Of The Last Millennium

by BlndDog

Rating: teen
Tags: Adventure, Alternate Universe, Princess Luna, Original Character, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Rainbow Dash, Other, Scootaloo
Length: 129083

One fine summer night Scootaloo receives a visitor. A few weeks later, she's on a ship sailing for the homeland of the griffins.

Before her banishment, Luna established a colony in the hope that it would reinvigorate the broken kingdom. Dozens of orphans disappeared off the streets, not missed by most. Though Princess Celestia searched Kingdom of Equestria for decades, the Children of the Night were never found.

A thousand years later in the small town of Ponyville, Scootaloo receives a visitor carrying a grim message. What starts off as a journey to help a dear friend quickly becomes tangled in a conflict that has been brewing since before the rise of Nightmare Moon. These are histories not archived in any marble library in Canterlot. These are stories of seafarers and inkeepers, of orphans and griffins, and of an ancient race that Equestria has long tried to ignore.

Based on the Children of the Night music video by Duo Cartoonist.

Pre-reader: TheGreatEater

[img]http://i.imgur.com/6MrWqNZ.png[/img]

Published 2014-02-21 05:10:09 UTC
Last updated 2015-02-26 06:26:40 UTC

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

The town was all but abandoned by 6:40. Most ponies had closed shop early to enjoy the balmy weather, confident that anyone who slept past noon deserved to go half a day without apples or cabbage or a sandwich. Rose had spent the day under her dull red umbrella in the market square with a jug full of lemonade and a box of bite-sized spinach fritters. Lyra had ordered a rather elaborate floral arrangement, saying that she would pick it up at 6:00. That she did, but by then the florist had received five beautiful flowers from several passers-by to be identified and domesticated, and a flora from Twilight to help her in her endeavor.

The night orchid she ordered from Canterlot also arrived that day, delivered at around noon by a young pegasus colt who barely managed to carry its massive ceramic pot from train station to flower stand. That transaction went without a hitch, and the colt received a handsome tip for his efforts. Rose wasn’t especially tired from a day of standing around, and the cool breeze that blew through the squat buildings around her was refreshing, so she didn’t mind waiting at her stand for the night to awaken the dozen pale blue buds drooping from the dark green inflorescence.

Darkness was tardy, however, and her box of fritters had been empty for a while. It had taken the better half of a day, but she was finally convinced that she could probably wait for the orchid to bloom just as well from the comfort of her dining room table. Rose marked her place in the hard-covered tome, and was packing up her flower stand when the trio staggered through the market square. She had seen them before; had lost two wagons to their shenanigans, in fact, but one good look at them and she was at their side in an instant.

The largest of the three— a yellowish earth pony—lost her footing, nearly knocking over the pegasus filly to her right. All three of their manes were matted with dry mud, and their legs were likewise hidden except at their joints.

“Water…” the young pegasus moaned, struggling to raise her head. Rose knelt down to her level, brushing a clump of mud from her forehead as she checked her over.

There was a wide bruise behind her shoulders and at the base of her neck. The other two had similar injuries. Rose led the group to her stand and bid them stay there. Running back to her house, she filled two large watering buckets from her rain barrel and hooked them up to her carrying pole. By the time she returned to the stand, all three were lying flat on the dirt road.

The fillies drank greedily, the pegasus and the unicorn from one bucket while the earth pony had the other all to herself. Flakes of mud fell from the tips of their hooves into the water, and the unicorn stopped a few times to cough.

Should I say something? Surely it wasn’t good for them to drink so quickly.

The pegasus was the first to slow down. Her muzzle was coloured brown from the now-muddy water, and she gasped deeply. Rose thought that maybe she had been breathing the water too.

“What happened to you?” Rose finally asked. “Are you hurt?”

“We went off the road on our way back from Zecora’s,” she replied. “Sweetie Belle and I got stuck in quicksand, and we lost our water trying to get out. Apple Bloom had to pull us out, and then we got lost for a while. Do you know if Applejack is around?”

“I think she’s at the farm,” Rose replied, feeling relieved as the other two stopped drinking. Apple Bloom was washing off her hooves and forelegs with the rest of her water. A strip of her coat on her left shoulder had been ripped out, and the skin underneath was inflamed, but already she was looking stronger than before.

“You girls rest here for a bit, okay?” The florist suggested, seeing the pegasus and unicorn getting up on shaky legs. “It sounds like you’ve had a rough day.”

“Sorry Ms Roseluck,” Apple Bloom said. “I’m already late. We’ll just wash up at Sweet Apple Acres. Thanks for the water!”

Rose thought about arguing, but already they were disappearing into the blazing red sunset. She smiled to herself, briefly remembering her own childhood, and how the fear of being late for dinner had been such a powerful motivator. They would be okay; the town was small and full of nice ponies.

She emptied the murky contents of the buckets onto the dirt road and stacked them with the ones she used to keep her flowers fresh. Checking all the hatches and hitching the cart, Rose was about to leave when a tall stallion suddenly materialized in front of her. She reared up in surprise, and the wagon began rolling backwards. The stranger pulled her down rather roughly, saving her spine but leaving the mare a bit dazed. She opened her mouth to yell something unsavoury but left it hanging instead, her anger replaced with confusion and concern. Now that she had a better look at him, she recognized the golden helmet and chest plate of the Royal Guards gleaming against his dark grey coat. He was an earth pony of a rather slender build, with unkind, pursed lips that did not match his youthful face.

“Madam,” he said with great effort to keep his teeth hidden. “I’ve been sent from Canterlot in search of a runaway pegasus colt. Eight years old, very large wings, green eyes, palomino coat, long fetlocks. He got on a train heading in this direction two days ago. Have you seen him at all?”

Rose felt her heart skip a beat.

The night orchid. Ordered from a nursery in Canterlot. Delivered by a white pegasus colt.

“I think he was here this morning,” she said blankly. A big gold-shoed hoof came to rest on her shoulder. It should have been comforting, but she shied away from the hot metal, causing her cart to jerk backwards again. “I’m sorry. I… He said he was just delivering my order. I’m so sorry.”

“Are you sure?” The guard asked, hastily looking over his shoulders towards the last rays of sunlight. “Did he tell you his name?”

“No,” Rose replied. “I thought he was just a delivery boy. I gave him the bits for this flower, and I thought he was heading for the train station to get home. I’m so sorry…”

She fell silent under the stallion’s intense gaze. Was he going to arrest her? It took her a while to realize that he wasn’t staring at her at all. His dark grey eyes were focused on something behind her.

Does he want the night orchid? But I already paid for it!

“You don’t have anything to be sorry about,” he said at last. The relief in his eyes and voice teased at the corners of his mouth. “Thank you for your help, ma’am.”

With that, he too headed for the sunset, now only a rosy semicircle. Taking a moment to gather her thoughts, Rose followed him, heading for home. She wished she had stopped the colt that morning. But how was she to know? He said that he was working in his mother’s nursery. That wasn’t at all implausible. Maybe it was just a coincidence? Sure, his wings looked a little bit too big for a pony that size, but she didn’t see them extended. Maybe he did head home, and all was okay.

Leaving the cart in the yard, Rose carried the orchid inside. The black ceramic pot was a work of art in its own right, but she was mesmerized by the silvery glow that shone from the drooping buds as she stepped across the threshold into the dark lobby. The circular leaves seemed to become plumper and greener, and the youngest leaflet glowed just like the flower buds.

Her anxiety was instantly lifted. Rose brought the flower into her kitchen, where the last light of day still licked at a corner cabinet. She placed the pot gently on the extra-broad windowsill and stood back with her tail wagging like a dog’s.

I haven’t been this excited since… since I got my cutie mark!

At first there was darkness. The stalk swayed in an invisible wind as the reluctant summer sun relinquished its hold on the world. Its ghostly glow faded slightly, or was it just her imagination? The white mare held her breath.

With a flash the flowers burst open, starting from the bottom of the stalk and quickly going to the very tip. Silver moonlight filled the kitchen, yet it was never uncomfortably bright. Each blossom was about the size of her hoof, white and perfectly circular, its one petal ever-so-slightly cupped backwards. Rose was beaming ear to ear as she beheld the magical flower. She stood there, admiring the new gem of her collection for a good ten minutes before turning on the lights and preparing her dinner for one.

“Oh Scootaloo, what will I do with you.”

“Dad, it was an accident!” The orange filly blushed as she took another mouthful of reheated buttered beans.

The unpainted kitchen table was big enough to seat four and more than big enough for a family of two. Scootaloo sat on top of three cushions with a towel draped across her back like a cape. Her mane was still wet from the bath at Sweet Apple Acres, and despite the heat of the day she was feeling a little chilly. A burly orange stallion with an almost shaved mane sat across from her. He didn’t seem angry, but throughout her meal Scootaloo couldn’t help but glance up nervously from time to time.

“I know, sweetie,” the stallion smiled. “I’m glad you got back safe. Good thinking, using vines to make a harness. It was the right thing to do. If Apple Bloom left you two there, she might have gotten lost herself, or she might not be able to find you two again. I am disappointed that you went that deep into the Everfree Forest, however. You all know it’s dangerous. What were you thinking, going off Zecora’s trails?”

Scootaloo blushed even darker, and could not bring herself to speak for a while.

“Cutie Mark Crusaders Trail Blazers?”

The Stallion sighed and got up from his cushion. Scootaloo flinched as he extended his wings, but instead of whipping her foreleg he draped one over her shoulder and pulled her closer. The warmth that surrounded her took away some of the uneasiness. She raised her head to meet her father’s gaze, ignoring the cramp in her neck.

“Sweetie,” he said. She could feel his deep voice reverberating through his chest before it reached the open air. “I worry about you sometimes. It’s all fine and good to have adventures with your friends, but please don’t just go off doing the first thing that comes to mind and then try to tell everyone that it was for a cutie mark. You have to be more responsible, okay? Today could have gone so much worse, and you know it. Before you do anything, you really have to stop and think it through. I know you can do that. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“Yes dad,” Scootaloo sighed, averting her gaze.

“Good.” He pulled her closer and ruffled her mane playfully. “I know you’re tired, so you can go to bed after dinner. Starting tomorrow, though, you are doing dishes. Breakfast, lunch and dinner; every day for two weeks. Got that?”

“Yes dad,” she replied unenthusiastically.

After eating half a head of lettuce and finishing her orange juice, Scootaloo ascended the stairs listlessly, ready to collapse on her bed. Her room was stuffy from the windows being closed all day, and her hooves were still shaky from her trudge through the woods. After a few tries, she managed to undo the latches and throw open the wooden panes, letting in the cool night air. Despite her weariness, she stood there for a moment admiring the starry sky and the half moon. The night was as cloudless as the day, and once in a while her heart rate swelled at the sudden movement of a shooting star.

Lowering her gaze, she noticed a pair of armoured ponies in the street below. They certainly looked like typical Royal Guards, but that was the only typical part of this scene. The only times Scootaloo had ever seen Royal Guards in Ponyville was during Princess Celestia’s visits. She was sure that the Princess wasn’t around, seeing as there were no banners or parades or one of Pinkie Pie’s parties in the town square. As the filly watched with eyes narrowed, one of their saddles seemed to twitch of its own accord.

They were hiding their wings.

On any other day, Scootaloo would have puzzled over this for quite some time. Heck, she wanted to follow them then and there, but her aching legs and sore back won that argument pretty quickly.

Hopping into the air, she dropped onto the soft mattress and crawled under the warm covers. Her mane was still a little damp, but she was too exhausted to care. Once closed, her eyelids were practically glued shut. Even her tiny wings fell loose as sleep overtook her.

Five minutes later, something darted in through the window; a pale body stood illuminated for a moment in the pool of moonlight on the floor before disappearing into the shadowy corners of the bedroom.

He was tired and a bit hungry despite his recent dinner of creek water and dumpster muffins (very good muffins by any standard). Standing in the corner furthest from the open window, he felt very strange. He shouldn’t be in this town, let alone this room. But there would be no escaping until daybreak, and he had expected something like this, so maybe he wasn’t doing too badly after all.

Staying low to the wooden floor he approached the bed, gently planting each foot before advancing another. His trailing fetlocks muffled his steps, and he extended his wings slowly. Two rows of black down feathers on their undersides bled into the shadows, and though his coat was pale and the room not so dark any casual observer would not have noticed anything amiss in that little bedroom.

Footsteps ascended the stairs.

