The monstrous spider swung its legs at the figure below.
The agile pegasus dived in and around the trees of the forest, barely dodging each of the advancing creatures strikes.
The figure took a tight left to avoid the spiders next attack. It lunged forward, plunging its black furry limbs into the dense undergrowth. The figure was unfazed and continued to kite back towards the arachnid.
The mare collided with the spiders body cracking the mutants armoured shell revealing a soft goo beneath it. The mare continued her flight path and arced over the injured beast, now furious with his prey.
She darted back around its other side, lined up a perfect shot and pushed her wings to the max.
One of the monsters eyes exploded as the pegasus plowed through it, burrowing herself in the sludge. She darted out of the now empty eye socket and back to the safety of the bush. The massive 3-story tall spider screamed through the everfree forest and rapidly stamped its legs into the ground in a poor attempt to squish its attacker.
The mare darted and weaved through the trees. In, out and around only to find that she couldn’t move. Her chest felt warm. Her eyes were frozen on the scene in front. A tranquil forest. Dotted with animals and plants of all sizes and colours. There we bunnies near the river. Dancing, playing. As if all was good in the world. The colour faded from behind her eyelids. Nothing but pure white. It became harder to breathe. It was as if a tight band had been placed around her neck. Constricting, tightening, holding. She felt the same band tighten around her chest and stomach. Restricting, growing smaller, suffocating. Pain. A wave of immense pain washed over her. A shower of fire. Her wings weren’t moving. She was flying. She was in the air but her wings had no part of it. The warmth radiating out of her chest spread to her forelegs, her back legs, up her spine and pooled in her head.
She looked down. Rainbow dash had been impaled.
She hung from the spiders leg. Mid air. It had travelled straight through her heart.
Scootaloo awoke in a fierce sweat.
She sat up in bed, hyperventilating. ‘It was only a dream. It was only a dream.’ she told herself repetitively. Fortunately she hadn’t screamed. Her roommates were still asleep.
This seemed to calm her as none of the other fillies had heard her panic. They would surely give her hell for it if they knew. The light in the room was still out. The only switch was near the entrance that was a good thirty metres from her bed. So she just sat there in the dark.
Her paper thin blanket covering her lower body and her flat pillow on the bed behind her.
Her breathing rate steadily decreased as she calmed down.
Her mind drifted back to her vivid dream and she forced it onto memories of dash. Happy memories. The time that she had taken her on a flying lesson. The time they had gone camping to Rainbow Falls. The time where she curled up against Dash while she read. She had read the latest Daring Do book out loud so that Scootaloo could just listen and fall asleep. The orange filly ducked back under her covers. They protected her from the cold that was slowly creeping its tendrils towards the pegasus. She could still feel the icy temperatures poke and prod her blanket, looking for a way in. She tucked her legs into her chest and wrapped her forelegs around her knees. Curling herself in a tight ball yielded a relief from the relentless assault.
In her mind she was snuggled up tight next her idol, drifting to sleep under the caring eye of dash. In reality she clutched a paper thin blanket in a dark military shed. The half cylinder housing shed stretched fifty meters long. Each of the walls were lined with rusted beds. Each one filled with another forgotten filly.
Scootaloo woke in a fierce sweat. It was early in the morning and she was the first awake.
The birds hadn’t begun to sing. It was still pitch black outside.
A large knock rapped at the tin door. It immediately flew open to reveal a tall mare in her early 30’s. The light flicked on and the mare’s voice roared into life.
‘GET UP!” She yelled.
All the fillies stirred in their bed. The mare walked down the rows of beds almost like a prison warden. Watching, observing, searching for any weakness in her captives.
The mare continued the wake up call as the young ponies tiredly started to drag themselves out of bed. Their wake up alarm wasn’t anything new. It was how they were always woken.
Scootaloo snapped out of her entranced observation of the mare. She too began to climb wearily out of bed in preparation for the day ahead.
There wasn’t too much that needed to be done, only her bed needed to made, a task that she completed quickly with ease.
She stunk really bad. The cold sweat that clung to their body gave her a stink that even she herself couldn’t bare. A shower would nice but the orphanage was extremely poor and a soak in warm soapy water would be too much to ask for.
The choice was either get the have a shower or eat breakfast. Scootaloo prefered the latter as her stomach grumbled.
She decided she would take a dip in the pond at the earliest opportunity but even that was unlikely to happen.
She marched with the rest of the fillies to the kitchen. The weather outside was cold and murky.
