my shoulder, making sure my eyes were wide enough to show their whites from this distance. She was standing just outside the door, watching me in wonder and amazement, leaning forward just a bit, as if ready to run after me – but she stayed on her doorstep.
Perhaps my ploy had worked, and she would think that I wouldn't dare come near her again, in fear of her sky-shattering strength. Perhaps not. Either way, even now as I fled from her abode, the image of her face would not leave my mind.
On this day, I learned first-hand what it was like to strike raw, unrefined terror in a heart it should never have come near.
Safe in the boughs of a tree, hidden by leaf and night, the picture of that face never left me. I prayed that I had made her more secure with my theatrics. I would have given anything to go and hug her, tell her I was sorry, but I had done enough damage already; besides, I might walk straight into some equine police, called to investigate the break-in of the hideous, bunny-chucking monster.
Arddun caressed me with her light. It was cool and radiant; almost understanding. One by one, I unbuttoned my sweat-caked shirt and exposed my back to her, exhaling with the feel of cold night air.
I had seen how the alien horses live. In fact, I had seen enough to form a near-irrefutable conclusion of the world of Arddun Lleuad.
A magical land where ponies lived in harmony and love. The Manticore of legend, prowling the forests. A Pegasus. The skies that turned different colours, depending on where you were looking. The perfect, garden meadows that spread in all directions, right next to the forest facsimile I'd arrived in. The door to the horse's house. And the rich, vibrant colours of the world.
I stated it in my brain with all the finality I could muster, for by now it was beyond doubt, that I had landed...
...in a fairy-tale.
Sometimes, you just have to bow to the absurd.
Perhaps I was pulled here by some grand, cosmic design to play a part in this fairy tale. Perhaps I was here by an equally fantastic accident. Regardless of how I had arrived, I looked on my single option for the future with an immediate conviction; I knew my course from here on in.
I must follow the Prime Directive. I must not interfere, contaminate or interact with the world in any way, shape or form. I must keep myself at as much distance as possible.
The way the Pegasus had defended her home was evidence enough that the concept of having to defend their homes was alien to them; hell, the door had been unlocked at night. That would change for her, I thought, with a stab of guilt. She would lock up tight each and every night, from now on.
I had done enough damage to the world already. No more.
I watched Arddun soar through her starry sky, and as morning came, I dropped to the ground and slept.
Praetor awoke to more of a feeling than a sound. Someone was outside his tent.
Fluttershy had been standing just outside the command tent of the Praetor of the Guard for five minutes, trying to muster the courage to wake the military pony up. Twice she’d tried to say something, but produced only a miniscule, infinitesimal squeak.
As Praetor rose, the sounds from within prompted Fluttershy to utter a “Uhm, excuse me?”
The pony that emerged from the flaps of the tent as a response made Fluttershy’s heart skip a beat. He was big, yes, this she expected; but in the moonlight, he was glorious. First from the tent emerged his grey hair, and then to follow, the snow-white coat. Fluttershy knew that the Praetor was meant to be far and away from what you’d expect from a Guardpony, but not to this degree.
“What’s wrong?” spoke Praetor. Fluttershy squeaked.
Praetor smiled. She seemed relaxed, if nervous. If it was a true emergency she would have woken him with more alarm and urgency.
“Wonderful squeaking voice, my lady.”
Fluttershy blushed and seemed almost to shrink. Praetor laughed as he folded to the ground, to hold his head below hers.
“Take your time.”
Hiding behind her mane, finally she spoke. “…’m sorry to wake you up, sir.”
“I wasn’t sleeping,” he lied. “I have so much to think about I couldn’t get any sleep! Actually, I’m glad for the company,” he added quickly, before she receive the impression she was intruding on important thinking time.
“Uhm…you told all of us to…to tell you if we saw anything.”
Praetor’s smile lessened. “Yes?”
Fluttershy looked at him. “Well…something happened tonight.”
After her story was over, Praetor insisted that he accompany her to her cottage and stand guard in case “the beast” returned, but Fluttershy insisted that she stay at the town library with a friend instead. The Princess’s favourite student received Fluttershy with open arms even before hearing her tale. Praetor excused himself from their company with a respectful bow, and a promise to Fluttershy that he would not allow the beast to come near her again; news that Fluttershy received with an immense blush and barely-audible gratitude.
Once outside, Praetor allowed himself to scowl with suppressed anger. He walked to the edge of Ponyville and looked in the direction of the Everfree Forest. Tomorrow the search plans would be changed to cover more ground, the Guardsponies would be pushed harder to fit more into a single day.
Praetor swore to himself, that no beast that dare walk into a lady’s own room as she sleeps would roam free while he drew breath.