Frantically he scanned the Spartan room as panic took over. The closet door was closed, and there was no way to open it quietly. The stallion was going to check on his daughter, of that he was sure, and he could not fight him. He couldn’t face the guards outside either.

The hooves stopped just outside the door. Folding his wings silently, he dove under the bed, displacing a family of mice but making no sound himself.

The door swung open with a drawn-out creak. From under the bed, he saw a large orange hoof and a soft yellow glow coming from the hallway.

Don’t come in. Don’t come in.

The stallion lingered for a few seconds. Then he stepped out, letting the door latch spring to with a click that nearly drew a yelp from the pony under the bed.

He stayed in his hiding spot until all the potentially-comfortable poses were tried. Convinced that the stallion would not return, he worked his way awkwardly out onto the open floor to face the sleeping filly. Extending his wings once again, he was about to rear up when he noticed the vase and bits sitting on the bedside table.

For crying out loud…

Carefully stepping around the bed, he picked up the vase first and set it underneath the window. Then he scooped the bits onto one hoof and transferred them to the floor as well with the tiniest jingle. He gripped the sides of the table, ready to move it, and felt a single drawer slide a centimetre out the front.

REALLY?

But he knew what had to be done. He steadied himself with a deep breath, imagining all the horrible frilly things that surely lurked in every girl’s room…

A thick brown photo album and a black-covered journal took up much of the space within. In front of these was a collection of pins. He saw the Wonderbolts insignia a few times as he picked these up, as well as a disc of inscribed diamond from the Crystal Empire. This he was tempted to take for himself, but ultimately he had no need for such things.

The album was surprisingly heavy, but he managed to move it and the journal in a singled trip without making a noise. Finally, he could deal with the table itself. Tipping it onto one corner, he “walked” it a few inches from the bed, until it was out of reach for the sleeping filly.

Repositioning himself at the end of the bed, spreading his wings and propping himself up on the footboard, he readied his legs and pounced.

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Scootaloo awoke with a start, barely able to breathe. Something was blocking her mouth, and she couldn’t see at all. She tried to raise her hooves, but someone kept beating them down again. She tried to roll over; to kick with her hind legs; she even tried to beat her attacker with her tiny wings, but her strength was still spent from the adventures of the day. Her teeth scraped against a hardened hoof, her attempts to bite down only succeeding in dislodging flakes of mud and straw that fell into her mouth.

“Scootaloo, remember me?”

The colt’s voice was confident for one his age, but there was no sign of malice. She could smell frosting on his hot breath. Though his voice did not calm her down exactly, it confused her enough that she stopped struggling.

I must be dreaming…

“It’s good to see you again, sister,” he said, slightly louder than before.

It was definitely him. Scootaloo’s heart raced. She reached up again, slower this time, but her legs were pushed away as before. He had grown so much stronger in the past two years… Or had it been three?

“Let’s do it this way,” he continued. “I’m going to let you go. When I do, don’t hit me or push me or call for help. I’ll explain everything. Tap once on the mattress if you understand.”

Scootaloo raised her left foreleg and lowered it again, careful not to make too much noise.

With a gentle puff of air the weight lifted from her chest, and the darkness receded from the edge of her vision. From the corner of her eye she noticed the outlines of the headboard, and she squinted as the moonlit window appeared. The neatly-arranged thatching overhead glistened from what little light they received. Perched at the foot of her bed was the outline of a great bird with two pitch black wings extended. With a flash of darkness, if there could be such a thing, the wings disappeared, and a pale pegasus colt sat facing the orange filly with lolling head and drooping eyelids.

She spat the nuggets of mud onto the floor, and was just fast enough to pull him into a tight hug. It didn’t take him too long to reciprocate the gesture, and they remained in each other’s weakened embrace for some time.

“Rain,” Scootaloo whispered. The colt’s ears were flattened against his head, and she could feel knots of tense muscles throbbing in his back.

“Scootaloo,” he said in a voice that was about to break from sadness. “I can’t believe this…”

They broke off and looked at each other. They had both grown a bit, but the difference wasn’t great. Morning Rain had let his grey mane grow out, and Scootaloo’s hadn’t held a braid since she came to Ponyville, but all in all they looked like bigger versions of themselves from a few years back.

Then the colt fixed her in those green eyes, and the illusion was gone. Those eyes weren’t bright as she remembered, nor as happy. His lip trembled before he spoke, and Scootaloo wondered if he would burst out in tears and give himself away after all that effort to subdue her.

“The griffins are coming back, Scootaloo.”

It was barely a whisper, and he voice squeaked out in the end, but the message was clear. Scootaloo should have laughed; at the very least she should have put a foreleg across his shoulder and told him that nothing of that sort would ever happen, but neither her legs nor her throat would obey.

“It’s worse than that,” Rain continued after a few deep, shuddering breaths. “The griffins are coming, and the Lunar Guards will turn on us, and a new Nightmare Moon is coming, and it’s up to me to stop them because no one believes me!”

A part of her mind told her to laugh. Instead, Scootaloo rested a foreleg on the colt’s back, making him sag lower still.

“What happened to you, Rain?”

“They attacked the orphanage.”

“Who attacked the orphanage?”

“Griffins.”

“In Canterlot,” Scootaloo breathed, feeling a shiver run down her back despite the sheer ridiculousness of the claim. “Griffins attacked Canterlot.”

“Not Canterlot,” Rain hissed. “Just the orphanage. Last Monday, quarter past nine, they came in on a shadow and got right into the mess hall. A shadow, Scootaloo! I heard that some of the Lunar Guards can do that, but these were ten huge Griffins rising out of one shadow! It looked like the floor was painted black, that shadow was so dark! I was just doing rounds with Dawn, and there they were…”

“Shining Dawn?” Scootaloo interrupted. Suddenly she was pushed onto her back, and for the second time that night a muddy hoof was shoved in her mouth. After five seconds of silence (broken only by her own racing heart), Rain retreated to his part of the bed.

“Shining Dawn,” he sighed, looking down at his hooves. “It was his last night there; he was moving out in the morning! He was right behind me. I flew away to alert everyone. When I made it to Gari’s room, Dawn wasn’t there anymore. He didn’t even make a sound! They found his body in the morning, along with three others. They got Swift Fog too, Scootaloo!”

She felt bile rising in her stomach, and had to put her head down to stop the spinning. The colt babbled on, but she her mind filtered out his words. What she could process painted a grim enough image. Like many children she had heard tales of the Griffins’ brutality of old.

They’ll drop out of the sky on a fine, cloudless day…

They slaughtered the mares and the stallions, whoever they could get their claws on. They brought their own children to round up the colts and fillies. Then, after the sun set, they had their victory feast…

“Scootaloo,” Rain said in his quivering whisper, prodding her shoulder with one hoof.

He was there, she reminded herself. He’s scared too, and he needs me.

Scootaloo sat up again, putting her hoof back across his shoulder and holding him close by her side this time. It had the desired effect; Rain looked over at her, and she felt his shaking subside.

“I believe you, Rain,” She said. Maybe it wasn’t the whole truth, but he needed to hear her say it. “You don’t have to tell me everything if it makes you uncomfortable; I know that you wouldn’t be here like this if you didn’t think it was important.” Putting on a strong face, she looked straight into the colt’s troubled eyes. “What can I do to help?”

This caught him off guard. Rain’s ears perked up for the first time since he arrived, and his mouth hung open for a second before he found the words.

“I have a plan,” he whispered, the intensity in his expression tempered by his young features. “I know where these Griffins are coming from, but it’s really far away. I can’t explain it right now, but I know that these griffins aren’t from Equestria. I’m heading to Horseshoe Bay, and there should be ships that can take me across the ocean. That has to be where all their soldiers are coming from. I’ll find weapons on the way, and when I figure out who’s responsible, I’ll kill them right then and there. It’s that simple. No more griffins, no more problems!”

“Whoa!” Scootaloo hissed, putting her other hoof on the colt’s nose. “Rain, you can’t do that. You’re too young to be talking like that!”

To her surprise, Rain shook off her hoof and glared at her with eyes full of angry tears.

“Don’t tell me that!” He growled. “I don’t need to hear any more of that, especially not from you! I thought you’d understand, Scootaloo! They’ve killed my father, and now they’ve killed our brothers. They can’t keep pushing us around! WE WILL NOT…”

His voice had been growing steadily in volume, but Scootaloo hadn’t anticipated his screaming. Resisting the urge to back away, she instead tackled him onto the mattress and did her best to clamp his mouth shut with both her forelegs. She could feel his hot breath on her neck. The colt struggled hard, but being at least as tired as her and quite a bit smaller, there was no hope of breaking free.

“Calm down, Rain,” she breathed into his ear, which was twitching frantically. “You don’t want to get caught, do you?”

His muffled moans died down after a while. Scootaloo tried to listen for hoofsteps outside her door, but the blood pounding in her ears was more than enough to drown that out. What would she do if her father walked in, anyways?

The moonlight fell on the drawer lying on the floor. It was getting late. Still she stayed on top of the colt, her hooves slickened with his tears and the froth that had seeped through his lips.

“Can you be quiet now?” Scootaloo whispered at last.

He did his best to nod, and she released him. Her wings had been locked open the whole time, and she had to suppress a groan as she eased them back to their folded position with a pop. Rain curled up at the foot of the bed and hid his face in his crossed forelegs. His back trembled, and though he didn’t throw another tantrum the silence was punctuated with intermittent sniffling.

“Rain, I need you to get under the bed,” Scootaloo said, placing a hoof on his shoulder. The colt looked up with wet eyes, keeping his muzzled buried under his glistening hooves. “You need to rest. There’s extra sheets and pillows in the closet, and my dad doesn’t usually come in here. If you stay towards the headboard he won’t see you. You'll be safe here, and tomorrow we'll figure this out together.”

He nodded, and Scootaloo wasted no time dropping onto the floor and tiptoeing to the closet. Opening the door slowly to avoid making too much noise, she pulled out a thick comforter and a pillow. It was summer, but Scootaloo remembered Fluttershy saying something about keeping injured animals warm to prevent shock and figured that Rain wouldn’t complain in his current state. She slid the things under the bed and motioned for the colt to take his place.

Rain had just raised his head, and moving quietly if reluctantly, disappeared into the darkness below until all that could be seen of him was a pair of puppy-dog eyes.

Scootaloo frowned. Going back to the closet, she felt around the bottom shelf until her hoof brushed against something fluffy wedged tightly between two pillows. Pulling it out, she examined it briefly in the darkness. The bear was missing an eye, and she couldn’t tell to which shade of brown or orange it had faded since she last saw it, but she knew that it would help him more than any of the nicer things she might offer.

“Rain,” she whispered when she was once again standing beside her bed. The eyes were narrowed, perhaps out of exhaustion but suspiciously in her mind. “I have something for you. Do you remember Pebbles the Bear?”

At this his eyes opened wide, just as Scootaloo had hoped.

“Remember how you always wanted to play with him, but I wouldn’t let you?” She continued, noting the flash of annoyance in his gaze. “Well, I think he knows that you’re not feeling well. If it makes any difference, he says he’ll stay with you for tonight.”

Scootaloo held out the stuffed bear, cringing inwardly as it disappeared under the shadow of the bed. It wasn’t that she was afraid of the dark or of Rain, but something about that particular patch of darkness made her uneasy. She almost expected to be dragged away when her hoof passed the edge of the shadow. Fortunately for her Rain took the toy eagerly, and his eyes disappeared. Scootaloo could hear him rearranging the pillow and covering to get into a somewhat comfortable position.

Feeling exhausted herself and still not quite understanding the events of that night, Scootaloo crawled back onto the bed and under her tear-soaked sheets. As she fell asleep that night listening to the rustling of the strange guest under her bed, a tiny part of her mind reflecting on how funny it was that Rain used to sleep on the top bunk.

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Scootaloo woke up to a bright morning. A rooster was crowing in the street, and she could hear a wagon creaking along the road towards the market. A light haze had settled on the town, and each deep breath carried the faint scents of fertile earth, sweet compost and even a suggestion of baked goods from Sugarcube Corner.

She laid still for a while, enjoying the feeling of the straw bed on her aching back. Oh, it wasn’t aching now, but she knew that as soon as she moved, all the little things that she hadn’t noticed last night would have their turn. Her wings were limp, and the act of pulling a foreleg out from under the covers reminded her exactly where the vine harness had been when she was still shoulder-deep in cold mud.