Thick cloud blocked out the otherwise black sky.
The line to enter the kitchen shed was long. It would be at least ten minutes before she could put some food in front of her.
At least she had food. There were still ponies out on the street without even the orphanage to look after them, even though it only barely managed to do that.
The orange pegasus exhaled deeply. She wiped the sleep out of her uncooperating eyes and extended her gaze back to the sky.
She was mesmerised by the clouds sweeping through the air. The fresh air hugged her body and sent cold shivers down her spine.
The air was fresh but contained hints of grime and fumes.
They weren’t in the best neighbourhood for perfume quality air.
Scootaloo was snapped out of the trance by the moving line. It was getting shorter. It was nearly her turn to get her much needed breakfast.
The they were heading into was just as rundown as the one they had left. ‘Next.’ she heard an earth pony call from behind the counter. She moved up to the steel bench and was dished a bowl of something foul. It may have looked like putrid mush but it was a meal and she wasn’t going to complain. The rest of the shed consisted of a few tall metal tables.
Fillies lined the room, cautiously consuming their tasteless breakfast. Scootaloo found a seat towards the back, at the end the long bench that was lined with other orphans.
The meal tasted bland as it slid down her throat. The lump texture tickled on it way down. It must of contained something hard as tough lumps threatened to lodge themselves in her throat.
A colt sat down next to her. The fillies and colts had different sleeping quarters but their shared the same dining area.
The young stallion introduced himself as Star Strike. It was an interesting name for an earth pony. Normally celestial names were for unicorns only.
He had yet to get his cutie mark.
Scootaloo pushed away her empty bowl and turned from the colt. The bowls contents had been drained and it was in need of a good wash. The orange filly stood with her bowl and walked towards the steel serving counter. She tried her best to ignore the sharp stench of rust in the air and the putrid smell of rotting food spoils.
She dumped the bowl in the dirty cutlery tub and headed out of the confined shed. Her meal would be enough to fuel her activities for the morning.
She groaned. Morning activities sucked.
During her meal, the sun had slowly risen. It now sat just above the horizon. The warmth of Celestia’s sun rescuing the land from the frosty darkness. The sunlight played against Scootaloos feathers and danced across her coat. They hardly ever got warm weather. The rough area of Equestria that they lived in couldn’t afford to pay a weather team so they took whatever weather naturally came, which usually meant thunderstorms and rain. Today, however, was different. Scootaloo let the warm light drift across her, allowing it to soak into her fur.
The bright happy rays of light diluted the muck of rundown environment and raised the spirits of the young orphans.
Then again, it was time for morning activities. She watched as broken fillies filed out of the meal shed, reluctant to start their day.
She heard the warden’s call. Scootaloo, along with everypony else, wondered over and took a place in front of the warden.
‘Morning activity number one.’ Scootaloo mumbled.
“Everypony! You know the drill. Climb the hill. Get the sticks. Return here.” Cried the warden in a thick european accent.
Every morning it was the same task. Climb up the hill to find sticks to be used as firewood and drop them off with the warden. It was slave labour, but a necessary task. The fire would be used to cook lunch.
The military orphanage backed onto a large mountain. That is where they would have to go.
It was dangerous, a task that ponies this age shouldn’t have to do. The terrain was rough and infested with poisonous animals. It wasn’t unlikely that somepony a day would find themselves in the infirmary.
Scootaloo made a habit of not straying too far away from others and kept to the clearings. It would take longer to gather her required amount of sticks but it would be safer than what some of the reckless colts dared to do.
They were set loose up the hill.
Scootaloo picked a group of fillies and colts. She decided to join them.
As the tas was a daily routine, they often got bored and would just spend the next hour chatting to each other. Her group of four ponies broke away from the rest, searching for a new, less crowded, area of the hill.
The group consisted of Star Strike, a colt that she didn’t know the name of and a filly. She was a unicorn and her name was Celestial Swirl. She had a cutie mark already, it resembled a spinning array of stars. That explained her natural talent for magic. A star of any kind in a cutie mark usually represented some skill in the magical arts.
The day was pleasantly warming up and the group engaged in idle chatter as they gathered a small stack of kindling. The dry leaves crunched underhoof and birds could be heard singing from the treetops. The thick forest air smelt vaguely of pine. It was a tranquil site. You could often find yourself lost in its natural beauty.
“So,” the unnamed colt began, breaking the silence. His tiny voice echoed and was amplified through the cavernous surroundings.