The sound of popping joints inches beneath her made Scootaloo’s mane stand on end. The soft groan that followed came just in time for her to stuff her newly-liberated hoof in her mouth and kill the scream in her throat. However, it did little to ease her mind.

She waited for him to speak first. When he didn’t, it took all her energy to roll over and scoot to the edge of the bed.

The tip of a cream-and-black wing was just visible jutting over the edge of the bed frame. The pinion was half stripped. Scootaloo lowered one orange hoof and flicked the wing, hoping to get his attention.

With a few rustles and thumps on the bottom of the bed the feather disappeared. Rain blew a long throaty sigh through his nostrils.

Now there’s a good idea.

She extended all four legs as far as she could, until her knees popped and her shoulders felt like they were in the right place again. Then she readjusted her sheets and turned away from the window.

Her left ear wouldn’t stop twitching. Her heart skipped a beat at every sound that drifted through the open window, and she couldn’t help but shoulder check the rest of the room every five minutes.

Griffins. Griffins ATTACKING an orphanage. Griffins attacking the ORPHANAGE, in CANTERLOT.

And nobody seems to know about it except Rain.

Letting out a low moan of frustration, Scootaloo threw aside the covers and got onto the floor. Going to the window, she looked to the big clock on the house across the street.

6:10.

There were five ponies in front of her house; Big Macintosh plodded along at a steady pace, lugging the largest of three compost carts. The other two stallions were grey earth ponies of a similar burly build, and reminded her a little too much of the royal guards from the previous night. Their mumbled conversation was indistinct as they turned the corner and headed towards the edge of town. Golden Harvest was humming a tune as she trotted towards the market with an empty saddle bag. It was still early in the season for her crops; her bright orange vegetable stand would not be seen in the market square for another month at least, and she didn’t need to pedal her famous preserves.

Scootaloo pulled her head beneath the level of the windowsill when she saw the last figure. He looked to be an earth pony a bit shorter than Big Macintosh, but most of his body was hidden in a blue-and-black cloak. His hood was up, perhaps to ward off the dust, but his dark grey muzzle confirmed everything Scootaloo had dreaded.

The cloaked pony turned the opposite direction from the farmers. Scootaloo waited at her window for ten minutes, scanning every passer-by until, sure enough, the figure appeared again, passing without an upward glance and heading in the same direction as before.

The drawer that Rain had removed last night was still lying on the floor. Scootaloo grabbed an orange crayon from the closet and ripped out two blank pages from the back of the journal.

Her neck was still aching, and the crayon made her usual chicken-scratch writing even worse, but the message was legible enough:

Rain

My dad works from 8:00 to 4:00. Bathroom is the second door to the left. Stay in here, stay quiet, keep the window closed. Weird ponies in dark cloaks outside, one of them is circling this block.

Your sister,

Stlo

Folding the page into a triangle and then rolling it into a tube, Scootaloo placed it in Rain’s forelegs, which were closed tightly around the teddy bear (it looked even uglier by the light of the morning). His ungroomed wings were loosely-folded, and the comforter was completely underneath him, providing some padding from the dusty floor.

Rain really hadn’t changed all that much. His wings were still disproportionately large; as big as Rainbow Dash’s despite him being about half her height. His sandy mane was long enough to look dishevelled in the morning, and the tip of his tail was a muddy mess. On his flank…

Scootaloo felt a pang of jealousy. The image was of a long white candle, nearly indistinguishable on his pale coat. The flame had two orange tongues, with a circular grey aura and a trail of wispy smoke flowing in a gentle current. The candle stood on a plain gold dish, rendered as a gossamer arc.

I guess you don’t need the Cutie Mark Crusaders.

She patted Rain gently on the nose, this only succeeding in making him bury his face in the feather-stuffed pillow. Confident that her work here was finished for the time, Scootaloo wrote the second note.

Dad

I’m heading out early this morning. Leave dishes in the sink; I’ll be home before 3:00. I’m not coming back for lunch.

Love

Scootaloo

Donning her maroon cape and retrieving the bits off the floor, Scootaloo tiptoed down the stairs before dashing out the front door, only stopping in the kitchen to drop off her message.

The air at ground level was a bit dusty, but it was a reasonable trade-off for a week of sunny weather. Scootaloo stayed to the right of the wheel ruts in the hard-packed dirt, wishing that her own wheels didn’t squeak so loudly. Any minute now she expected the cloaked stallion to appear, though she glanced around each time to see only familiar eyes be they tired or excited or troubled or contented.

Traffic increased as she neared the market square. Most vendors were still setting up their stands, though a few greasy breakfast places were open for business. She nearly succumbed to the smell of cinnamon beavertails, but the sight of a blue news stand reminded her of the task at hand.

Doctor Whooves was arranging the morning’s papers at 2955C. The tall blue stall was made of salvaged wood from a river barge, and the story went that its tarnished brass sign used to be the ID plaque. The former clockmaker had moved into town at about the same time as Scootaloo, and that was grounds enough for them to become friends in the ensuing years.

“Good morning, Doctor,” Scootaloo called, pulling up in front of the news stand.

“Good morning to you too, Scootaloo,” He replied without skipping a beat. He had a sort of half-smile on his face as he turned around, wiping the ink stain off his chin. “Isn’t it a bit early?”

“It’s such a nice day, I thought I could take a ride around town before it gets busy.” Scootaloo took a soggy paper from the top of the pile, her hooves turning grey from the not-yet-dry ink. The pages smelled terrible. With a scrunched nose she scanned through the whole thing quickly under the increasingly-concerned gaze of the brown stallion behind the counter. Having found no mention of the Canterlot orphanage, she refolded the paper to the best of her ability and placed it back on top of the pile.

“Is there something you’re looking for?” Doctor Whooves asked as he deliberately picked up the mess of pages and hid it under the display.

“I’m looking for news on the Canterlot orphanage,” Scootaloo said. “I heard that something terrible happened there, and I want to know if it’s true.”

“Well, I’m sure it’s not true,” the newsvendor frowned. “I get papers from all over Equestria, and quite a few telegrams too. Canterlot is as peaceful as always, the princesses are well and accounted for, and I believe the Starswirls the Bearded traveling exhibition should be returning to the Canterlot Museum next week. Nothing out of the ordinary at all… now speaking of out of the ordinary…”

Scootaloo followed his gaze to a trio of cloaked figures entering the market. Only the one in the middle wore the black and blue cloak she had seen earlier, but the red- and green- hooded stallions flanking him were evidently of the same type. Their hoods were down now, and though their golden eyes were normal-looking there was no hiding those tufted ears.

“Lunar Guards,” the Doctor mused as the bat ponies got in line at a beavertail stand. “In broad daylight; out of uniform; in Ponyville, of all places.”

“What do you think they’re doing here?” Scootaloo asked, turning her back to the scene.

“Vacationing?” He suggested, sounding rather unconvinced himself. “Don’t seem like the type for sunshine and swims in the lake, though. I don’t know.”

They were talking with the construction workers seated around the food cart now. Occasionally somepony would shake their head, but they were too far away to be heard.

“They’re looking for a missing colt.”

Scootaloo’s head snapped back to face the newsvendor, who was leaning over his stand and squinting intently as the scene.

“Palamino… Eight years old… pegasus… Canker… Scratch that last one…”

Scootaloo opened her mouth, but the stallion raised a hoof to silence her.

“Well, that’s interesting,” he said, finally turning his attention back to the filly. “Looks like something is happening in Canterlot after all. They’re looking for a missing pegasus colt. Not exactly useful to you, unless you’ve seen anypony unusual in the last few days.”

“No one at all,” Scootaloo said, doing her best to seem casual. Fortunately Doctor Whooves was still infatuated with the three bat ponies across the street, perhaps trying to lip read some more of their conversations. She took the opportunity to slip behind the news stand and exit the street through the narrow track between the houses and the backs of vendors’ stalls.

The bat ponies were everywhere. She had no doubt now that every dark grey Royal Guard that she passed on the street was a bat pony in disguise. Some made more of an effort to be discreet, however; Scootaloo nearly bumped into a moustached stallion in a flowery yellow shirt and dark glasses, and two others were completely undressed and attending a tour of town hall.

She spent twenty minutes helping Roseluck move buckets of water and set up her stand, all the while keeping count of the number of unfamiliar grey ponies on the street. She walked away from it all with two more bits in her pocket and a bright red lily in her mouth that almost offset the unpleasant sour taste of her growing edginess. By then Sugarcube Corner was open, and Scootaloo went inside to save the booth just under the staircase. At least there didn’t seem to be any bat ponies in the bakery. Even more fortunately, Pinkie Pie was busy with the morning rush and did not question her too much about her newfound interest in the old newspapers scattered around the diner.

The big table was soon covered with these newspapers as if Scootaloo was going to start painting. She sipped her hot chocolate intermittently, and the bowl of hot cereal remained untouched, the spoonful of brown sugar on top melting into a caramel blotch at the centre of the paste which went from steaming hot to lukewarm before the filly even noticed its presence.

She was reading through a column from five days ago about the history of Royal Guard armoury when two shapes entered her peripheral vision.

“Whacha’ doin’, Scootaloo?”

“Hi girls,” Scootaloo greeted, forcing herself to look up. “I was just reading up on some things.”

“You? Reading?” Apple Bloom smirked, hopping onto the bench beside her. Sweetie Belle climbed onto the opposite bench, grimacing as she fell clumsily against the seat back. Any sign of jesting left their faces upon seeing Scootaloo’s grim expression.

“What happened, Scootaloo?” Sweetie Belle asked, scrunching yesterday’s paper as she leaned in closer. “Did your dad get really upset?”

“Not exactly,” Scootaloo replied, scanning the room quickly before leaning in and lowering her voice. “Girls, remember how I told you that I stayed in an orphanage for a few months back when my dad was in the army?”

“Scootaloo, are you having bad dreams again?” Apple Bloom put a hoof on her shoulder.

“No, listen,” the pegasus filly said, shrugging off the gesture. “I shared a room with this colt…”

“Oooh,” Sweetie Belle cooed, vigorously blinking in her best impression of her sister. Seeing Scootaloo’s fiery glare, she stopped and lowered her gaze. “Sorry.”

“I shared a room with a colt,” she continued. “He was another officer’s son, and he was supposed to be there for a short term stay as well. We were real close, and it turned out we lived pretty close to each other in Cloudsdale too. Anyways, my dad picked me up from the orphanage when he got back, and a few days later we moved to Ponyville. I don’t know what happened to him after that.”

“So you’re lookin’ for your friend, is that it?”

“Not quite,” Scootaloo said. “He found me.”

“Come again?”

“Ooooh! Twilight! It’s so great to see you! Who’s your friend there? I don’t think I’ve ever seen a pony like you before!”

All three turned in unison to see Pinkie Pie hovering above the lineup at the till. Scootaloo giggled at the three ponies pressed against the wall with eyes bugging out of their heads, while the regular customers simply continued their conversations overtop the baker’s shrill voice. Twilight had one foreleg raised in surprise, and standing beside her…

Scootaloo slowly withdrew to a sitting position and looked down at the wrinkled newspaper in front of her. To her dismay Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom didn’t take the hint, and instead leaned exaggeratedly out of the booth in order to get a better look at the dark-cloaked mare.

One shadow fell over the edge of the table, followed by another. A third bounced in and out of her field of view in a regular rhythm.

“Pinkie pie! The muffins!”

“Ooooh! Sorry, Mrs. Cake! I’ll be back in a bit, Twilight!”

“Pinkie Pie,” the purple alicorn said through gritted teeth. The bouncing stopped. “Gari here has some important work to do. We’ll talk later, okay?”

“Okie dokie!” In Scootaloo’s mind she could see the bright pink baker flailing her legs frantically and skidding on the spot for a brief moment before disappearing with a puff of dust.

“Sorry,” Twilight said in a lower voice. Her head turned towards the table, and she did her very best to sound casual when she next spoke. “Hey girls, how are you today?”

“We’re all fine and dandy, Twilight,” Apple Bloom replied enthusiastically. “Just a little sore from yesterday. So who are you, miss, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“My name is Gari.”

And she was telling the truth. Her voice was like a mountain creek, soothing and inoffensive but without any hint of shyness or uncertainty. Even Scootaloo felt a little more at ease. She looked up to meet her dark green eyes.

Pinkie Pie was not exaggerating in her assessment; most ponies have never seen anything quite like Gari. She stood as tall as Twilight, but with a build more akin to a farm pony than a princess. Her neck and face were mostly a light shade of brown, but her muzzle was conspicuously pale. Two triangular streaks of chocolate on either side of her nose gave the impression of a moustache, something which she often used to humorous effect when she read to her children. Her ears were dark brown, and an astute observer would notice that the four hooves visible under the hem of her dark cloak were brown too.

“That’s a really nice cloak,” Sweetie Belle commented.

“Thank you,” the unicorn smiled at her before turning her attention back to the orange pegasus across the table. “Scootaloo, how have you been?”

“You know her?” Apple Bloom asked to Scootaloo’s annoyance.

“She runs the Canterlot Orphanage,” Scootaloo explained quickly before turning her attention back to the oddly-coloured unicorn. “What do you want, Gari?”

“Scootaloo!” Twilight gasped.

“It’s okay, Twilight,” Gari cut her off. “Scootaloo, is Morning Rain alright?”

“Why do you think I would know?” Scootaloo said, trying not to sound too offended yet knowing that she had lost regardless.

“He ran away from the orphanage two days ago,” Gari explained. The concern in her eyes made it all the more difficult for the filly to keep up her already flimsy charade. “I know he got on a train heading this way, and I know that he was looking for you. Please tell me if you’ve seen him.”

“Hey!”

By the time Twilight regained her balance Scootaloo was already at the front door, her wings buzzing furiously. She didn’t have a plan beyond getting out of the bakery, but her mind was made up regarding at least one matter.

Rain trusted her enough to travel all the way to Ponyville.

If it took you two days, I owe you at least that much.

She was suddenly pulled backwards. Her scooter shot out from beneath her and continued on for a few metres before falling over. Her wings buzzed against something hard and metallic, and she broke a few feathers as she struggled with all her might to get free form the huge limbs restraining her.

“Whoa, why the hurry?”

The guard sounded utterly friendly, which only made it worse. Scootaloo sighed and fell limp as she was carried back into the bakery full of staring eyes.

“Sorry for the commotion, everypony,” Twilight said slowly, looking around the room with a forced smile. Her face was beet-red, and she did not seem to notice that her wings were raised in an awkward, half-extended position that forced Gari to duck ungracefully under them.

“Fine,” Scootaloo huffed after one last valiant kick. “Let’s just get out of here.”

“What’s going on, Twilight?” Pinkie Pie chirped, springing out of the kitchen.

“It’s nothing,” The alicorn said. “We’ll be on our way.”

The guard turned around, carrying Scootaloo outside again where two more armoured stallions were waiting. One had shouldered the wooden scooter, and the other… no, there were three.

Four.

With every step a new pony appeared until Gari emerged from the bakery and explained the situation. Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle bound up to the guard carrying Scootaloo, craning their necks to look at their friend. Had it not been for his Royal Guard armor and Twilight’s apparent approval, the stallion wouldn’t have made it two steps before Apple Bloom tried to buck his leg out from under him.

“I can walk, you know?” Scootaloo said. The side of his shoe was digging into her ribs, and his grip was like a vise.

“Put her down, April Creek,” Gari said. It sounded more like a suggestion than an order, but Scootaloo was gently lowered to the ground. She shot forwards as soon as her hooves touched down, but all traction disappeared after five steps. She was running on the spot with a pale yellow tint to her vision. Even her wings could not propel her forwards.

“Scootaloo, please,” Twilight said, walking up beside her. “There’s been a misunderstanding. Morning Rain was really upset when he left Canterlot, and we’re concerned about him.”

“We?” Scootaloo repeated, eyeing the alicorn. “You’ve never even seen him, have you?”

“I’m worried,” Gari corrected, releasing the filly as she flanked her left side. “Rain told you a lot, didn’t he?”

“Was he lying then?” The filly demanded, being careful now not to walk too fast. Gari’s cloak cut off view of everything to her left; Scootaloo couldn’t check that her friends were still with her or verify the number of guards that were present.

“I know that he’s not,” the unicorn admitted. She was taking a long route around town to avoid the market square. “That doesn’t mean he’s doing the right thing. What is his plan, anyways?”

“I couldn’t say,” Scootaloo lied.

“Fair enough.”

Looking to the purple alicorn on her other side, Scootaloo failed to make eye contact. Twilight wore a nervous smile, and sweat flowed down her long neck as she deflected each curious pedestrian. She wondered why the princess was so worked up. Twilight had a history of overreacting to small things, but was making a scene at Sugarcube Corner really all it took to set her off?

“I’ll stay outside,” Gari said, breaking the silence. “Scootaloo, please tell Rain that I’m looking for him. Let him know that I’m not mad at him.”

Scootaloo shifted her focus past Twilight and recognized the intersection at the end of her street. Gari stepped aside, and the guard returned her scooter.

She proceeded at a sluggish pace, flapping her wings just enough to keep going forwards, until Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom caught up to her.

“What’s going on?” The white unicorn asked. “Why does Gari think that you would know anything about this ‘Morning Rain’?”

“He was the colt I roomed with back at the orphanage,” Scootaloo snapped. Sweetie Belle could be so dull sometimes. Then again, the dots that needed connecting were rather distant and disjoint.

“That doesn’t explain why he’s looking for you,” Apple Bloom said.

“He’s looking for me because I’m his big sister.”

“But you’re not his sister!”

Scootaloo stopped dead in her track and glared down at Sweetie Belle, who backed away one step.

“I’m his sister,” she said, carefully articulating each word. “In the same sense that Rainbow Dash is my sister. It means that I promised to help him, to guide him and to be there when he needs me. Now he’s come all the way from Canterlot, so you can bet that he needs me.”

“Do you think Gari’s been mistreating ‘im?” Apple Bloom suggested, checking over her shoulder for good measure.

“Absolutely not,” Scootaloo snapped. “Gari’s the nicest, most patient pony I know. I can’t tell you girls anything else. He’ll be upset enough that I can’t hide him for even one day.”

“Do you want us to go inside?” Sweetie Belle said, lowering her voice as they approached the front door. The lattice on the second-floor window was closed.

Scootaloo opened her mouth to refuse, but her mind was already playing through scenarios. How mad would he be? Twilight mentioned that Rain left Canterlot in a bad mood, and it was a serious enough matter for Gari to enlist the Lunar Guards. Rain also had no trouble sneaking into her room and subduing her, and in their time together at the orphanage he had started at least as many fights as Scootaloo did.

He probably got more sleep than I did, and he can fly.

Maybe having a bit of backup wasn’t such a bad idea.

“Stay downstairs,” Scootaloo instructed before opening the door and ushering in the two other fillies.

She took off her cloak and draped it across the handlebars of the scooter. She was about to walk right past the kitchen when an idea struck her.

The breakfast dishes were soaking in the sink; as always, her father had used one plate, one bowl and one unassuming white mug, leaving her three plates, two bowls and two tea-stained cups with which to work. She placed the rusty half-head of lettuce from last night’s dinner onto a plate. In the cupboard beside the sink she found the jar of rolled oats. She sprinkled a generous portion on top of the greens, and then reached deep into the same cupboard for cranberries.

This jar was dusty from disuse, and its contents were caked together, but after some vigorous shaking she managed to dislodge a few berries to pour out.

“I give up,” whispered Apple Bloom as Scootaloo got on all four and carefully transferred the finished product onto her back. “What are you doing?”

“It’s breakfast,” She explained sheepishly. “Maybe he’ll feel better if he’s not hungry.”

Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom followed her to the base of the stairs, and Scootaloo ascended alone, spilling an oat or two on the way up.

The hallway upstairs was dark; the half-open door to her father’s room admitted just enough light to distinguish the outlines of the other doors. Something small and grey scurried between her legs and down the stairs, and soon she heard the sound of rapid chewing coming from somewhere below.

Her unpainted wood door opened with the familiar wood-on-wood squeak that it picked up every spring and maintained until the dry heat of midsummer. The closed lattice gave everything in the room a rosy glow, and the morning mist had brought out the faintest scents from the thatching overhead. Scootaloo was pleased to see that her furniture had been restored to the appropriate arrangement.

Rain was sprawled on her bed with Pebbles the Bear supporting his chin. His wings beat slowly to generate a breeze. A circle of dust and straw had formed around the bed, and a bit of straw was lazily dancing across the floor to join the narrow grey line.

His eyes were half-lidded, staring longingly at the ribbons of cloudless sky between the strips of painted wood. His mane was even messier than before, and his ears hung limp on top of his head, both of them falling to the right. Upon seeing his sister he raised his head and folded his wings. The circle jumped one last time and was still.

“Here,” Scootaloo said, placing the plate on the markedly cleaner floor inside the circle. “Rain…”

“She found you,” he said without even looking up from the food. “I heard you coming down the street.”

“I’m sorry, Rain,” Scootaloo sighed, sitting down across from the colt. “I didn’t want to tell Gari anything…”

“That part’s my fault,” Rain said, looking up from what little remained of the cabbage. There was a flake of oat stuck to his chin, which he scooped up with his tongue before continuing. “I should have told you about the bat ponies last night. Actually, given what they already knew I’m surprised Gari wasn’t staring me in the face when I got up this morning. Good call with the note, by the way.”

“Rain,” Scootaloo said, putting her hoof on top of his. “Gari’s waiting outside. Should I let her in? Do you want to see her?”

“I guess,” Rain sighed. “Maybe this isn’t a bad thing, though. Scootaloo, promise me this, okay? I’m going to ask her some things, and I want her to answer me here, and I want you to hear what she has to say. After that, what I need may be more than anything you can provide.”

“Wait a second,” Scootaloo said. “Are you still going to…”

Rain ran one hoof across his pursed lips and nodded at the window.

“That’s a yes, then,” Scootaloo whispered.

He nodded.

“From now on until we go our separate ways, I want you to know everything that I know. No secrets, just like before, okay sis?”

Scootaloo nodded.

What have I gotten myself into?

“Let’s go,” she said, standing up and motioning for the colt to follow.

The two went downstairs to find Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom exactly where they had stopped.

“Girls,” Scootaloo announced as Rain stepped tentatively onto the first floor. “This is my brother, Morning Rain. Rain, this is Sweetie Belle, and that’s Apple Bloom.”

“Nice to meet you,” Sweetie Belle chimed with a toothy smile.

The colt returned the gesture, and all four went into the small living room. The curtains were drawn as they always were, so that no one commented on the faded and sagging upholstery on the couch or the many patches where the paint had chipped off the walls. Finding the wooden side door, Scootaloo drew a latch that was nearly rusted shut and pulled open the door with some difficulty. It popped out of the frame with a warbling bang, and Scootaloo wasn’t sure she would be able to close it again.

“Mom?” Rain called tentatively.

With her cloak on, Gari blocked the entire bottom half of the door as she stepped into the house. She had a genuine smile on her face, and looking back at Rain Scootaloo saw some of his anxiety fading away, though it was not gone.

“You had me worried, Rain,” the mare said, picking up the colt with one hoof and pulling him into a hug. “Why did you run away?”

Twilight came in after Gari, looking around the room with mild disgust. The bat ponies didn’t follow her, but Scootaloo could see their shadows in the alleyway. There were at least two guarding the door, and probably many more circling the block like the one from earlier.

“I had to,” Rain said, looking Gari in the eyes. “You were hiding the truth from me; things that I should be allowed to know.”

“I meant to tell you, Rain,” she sighed, sitting down on the dusty floor. “I’m sorry that you had to find out this way, and I understand that it seems pretty bad out of context, but I’ll explain to you everything when we get home.”

“No,” Rain said firmly. “Tell me now, and tell Scootaloo too.”

Gari turned her gaze towards Scootaloo, and though it carried no more malice than before she couldn’t help but retreat a half-step towards the hall.

“This is a family matter, Scootaloo,” she said evenly. “Can you and your friends excuse us for a moment?”

She wanted to do as she was told. Rain was the one who ran away from home; she wasn’t in any trouble at all. It was technically his fault that she had to be carried kicking and screaming into a packed diner like a fussy foal. But the memories of last night were still clear in her mind, and with it came the memory of a damp, lamp-lit cave about half a day’s hike from Winsome Falls. Funny how truth from the heart comes out under starlight, and those promises witnessed by a million glittering eyes could not be denied even under the sober light of high noon.

“I’m his sister,” she said, planting her front hooves with a muffled click on the unfinished wood floor. “Rain came to me for a reason, and now I have a right to know.”

“I was afraid of that,” Gari said, her eyes turning grim. “Princess Twilight, please close the door. Apple Bloom; Sweetie Belle; can you two wait outside?”

“We’re Scootaloo’s friends,” the earth pony insisted, mimicking Scootaloo’s gesture. “If she’s having a problem, we’re here to help.”

“No,” Scootaloo interrupted, turning to the other two. “You can’t be here. This is between me, Gari and Rain. There’s nothing you can do to help.”

She felt bad for speaking to them this way, but Apple Bloom at least seemed to understand.

“Come on, Sweetie Belle,” she sighed, making her way towards the open door. After ushering out the while unicorn, she turned back on the threshold and addressed Scootaloo. “We’ll be right outside if you need anything.”

The door creaked and groaned, but could not be completely closed. Even encased in Twilight’s magical aura it twitched and shuddered like something alive, and at length the alicorn princess resorted to sitting against it to hold it shut. Catching Scootaloo’s eyes, she offered a familiar awkward grin.

“Shouldn’t she be gone too?” Scootaloo asked.

“Princess Twilight has special permission to know these things,” Gari explained. “Now, I think you need to get up to speed on a few things for this to make any sense.”

The unicorn closed her eyes as her horn lit up. The cloak on her back was surrounded in a soft yellow glow. The folds of dark fabric flowed as if in a gentle breeze, and the garment lifted smoothly over her head before rolling into a neat bundle.

Two cream wings extended in a graceful arc, rivaling Twilight’s in size. Her belly was the same pale colour as her muzzle, and it was clear now that the dark brown of her fetlocks extended halfway up both of her front legs.

Setting the cloak down beside her, Gari opened her eyes and smiled mischievously down at the gaping filly.

“You’re a princess now?” Scootaloo finally managed to say.

“I never was,” Gari said. “The wings were a gift from my mother. I’ve had them for a little over a thousand years now.”

Scootaloo couldn’t tell if she was joking or not. Gari folded her wings and looked at Twilight from the corner of her eye.

“Right,” the purple alicorn said quickly, her ears perking up in surprise. “Scootaloo, Gari is one of the original Children of the Night, selected by Princess Luna shortly after the defeat of Discord to establish a new colony. While the records from that period are unclear, and most historians who study this period of Equestrian history believed that the colony was only an obscure myth…”

“Summarize,” Gari suggested. Twilight’s jaws snapped shut, and her face was starting to turn red again.

“Well,” Twilight tried again. “The Children of the Night were raised by Luna, and they were turned into alicorns shortly before she became Nightmare Moon…”

“Thank you,” Gari interrupted again. She giggled, seeing the princess hiding behind her hooves. “You don’t have to be so nervous, Twilight. You’re the princess here.”

Scootaloo listened to the conversation with one ear. In her mind she was recalling every incident where she had seen Gari. There were many during her seven month stay at the orphanage, but under new scrutiny she realized that she had never before seen Gari without her cloak.

“Okay,” she stammered at last. “Okay, I guess that makes sense. Now what does this have to do with griffins?”

“Why were you drinking with the Griffins?” Rain snapped, flaring his massive wings and taking an offensive stance in front of Gari.

“Because griffins don’t negotiate without drinking,” Gari explained patiently.

“Why were you negotiating with griffins?” He pressed on. “They killed Swift Fog and Shining Dawn…”

“They also got Arcing Craft and Windy Shores, but you don’t seem to care as much about them.” Her tone remained unaggressive. Rain hung his head with his jaws locked shut. “Rain, I understand how difficult this is for you, and I know that you think I don’t care. I do care, Rain, and I remember every child who’s ever lived under my roof. Why do you think I know Scootaloo’s address even though I could have forgotten all about her as soon as her dad carried her off to Cloudsdale?”

A dark spot was growing on the floor beneath the colt’s downcast face.

“You knew that we moved to Ponyville?” Scootaloo said as she moved to her brother’s side and placed a hoof on his ribs.

“Your father was young, and he was returning from a tour of duty with an injury,” Gari explained. “Even good ponies will go through tough times, and he had changed a lot in those seven months; I didn’t want anything to happen to you. In hindsight I can say that it was excessive in your case, but other children haven’t been so lucky. I hope you understand.”

“Okay,” Scootaloo said, her words coming out more belligerent than she intended. Her mind was still playing catch up, and already the seeds of a new terror were taking root. “I guess you have your reasons. But you’re telling me that griffins attacked the orphanage, Rain saw it happen, and a few days later you were drinking with them.”

“I was negotiating with them, as I’ve just told you.”

“I agree with Rain, then,” Scootaloo said slowly. The colt turned and regarded her with one glistening eye, silently begging her to keep talking. “I don’t see why you had to negotiate at all. Why didn’t you hand them over to Princess Celestia, or punish them yourself?”

“Scootaloo…” Twilight said softly.

“Princess Celestia knows nothing about this incident,” Gari interrupted. “This is more complicated than you think, Scootaloo. These griffins were trying to get my attention. Given the state of my office on the night before Rain ran away, I take it that he read my unfinished letter to my brother Wind Whisper. It was a mistake on my part to compare them to Nightmare Moon, and I would never question the loyalty of the Lunar Guards, but sylvanocians, or bat ponies as you know them, do possess an unusual form of magic that’s difficult to describe in other terms.”

“You’re lying,” Rain croaked between sobs. “Sylvanocians haven’t done anything like that since the Children of the Night were first called! This is more than a common sylvanocian, Gari! Why can’t you admit it? Griffins are coming from across the sea to attack you, they have something on their side that’s as powerful as an alicorn, and it. Is. Evil!”

“These griffins did come from their homeland,” Gari said, taking half a step closer to the colt. He averted his gaze so the alicorn couldn’t see him squeezing the tears out of his eyes. “I know what you saw, because they came to me just as you described. I know that the sylvanocians haven’t been as powerful since Nightmare Moon’s banishment; if I didn’t know, how would you know? Rain, I intend to find out who’s behind this and to bring them to justice, and we will have answers soon enough. I’ve been investigating the attack, and maybe I haven’t been telling you as much as you deserve to know, but after you’ve lived with me for four years, and knowing the times I’ve lived through, don’t you think that I know what’s best for everyone?”

“You had a week, Gari!” Rain spat. “You just dragged all the Lunar Guards from Canterlot to track me down! If you’d sent them to find those griffins instead, we wouldn’t be here in the first place! You weren’t investigating, you were covering for a bunch of griffins! I get that the Children of the Night are used to being all-powerful pushovers, but come on! They’ve killed your children! If you won’t give us justice, I’ll go find it myself!”

It was a blink-and-you-miss-it kind of thing, and had he not nodded in her direction Scootaloo would have ended the day in the hospital instead of where she actually went. The force of his wings snapping open threw her against the wall. With one great whoosh Rain disappeared from the room. A cloud of sawdust and bits of straw cascaded through the railings of the stairs.

“Open the door,” Gari snapped, turning to Twilight who was still staring blankly at the spot where Rain had just been standing. Outside the guards yelled. Letting out a small growl, Gari lowered her head. Scootaloo saw the pale yellow aura surround her body before she disappeared.

Gari’s teleportation spell was completely unlike Twilights. Scootaloo had the wind knocked out of her a second time as the shockwave ruffled her hair and ravaged her eardrums before continuing through the whole building, still strong enough to rattle the plates when it reached the kitchen. Fortunately it also knocked Twilight back to her senses, and the alicorn leapt clear of the door and threw it open.

Scootaloo stumbled for the front door, ignoring the pain in her right side where the wing had struck her.

Just like old days.

Stepping outside, she caught a glimpse of Rain before he veered off to east and was obscured from view by the clock tower. Black shapes filled the air as bat ponies took off from all over town, some doffing their cloaks in mid-flight and shielding their eyes with their forelegs. Scootaloo turned east at the first intersection, ducking underneath an oncoming carriage and nearly crashing into a dark purple mare. The street she had chosen was much too crowded, and Scootaloo could only glance skyward for a second at a time as she galloped after her brother.

This would be easier if I could fly.

Rain was heading due east, climbing steeply. The guards were getting closer; the fastest would catch up in a few more seconds. Scootaloo stretched her neck forwards, as if the extra half inch could afford her a better view of the situation.

A scream brought her eyes back down to street level. Before her was a barrel full of apples. One of those big barrels the Apples used for cider. They were gala apples the size of softballs, half red and half green, first of the season. Two bits for six and three for a dozen, according to the sign.

Scootaloo pulled her head up and reversed her wings, but the film of water on the road made her slip. She closed her eyes and clamped her teeth.

The sudden stop made her feel sick. She didn’t know where the ground went, and she didn’t want to think about what her dad will say when applejack comes calling or what her face might look like after running into a filled oaken barrel at that speed.
Slowly she opened her eyes. Twilight was looking at her through a purple haze.

“What’s happenin’, Twilight?” Applejack was saying. “What’s with all these bat ponies? Why is that odd-looking alicorn running through town?”

“I’ll explain later,” she said quickly. “Girls, go home. Scootaloo, thanks for your help. We’ll make sure Rain is safe.”

Slowly she was turned around in midair and set down on the dirt road. Rain was just a speck now, surrounded by darker specks. Beneath him, obscured from view by the buildings…

Rain folded his wings.

Everyone in the street was watching now. Heads popped out of second storey windows, sometimes two or three at the same one. Twilight mumbled something under her breath and took off down the street, swerving through the stunned pedestrians.

Quickly noting Rain’s position in her mind, Scootaloo turned around and retraced her steps as quickly as she had taken them. Out of her peripheral vision she could see Apple Bloom, and knew that Sweeite Belle was puffing along behind them as well. The earth pony filly was yelling something, but she couldn’t hear it over the blood pounding in her ears.

Before you do anything, you really have to stop and think it through.

But Rain’s really going to do it. What choice do I have?

The front door was still open from her hasty departure. The two bat pony guards were sitting at the head of the alleyway with their helmets lying beside them. Scootaloo ignored them.

Her scooter had fallen over. She tied her cloak around her waist like a thick belt. It might be useful, but for now she needed her wings.

“Scootaloo!” Apple Bloom shouted into her face. Her friends were standing in the doorway, Sweetie Belle with an apologetic expression on her face. Though she righted her scooter and walked towards the door, neither of them made any motion to let her pass.

“Scootaloo, are you listening to me?” Apple Bloom put a firm hoof on her shoulder, much to her annoyance. “You can’t just go after him like this…”

Rain touched down five minutes ago. He won’t be staying in one place…

“Scootaloo, Twilight told us to…”

“Go home,” Scootaloo finished absentmindedly. “Twilight said go home.”

He won’t go in a straight line; probably going a bit to the south to throw them off. But Gari will be expecting him to do that, unless she thinks that he thinks that she expects it…

“You’re not leaving through here,” Apple Bloom said when Scootaloo tried to push past her yet again.

… Enough bat ponies here to search the whole forest. But Rain doesn’t know what he’s doing. They might not find him for hours, and when it gets dark…

With a practiced kick Scootaloo flipped the wooden scooter onto her back. Using her wings, she was at the top of the stairs before her friends realized what had happened. Her bedroom door was wide open, and the sound of a distant and growing commotion floated through the window on a gently breeze.

With a running start, Scootaloo leapt through the window, her wings buzzing like a hummingbird’s to break her fall. She could hear her friends calling as the ground rushed up to meet her (with just a hint of sluggishness). It worked; they couldn’t follow her that way, and by the time they got downstairs she would be gone.

The impact was jarring if not bone-breaking, and the wheels of the scooter creaked in protest. She jerked forwards, and was soon tearing down the street faster than anything except perhaps Rainbow Dash herself.

The streets were starting to fill with ponies looking skyward, and Twilight and Gari where nowhere to be seen. She caught a few feet of air crossing the arched bridge near town hall. The last few houses barely registered in her peripheral vision.

Scootaloo thought she heard her dad calling her name as she passed under the shadow of the first ancient gnarly tree of the Everfree Forest.

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Cluckcluckcluckcluckcluck.

Hsssss!

Everything was moving. Shadows appeared and disappeared, and from time to time she could see faint flashes out of the corners of her eyes. There was nothing there when she looked, of course; just shadows hinting at things that she didn’t want to see.

Cluckcluckcluck.

The first kilometre or so of the forest was relatively familiar ground, and Scootaloo had taken her time searching that area. From his trajectory she knew that he had landed a few hundred metres into the forest, south of Zecora’s hut. That didn’t say anything about where he could be an hour later. After some time with her nose in the undergrowth she found a tiny clearing open to the sky where Rain might have landed, and indeed the moss looked disturbed. From there it was a matter of picking a direction. Far from the path, the trees were so dense that even a child had trouble fitting through. Scootaloo encountered impassible walls of trees or thorny hedges regularly, and though her hooves were soon soaked and freezing from the deep moss bed there was no water to slacken her thirst.

With no view of the sky, night snuck up on her as she struggled through the least prickly part of a seemingly never-ending row of thorny bushes. Her cloak provided little warmth against the chilly night, and chewing just one mouthful of moss for the moisture left her gagging for an hour thereafter.

She would have turned back then, had she known where “back” was. Though she had followed her chosen path at a good pace, Scootaloo didn’t encounter anypony for the whole day. The trail was rather unconvincing; moss turned the wrong way, broken twigs, a few kicked up leaves. She would have abandoned it a long time ago had it not been for one unmistakable hoof print in a patch of mud: too large for Zecora and too small for a bat pony or one of the alicorns. But that was half a day and countless steps behind her, and now she walked completely in the dark, feeling the ground in vain for some sign that she was not alone.

“Rain?” She whispered hoarsely.

Hsssss!

She shifted the scooter on her back. Hours of the hard board bouncing up and down with no padding had rubbed her whole back raw. At first she tried wrapping her cloak around the footboard, but it wasn’t nearly thick enough, and the bundle kept slipping off as she walked. Throughout the day all kinds of make-do harnesses and cushions were conceived, tried and abandoned; she still reeked of rotting wood from an earlier attempt to pad her back with fluffy moss.

Cluckcluckcluckcluckcluck…

Like the other things, the cockatrice was her own fault. Scootaloo had heard the clucking about an hour ago, when the last light of day was still clinging stubbornly onto the treetops. In her desperation she had believed it to be coming from Fluttershy’s chicken coop, and followed it with the taste of sweet earthy water on her tongue and the warmth of a sod-roofed cottage on her skin. Into the twilight she followed that sound, and though she knew that her path was far from straight the promise of flowing water kept her thoughts short and her strides long. It was the sparrow-shaped stone, pale and glistening in the last light of the day that convinced her of the error of her way, and by then she was close enough to hear the subtle hisses and gurgles of the monster’s song.

She had spent most of the night since then trying to return to the chase by a roundabout route, hoping to retreat unnoticed. She clearly remembered her first encounter with one of those serpent-bodied creatures; how it had risen out of a bush on its slimy green tail, solid red eyes glowing with a cruel fire. How it had looked so harmless at first glance, like nothing more than a large and rather goofy chicken raising her head to check her surroundings.

Scootaloo slipped on a wet root. Her scooter clattered loudly, and she couldn’t hold back a yelp at the burning pain in her right front knee. The tree trunk felt like sandpaper. She shuddered as something fuzzy and bigger than a squirrel scurried away from underneath her.

From behind her came gentle, squelching footsteps. It wasn’t loud, and it wasn’t fast; she barely heard it over the sound of her own raspy breathing, actually. One foot, then the other, pause, repeat. Something small and light tapped against the ground rhythmlessly.

Scootaloo stood up, squinting now and pressing her ears tight against her head as she tried to ignore the beast. She wanted to look back, but knew what waited for her: two terrible red eyes, and an eternity as stone.

She tumbled when the ground dipped down. Her scooter disappearing into the darkness.

She didn’t stop to search for it.

“RAIN!” She hollered as she ran. Though her throat burned and her mouth was completely dried out, she shouted again and again. “RAIN! GARI! TWILIGHT! ANYPONY!”

She didn’t hear anything anymore. Her voice went into the forest, never to return to her. She didn’t hear the steady, deliberate steps of the cockatrice or its flailing tail, or the muffled sound of hooves speeding her way.

A great burst of wind hit her from the side. The air became solid and she was thrown against the ground.

“Be quiet,” Rain whispered into her ear, his hooves digging into her ribs so she could barely breathe.

He lowered himself on top of her, his wings forming a dome over them both. The sour scent of sweat was overpowering on its own, but he also reeked of moss, wood and toadstool. Despite her uncomfortable posture, Scootaloo felt immensely relieved. She closed her eyes and tried to slow down her breathing. The adrenaline still pumping in her veins made her legs twitch and her teeth chatter, and with both of their bodies pressed together the heat started to make her feel sick. Despite her discomfort Scootaloo did not resist; she knew the alternative.

His wings were barely hovering above her nose, and downy feathers tickled her face as he struggled to stay completely still.
Scootaloo scrunched her face and tried to rub her nose against the ground, but as the minutes passed the sneeze built up.

She was soaked in fresh sweat when at last the wings folded and the pressure lifted off her chest. Blood flow returned to her limbs, and immediately the chilly night air made her skin crawl. Her cloak was wet and torn, and was so cold that she immediately fumbled with the knot at her neck to get it off.

“What are you doing out here in the middle of the night?” Rain gasped. Scootaloo could only see a silhouette of the pale colt as he wiped his forehead and rustled his wings.

“I was looking for you,” She spat, hopping to her feet. Her legs were still unsteady, but the surge of anger helped a little with the cold. “You can’t just run off like that! You came to me for help, and then you…”

Her voice dropped off as she was painfully reminded of her thirst. Rain noticed, and fumbled with something at his side before pressing a bundle into her forelegs.

“There’s a cap somewhere,” he instructed. “Drink up.”

The bag felt like something alive as it slid over her hooves, and she had to place it on the ground to find the screw cap. The water inside was evidently from Ponyville’s main creek, probably collected on Sweet Apple Acres.

Two days. You’ve been busy.

She drank until the bag was sagging in half, and then sat still for a minute breathing heavily, even colder than before but satisfied at last.

“You’re coming home with me,” Scootaloo said at length, doing her best to be authoritative to a colt who just saved her life. “Rain, I’m sorry, but I have to agree with Gari. If she’s really a thousand years old, don’t you think she knows how to handle things? Even something like what happened at the orphanage?”

“No,” Rain said without a hint of hesitation. “It means that she knows how to not get into trouble. It means she lived among the griffins, worked for the griffins and fought for the griffins. She’s the princess of the griffins, Scootaloo! A lot changed at the orphanage after Princess Luna returned. Gari told us all about the Children of the Night. They’ve been living among the griffins for a thousand years, and I swear they’re more griffin than pony now. You heard it yourself: she doesn’t even try to deny that she was drinking with the same griffins who killed our brothers! I thought you agreed with me, Scootaloo!”

“Listen to me, Rain,” she said, pouncing forwards to grip him by the shoulders. His wings flared in surprise, blocking a great portion of the shadowy world behind him. “I’m your sister, and right now I’m worried about your safety. I’ve lived in Ponyville for three years, and I know how dangerous this forest is. We barely escaped one cockatrice just now, and this place is crawling with timber wolves too. If I know anything about you, you’re trying to go way south to avoid Gari, and I’m telling you right now that if you keep going you won’t make it out of here alive. Don’t do this to me, Rain. I can’t let anything happen to you.”

“Well, you’ll have to drag me home.”

He escaped her grasp with relative ease, but Scootaloo was faster on her feet. She pounced on him from behind, and they rolled forwards together, Scootaloo doing her best to protect the colt from the roots and rocks while keeping a death grip around his neck. When they finally stopped she was sure that her head was cracked in half. After a moment, Rain got up.

“You’re coming back with me, Rain,” Scootaloo mumbled dazedly.

In response, Rain’s hoof struck her square in the nose. Yet it was a remarkably weak punch, and Scootaloo felt a surge of hope that perhaps she could outlast the at least equally exhausted colt.

Rain took a step forward, and Scootaloo yanked at the base of his neck, bracing her back legs against a piece of root.

“If you won’t help me, just let me go!” Rain’s voice was low and vicious.

“I’m helping you, Rain. I’m helping you right now.”

Another step, and Scootaloo felt her hooves slipping. She hopped forwards suddenly, dropping onto the ground and forcing Rain to crouch from the sudden shift in weight. Unfortunately that also meant she was suddenly within easy reach of his front hooves. Rain pounded down on her ribs again and again, sending waves of pain through her battered chest. The ferocity of the strikes dropped off sharply after the second set, and Scootaloo held on through it all.

Scootaloo didn’t know how long they went on like this. She didn’t know how many steps he managed to take, or if she reclaimed any ground in the end. She only remembered Rain mumbling indistinctly as he finally collapsed, and how the world seemed to jump and spin and flash like a strobe light as she lay down next to him with one foreleg placed protectively across his shoulder and one tiny orange wing wedged awkwardly against his back (too small to offer him any warmth).

Dreary grey light filtered through the thick canopy overhead, offering no immediate warmth to the worn out filly lying on a bed of forest moss. Her coat was crusty with salt and dust, and her mane and tail were full of dead leaves. Her back hooves were deeply chipped from last night’s struggle.

The light grew brighter through the hour, but still it was nothing like a summer’s day. Scootaloo’s ears twitched. Her bed was the most comfortable thing in the world.

The smell of the moist moss reminded her of her location, but she was much too tired to care. So what if she was lost in the Everfree Forest? At least she had something to sleep on, and plenty of room to stretch her sore limbs. Besides, pressing her head hard into the spongy undergrowth eased her headache.

Rain…

No, it wasn’t raining.

She couldn’t feel her brother by her side, but he couldn’t be far off. Maybe he just went back to his bunk.

There’s moss on my bed, I guess.

No, that wasn’t right. None of it was. Something was wrong. Very, very wrong.

With monumental effort she forced her eyelids apart. Her left eye wouldn’t open more than a squint, and the light made her head throb unbearably. She rolled onto her back with a moan, and her whole body fought back. Scootaloo gritted her teeth as her tendons wound into painful knots. The tears seeping from the edges of her eyes burned her face, and her lungs burned too.
She managed to get back to her original posture and did her best not to move. She dug her head deep into the moss, until she felt cool, sandy soil on her nose.

Rain. Where is Rain?

She wanted to get up, but even the thought of moving sent new waves of pain down her limbs. She had no choice but to lay with her face turned down, hoping that her body would sort itself out.

When her headache subsided once again to a manageable level, Scootaloo turned her head up cautiously and opened her good eye just a slit. The light felt like spears shooting into her brain. She could make out tree trunks and a nearby leaf, and something pale and indistinct further away.

“Rain,” she called weakly, opening her eye just a little bit wider.

It was definitely him. The colt was sitting, facing away from her with his wings drooping by his side. Those wings! What used to be beautiful glossy pinions had turned into crooked shafts with disjointed barbs. A few patches were missing feathers completely; there was no way he could evade a bat pony in the air now, if he could fly at all. His head was down, but at the sound of his name he turned to face her.

“I’m sorry, Scootaloo,” he said, trotting over to her side. Scootaloo tried to follow him with her eye, but even that bit of movement made her feel sick.

“It’s okay,” she managed to say. “Just… give me a moment.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you, Scootaloo,” he said in a hollow voice. “It… It just means so much to me. Gari wasn’t doing anything, and…”

“Rain,” she said through gritted teeth. “You hurt me the moment you ran away. But we’re together now, and we can go back to Ponyville together. Everything will be okay.”

“Scootaloo, please don’t talk about that again.” It was Rain’s turn to sound desperate, and for a moment Scootaloo dared to hope that her ordeal was near its end. “I’ve been making preparations for four days now, and there’s nothing you can do to make me turn back. The truth is, I don’t feel safe living with Gari anymore. That’s why I can’t go back. Maybe she means well, but I just can’t see her like I used to, knowing that she’s so friendly with the griffins. Those griffins. I want to make it better, and this is the only way I know how.”

The muscle spasms were finally subsiding. Scootaloo raised her head slowly, wincing as her spine popped a dozen times. The top of her head felt like one giant goose egg, and her nose was swollen and crusted with blood.

“Fine,” she said. “Let’s try this again, then. You can walk as much as you want, but I’ll be here to steer you where you need to go. Tell me this, Rain: how is the Everfree Forest safer than Canterlot?”

“It’s not,” he sighed. “That’s just it. No place is safe anymore, Scootaloo. But out here, at least I’m doing something instead of just waiting for the worst to happen. Can’t you understand that?”

Scootaloo looked into Rain’s bloodshot eyes. He was so confused, so scared, yet she saw something familiar too. A terrible parody of the way he used to look at her from back when they played in the courtyard together, when both their fathers were sure to return and Gari was just a funny-looking unicorn who told wild stories and baked the greatest cookies in all of Canterlot.

“At least stop at Zecora’s place,” she suggested as a last-ditch effort to get him moving in the general direction of Ponyville. “She’s a zebra who lives in the Everfree Forest. Maybe she can lend us some supplies to get through this place alive.”

“We’re not seeing anypony until we’re on the coast,” Rain said firmly. “We can’t even stop at the old palace, because Gari will know. I’m sorry, Scootaloo. You belong in Ponyville now; I shouldn’t have come to you. Your scooter’s right over there; I found it this morning. Just take your stuff and leave, and forget about me. I wanted to find you, but I guess I didn’t really expect you to do anything.”

Scootaloo didn’t say a word. The mention of her scooter didn’t even register in her mind. She was still staring into those sad eyes.

What would Rainbow Dash do?

The question was answered instantly. It weighed heavily on her heart, and she wished that there could be some other route. She wanted to cry too; to bury her head in the moss and wait another night, or pick up her cloak and stumble alone into the market square by sundown. But she couldn’t do any of those things.

“If you’re going to cross this forest, I’m going with you.” She grimaced as she got to her feet. Rain was quick to her side, and supported her through the first few wobbly steps. Her coat cracked as she moved, and her thoughts turned longingly to the big wooden vat at Sweet Apple Acre where the Crusaders often washed up after their misadventures. “I don’t agree with you, but you’re still my brother. I’ll make sure you get to Ghastly Gorge in once piece. I really hope that you’ll change your mind by then, because there’s a nice road from there back to Ponyville. But I won’t leave you alone in this forest, okay?”

The scooter was lying next to a bulging saddle bag, covered with her cloak. It would be no use to her in the forest, and she felt as if she would snap in half if she tried to rear up for the handlebars. She lifted the damp square of cloth onto her back and stared long at her beloved blue-and-red vehicle.

“So you bought it,” Rain said after a while. “Martin Brothers F series Lightning II.”

“Yeah,” she said, her voice hollow. “It’s every bit as nice as I thought it would be. My dad got it for me.”

“I guess it’s hard to save up sixty bits just by running errands around town. How much did you have when you left?”

“Twenty bits, I think.” The decals had worn off through years of heavy use, and the board had a corrugated appearance from all her tricks and accidents. She couldn’t help but smile, remembering the same scooter when it was still just a shiny fantasy behind the big window of Martin Brothers Transportation Co. in Canterlot. One bit to rent for a day, sixty bits to own. She would check every morning to make sure it hadn’t been bought up.

“We’ll have to cache this,” she said. “Give me a few of your feathers.”

“You can’t just leave your scooter here,” Rain protested. “I… I didn’t mean…”

“I’m not carrying it,” she insisted, turning her head slowly to face the cowering colt. “You’ll get tired of it too; at some point we’ll have to do this. Might as well leave it closer to Ponyville.”

Scootaloo sat down and struggled to reach her wing. In the end, Rain helped her pluck two small, orange feathers. His black-streaked ones were almost twice as long, and Scootaloo was relieved to see that the quills were glossy and pure white. If he groomed properly tonight, he could probably fly again in a few days’ time.

Rain helped her rip up the moss, and soon they had a sizeable mound to work with. The pit wasn’t deep, and neither of them wanted to dig in the tough earth under the moss bed, but few things in the Everfree Forest would be interested in a scooter to begin with. They piled on the moss and adjusted the top layer until the cache was a natural-looking bump in the forest floor. On top went the feathers, and Rain found a few big rocks to weigh them down. By the time they were finished the forest was starting to warm up.

“Are you sure you can find this again?” Rain asked as they sat admiring their work.

“Zecora does this all the time,” Scootaloo said. “She uses locks of her mane. My friends and I tried to get our cutie marks in caching once, you know.”

“Did it work?”

“I’m pretty sure Granny Smith got her hearing aid back, but it was Zecora who found it.”

Rain laughed. At least it was the same laugh she remembered, and it was enough to make Scootaloo chuckled despite her aching ribs.

“We should get going,” she said as Rain sat back and wiping his eyes with a big dirty hoof. “You have me, but this forest is still dangerous. We’ll have to find a safer spot for tonight.”

Rain humped the saddle bag, which was obviously made for an adult. Scootaloo glanced around one last time, and felt a chill down her back when she saw the four-toed prints in the rich black mud with a shallow groove running in between, as if a snake had been chasing a big bird.

We definitely need a safer spot.

Chapter 5

Chapter 5

The smooth granite floor sparkled under soft silver light, mirroring the stars outside. Scootaloo ran after a familiar-looking filly.

“No tag backs! No tag backs!” She shouted gleefully as she swerved between the other children in the room.

Scootaloo turned around and immediately saw a skinny blue pegasus colt doing his best to be discrete. Their eyes met, and then he was gone, setting a swift, zigzagging route with the help of his wings.

“You can’t run forever, Foggy!” Scootaloo’s own wings fluttered as she ran, nearly tripling the length of each stride. Fortunately, a certain palomino pegasus wasn’t paying attention. When he finally noticed the filly charging in his direction there was only time enough to raise two oversized wings over his face.

“You’re it!” Scootaloo announced with the colt pinned beneath her.

The griffin wasn’t amused. Two scaly claws closed around her torso. Most of the other children were screaming; the floor shook from all their running feet. She was lifted high into the air as the lion’s body extended out of the ground, coming into being through an endless black pit. Scootaloo screamed too as she tried to twist free of her captor. The beaked face was like a mask, devoid of emotion. Even its golden eyes glistened with indifference, as if dead.

The unicorn filly from earlier walked into her field of view. She had wings now. One bright green eye was illuminated by moonlight, as happy as ever. She had a brown moustache across her nose, and brown socks to match.

“Where’s your cloak, Gari?” Scootaloo asked. Any fear she had went away as soon as she averted her eyes from the griffin that held her. “Mother Luna says you should dress warm until you get better.”

A blue colt collapsed onto the floor in front of the alicorn, bouncing ungracefully with his limbs flopping this way and that; he must have fallen quite a distance. Her wings flared and she reared up in surprise. Realizing who it was, she leaned down and gently prodded him with her horn.

Scootaloo couldn’t hold back her tears. Why couldn’t she go to him too? Why must she be uselessly suspended in midair?

The griffin was still looking at her blankly. It was just a gaily-painted statue; had always been that.

The light grew bright, and suddenly the whole room was brilliantly lit like noonday. Yet it was moonlight, and Scootaloo came to her senses just before the unmoving griffin disintegrated into sparkling sand.

The other children bowed; even the alicorn. Scootaloo walked towards the multi-coloured filly, trying to decide if she was indeed Gari, but a huge shadow cast from behind made her turn to face the visitor.

“Good evening, Scootaloo,” Princess Luna greeted, her crisp voice echoing through the dreamscape despite her reasonable volume. Her mane was an ethereal field of stars, and from Scootaloo’s angle it seemed as if a waving hole had opened up in the roof. She didn’t sound angry, much to the filly’s relief.

“Princess Luna,” she said, bowing too.

“I take it you and Morning Rain are still doing well?” Princess Luna looked over the rest of the room, and the children resumed their games as if nothing had happened.

“We’re still alive,” Scootaloo said. Though she did her best to convince herself that it was all real, the room was already starting to ripple at the edges. She felt phantom aches in her legs and a fuzzy blanket that was not on her back.

“Scootaloo, you must tell me where you are.” Luna’s tone was stern but even. “The Everfree Forest is a dangerous place. You’ve been lucky so far…”

“I know!” Scootaloo interrupted. The room was shaking itself apart, and the motion made her dizzy. “Princess Luna, I know that we shouldn’t be here, and I’ve been trying to convince Rain to go back, but what happened at the orphanage really scared him. I can’t tell you where we are, even if I knew.”

Luna regarded her in silence. Scootaloo squeezed her eyes shut and flattened her ears, preparing herself to be yelled at by a princess.

“It seems there is little I can do, then,” said the dark blue alicorn without a hint of anger. “I respect your promise to your brother, Scootaloo, though it pains me and my daughter both.”

“That’s it?” Scootaloo gaped. She tried to focus on the room, but the more she looked the more unreal it seemed. The other children were faceless and colourless; even Gari had turned into an indistinct conglomeration of colours and shapes.

“You’re waking up,” Luna observed. Her wings unfolded, and with a single flap her hooves lifted off the quickly-disintegrating ground. “Stay safe, Scootaloo! Your father sends his regards!”

“My father?”

Luna was receding quickly towards a full moon that grew brighter and brighter until the dream world was replaced with blinding radiance.

“DAD!”

Something big jumped up from beside her, lifting the blanket and letting in an unwanted draft. Scootaloo’s head snapped this way and that as she took in the unfamiliar surroundings.

Rain was standing beside her in their makeshift shelter, his head brushing against the branches of the ceiling. The wool blanket was draped across his extended wings, and his eyes were darting around too as he drew deep, forced breaths.

The Everfree Forest. I’m still in the Everfree Forest.

The realization set in with a deep feeling of loss. She wished the ceiling was higher, and made of straw instead of wood and leaves; she wished that she was alone, that her father was just down the nonexistent hall.

“Are you okay?” Rain asked unsteadily, reaching out for her shoulder.

She couldn’t help it. Twisting around suddenly, Scootaloo grasped his extended foreleg and threw him out the open side of the hidden lean-to. The colt spread his wings as he passed the threshold, but with only half his flight feathers still present he barely avoided face planting in the shallow, foul-smelling swamp. Scootaloo waited for his muffled wail before burying her own face in the musky blanket. Her still-recovering ribs only added to her misery with each shuddering breath.

Stupid Rain! Stupid griffins! I Stupid Luna!

Over the last three days her longing for Ponyville had slowly grown from an annoyance to an obsession. At first it was just the itching that bothered her, and the constant walking from dawn to dusk and into the night. Then there was the food, or the lack of it. They had no proper meals, instead grazing constantly on whatever they could find along their path. By the end of the first day all of their initial pickiness was gone, and Scootaloo eagerly chewed on the dry, woody branches of a blueberry bush when one presented itself. It was much too early for fruits, and even the flowers of the deep forest were small and bland, even astringent. In three days they had encountered only one clearing, and here they stopped to strip the ground bare of its grassy covering.

In all their walking, Scootaloo thought more and more of her friends. Would they try to follow her? Would they go to Zecora for help? Surely they hadn’t given up on her?

What about that scream she had heard before she entered the forest? Had he seen her, perhaps when she passed his garage?

Did she pass his garage?

How mad would he be, if she returned home after a week of wandering the Everfree Forest? How worried was he at that very moment? She wished Luna had said something earlier. Would it be so wrong to send a message through a princess?

I’m sorry, dad. I should have thought this through. I can’t stand this anymore!

For all his talk of keeping no secrets Rain was surprisingly quiet when she asked the important questions. He talked easily enough about all the things that he and his “brothers” did at the orphanage, about his school in Canterlot, even about the Children of the Night. But when on the second day Scootaloo asked about his father, Rain simply answered that he had died three years ago.

The day was growing bright when Scootaloo ran out of tears. Her face was numb and raw, and she felt like she hadn’t slept at all. She scratched her head. Her mane was a hopelessly tangled mess plastered onto her skull.

The sooner we get out of here, the sooner we get cleaned up.

Rolling the blanket into a tight bundle, Scootaloo tied it to her back using her tattered cloak. The saddle bag had been serving as a lumpy pillow for the two children, and it was surprisingly comfortable for her quickly-recovering neck. What little she had seen of its contents was truly unnerving, and the weathered hemp also released a foul odour completely apart from the smell of old sweat.

Opening one of the bag's flaps, Scootaloo tentatively pulled out a formless, slightly-furry sack. She dropped it onto the mattress of piled-up moss as if dropping a hot cooking pot. Finding the screw-on cap, she opened the “water skin” and took a sip of sweet lukewarm water with her eyes closed, drawing her lips back to minimize contact with the leather.

What are you thinking, Rain?

The thing was definitely of griffin make; though the fur had been thinned considerably, the outer housing was clearly made of cowhide. It felt so wrong to the touch; like skin, but rough and cold and limp. She shuddered when she remembered just how eagerly she had accepted it on the first night.

“Rain,” she called, exiting the lean-to through the open side. “Rain, I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

The colt had covered the entire front half of his body with his wings. It would have been a perfect screen had he not been missing so many feathers. His face was still downcast. Scootaloo gently prodded his make-do dome, and barely stepped back in time as the two halves disappeared with a loud snap. Rain looked up with furrowed brows and gritted teeth. The dusty fur of his pale face was streaked with two vertical lines of slightly cleaner hair, and his nose glistened with moisture.

“You should leave,” he sobbed. “Scootaloo, just leave. I don’t need your help; just go home…”

“What did Princess Luna say to you?” She asked, sitting down next to her brother.

“It doesn’t matter!” he snapped. “I shouldn’t have brought you into this. It was selfish. Just forget you ever knew me, okay?”

“Rain, you know I can’t do that.” She put one hoof on his side, but a flick of his wing pushed her away. “I’m your sister. I know I’ve been away for a while, but that doesn’t change anything. I've already followed your around for three days; it’s just as far to go back as it is to go forwards at this point.”

“I…”

“I’m coming with you, Rain,” Scootaloo interrupted, putting one hoof under his chin to turn his head towards her. “There’s nothing you or anypony else can say about it. I’ll stay with you until you decide to go home, or until somepony else makes you go home, or until I can carry you home.”

“But your dad…”

“My dad’s going to be really mad if I get home today. Unless you’re coming with me, that beating's just not worth it.”

“Scootaloo, you know I can’t go back,” Rain hiccupped. “I… I have to figure this out. I’ve been explaining this to you…”

“I understand,” she said. “I might not agree with you, but I can tell how much this trip means to you. Let’s end it at that; you’re not getting rid of me, no matter how bad I smell. Now the sooner we get walking, the sooner we can get out of this forest.”

Rain got up after that, and Scootaloo was starting to feel a little more like herself. They took apart their shelter in silence, and Rain stuffed the lengths of leather cord used to bind the branches into a side pocket of the saddle bag. After dragging away the leaves and moss, it looked as if they hadn’t been there at all.

The shallow, expansive swamp that lay before them had initially given her hope, but the foul stench that rose from its murky brown water precluded even a quick wade.

“We’ll just keep going south,” Rain decided, and they set off together, chewing on all the bland, big-leafed plants that were so abundant in the waterlogged loam.

The colt’s sluggish pace was at least part of the reason for their slow progress. Even with the two switching loads two or three times a day he was always breathing harder and stumbling more often. After catching him frothing at the mouth halfway through the first day, Scootaloo had made a point of stopping for water. He was surely sick, and though she reprimanded herself for thinking so Scootaloo hoped that the sickness would overtake him soon.

There were plenty of potions that could cure even the worst fever, but markedly fewer that could undo a manticore mauling.

“So how many of these Children of the Night are still alive?” Scootaloo asked after some time. “I know about Gari, and she mentioned Wind Whisper, but it sounds like there were a lot of them.”

“There were forty-six,” Rain replied. “Gari was called on the first night, but a week later Luna arrived at the colony with more. She would have gathered all the orphans of the kingdom had Celestia not stopped her. The way Gari tells it, that was the real start of Nightmare Moon; all that stuff about Luna getting jealous and raising the moon on Solstice happened years later. It all started because Celestia was standing between Luna and her children.”

“But why did Princess Luna want all those children in the first place? You said she wanted to start a colony. Why not pick adults?”

“I’m not sure,” Rain admitted. “Gari says that I wouldn’t understand if she told me. The song that Luna sang to call them was really beautiful, though. Gari sang it for us once; not all of us at the orphanage, you know, just the ones who were going to be around for a long time. I wish I could sing like that, just so you can hear it too, but it’ll just sound weird coming from me.”

Scootaloo listened with one ear. Her head was always twisting this way and that as she tried to keep tabs on her surroundings. Although most animals shied away from voices, timber wolves were rather indiscriminate hunters. She didn’t think she could spot one through the thick trees, but even a second’s warning might save one or both of them. Her concern was not entirely unfounded; just yesterday they had seen the tracks: deep, round impressions with three sharp little triangles on one side. The two didn’t linger there long, but now that they were treading on soft mud Scootaloo realized that their own prints could lead to their undoing.

The humidity grew as the day wore on. When Scootaloo started to taste the swamp in her throat the air was suddenly filled with a familiar, ominous buzzing. Her ears twitched incessantly. She whipped her tail and shook her head, but her guard was far from perfect. Several times a minute she felt their spindly legs on her skin: her back; her shoulders; her legs; even her neck. They passed right under her ears sometimes, making her flinch and shake her whole body as if to shake off water. The bite was quick and startling, like a giant needle prick, and rarely was her tail fast enough to retaliate. They rose from the water like steam, and out of the vegetation, and out of the ground itself.

“I think we can cross here,” said Rain about halfway through the day. The amount of open water had slowly diminished along their path, and now the swamp looked more like a field of brown moss and mud. Scootaloo could see distant trees that grew straighter, with cleaner bark and no stilt roots.

She was about to agree when she noticed the colour of the mud and the shallow pockets of water that stood between them and dry ground.

“Quicksand,” she said. “There’s quicksand out there.”

“We’ll have to cross here,” Rain insisted. “The map says this is Clydesdale Bog, and it runs all along the southwestern side of the Everfree Forest. There’s nothing drier than this until we get to Ghastly Gorge.”

“What map is this that you keep talking about?” Scootaloo snapped. Rain jumped in surprise. His legs buckled, but she resisted the urge to help him up. “How can you have a map of the Everfree Forest? There are no maps of the Everfree Forest, and I’ve never even heard of this ‘Clydesdale Bog’. If you really have something like that, you’d better share.”

To his credit Rain did not cry. Shuffling out from underneath the saddle bag, he undid the brass clasp on the right compartment and, with his lips pulled back, lifted a large, crushed scroll from among the neatly-packaged contents. Without further preparation he tossed it onto the damp muddy ground and spat into the nearest puddle. Scootaloo grabbed it quickly lest the ink washed out, but the paper was greasy to the touch, and beads of water formed where it had been touching ground.

The material was rather thick, and even when she brought it up to her eye Scootaloo couldn’t distinguish any fibers. The sickening realization dawned on her as she unrolled the page. Had they been anywhere else, Scootaloo would have dropped it too.

The colourful ink drawings were nothing like the simple black-and-white maps that she was familiar with. Mountain ranges were marked with hairline details, and every bend of every river seemed to be accounted for. Forests were marked in dark green; grasslands in light green; desert in dusty yellow; swamps in brown. Canterlot was a series of tightly-spaced rectangles and ovals; if the image was to be believed, the Canterlot Orphanage was about as big as the Royal Palace.

The Everfree Forest was not just a compressed crescent, either. That patch of green stretched an alarming distance to the south and east. It was more of a big bean than a crescent, and sure enough the entire southern half was skirted by a thick brown line. Froggy Bottom Bogg was just the northeastern tip of a muddy mess that could be hundreds of metres wide at places.

“Rain,” Scootaloo said slowly, rolling up the waxed parchment. “Who made this map?”

“It’s a griffin’s hunting map,” he mumbled, turning away from his sister. “I… I needed a map with the Everfree Forest on it, and this is the only one.”

“And who would have a griffin-made map in the first place?” She pressed on. “For that matter, why would anypony use a water skin?”

“It’s Gari’s stuff,” Rain said, and with great effort he turned his head to face her. “Most of her traveling gear is griffin-made…”

“Rain,” Scootaloo sighed. “You said you wouldn’t lie to me.”

“Alright, I stole it from a griffin.”

“And you still want to hunt down griffins?” She walked past the crouching colt to return the map to the saddlebag, always keeping him in her field of view.

“I…” Rain shook his head fiercely. “I don’t know. What else can I do? You weren’t there when it happened, Scootaloo. You didn’t see it happen. I can’t stop checking over my shoulders; I can’t forget how scary it was, going back into the mess hall with Gari, and seeing her face and…” He stopped speaking for a moment to catch his breath. “I don’t like her anymore, Scootaloo. Not after all that. I had to do something, and I had to do it immediately!”

Scootaloo pondered what to say. Rain was again at the verge of tears, and she wanted to talk some sense into him. What had Rainbow Dash said to her, sitting under the stars with the waterfall roaring in the background?

“When I first heard those stories…”

She couldn’t say that!

“If there was such thing as the Headless Horse, I could totally take it on.”

“If those griffins come back, I could totally take them on?”

Scootaloo stretched out one of her wings self-consciously.

Tiny, half-plucked and definitely not blue.

“Let’s get going, then,” She said, lifting the saddlebag onto her own back. The bundled quilt shifted to the side; it was an uncomfortable arrangement. “Even if we cross today, we still have quite a ways to go if we want to get into Ghastly Gorge. If I had known about this, we would have gone right to Froggy Bottom Bogg. The trail there is muddy, but it’s a trail. We could have been in the Gorge yesterday.”

“You just said there’s quicksand!” Rain argued, hopping to his feet.

“That doesn’t mean we can’t cross,” Scootaloo smiled, mentally patting herself on the back for averting an emotional disaster. “It’s going to be hard work, but I think we can get to dry land by sundown. I’ve seen this before; the Apples have these huge pieces of plywood that they lay out on the river bank in spring in case the sand got too loose. We don’t have plywood, but I think if we tie some branches together it’ll work. Now tell me you have cord in here.”

An hour later Scootaloo was hanging off a long branch by her teeth, twisting vigorously to break the last stubborn fibers holding it to the tree. It broke with a snap, and for the twentieth time that day she fell ungracefully onto a crash pad of moss and leaves.

She brought the branch to the muddy shore, looking rather like a stubborn retriever dragging a log. Rain was busy cutting a spool of hemp rope into usable lengths. The short dagger in his mouth looked nothing like the flat-tipped utility knives Scootaloo was used to. Mercifully, the handle was made of sanded, unpolished wood instead of antler or bone, but as he twisted his neck to make each quick cut the fang-like blade made him seem angry, even dangerous.

“Tell me more about the griffins’ home,” Scootaloo said, sitting down beside one of two rectangular frames and picking up a few pieces of cord. “Princess Luna built her colony there, but what’s it like?”

“Gari loves it,” Rain mumbled, returning the knife to its leather sheath. “She once told me that she likes it more than she likes Baltimare, and she was born in Baltimare.”

“I thought she was called from Canterlot,” Scootaloo pointed out after pulling the knot tight and spitting out the little rope bits stuck to her tongue.

“She was born in Baltimare,” Rain said. “She doesn’t like Canterlot at all. I mean, she’s okay with it now that Luna is back, but she says she doesn’t like big cities in general. Anyways, after Luna came back she went to see Celestia, and after that she started telling us very different stories. She told us that griffins are loyal and smart, and that most of them are as kind as ponies. She said that griffins never had anything against ponies to begin with, and that a lot of ponies are just closed-minded. She told us stories about how griffins have lived with ponies in the colony for hundreds of years, and how griffins would risk their lives for ponies as easily as they do for one another. She just made it sound like such a nice place. We all believed her, you know.”

Scootaloo hissed, releasing her rope and tucking in her lower lip. The taste of copper made her skin crawl. Rain was tying a branch onto the other frame.

“The Children of the Night are all farmers,” he continued. “They were the first farmers among the griffins; before them the griffins were purely hunters. She wouldn’t tell us much about the early days, though, and frankly I don’t think it’s as perfect as she makes it sound.”

“What about the bat ponies?” The latest rope tip came out of her mouth with a tiny dot of red. Scootaloo wet her lips again.

“They’re called sylvanocians.” Rain arched his neck backwards and rocked his head from side to side. “A lot of them live in the colony too. They can do a kind of magic, but only at night. It’s not like unicorn magic. One of Luna’s guards even taught me a few things; she said they’re just simple tricks, but it took me ages to figure them out.”

“Is that what you did that night in my room?” Scootaloo asked, noticing the bittersweet undertone in her brother’s voice.

“That’s about all I can do,” he said. “When we get back to Canterlot, you should meet her. I think you’ll like Summer Dusk. She can do some scary things; last Nightmare Night she was pranking everypony at the orphanage by jumping out from their shadows. Seriously! She can just disappear right into your shadow, and you don’t know about it until she pops up right beside you. She even got Gari!”

Scootaloo laughed, trying to imagine Gari with a look of true surprise on her face, standing on the tips of her toes with her wings fully extended. The mention of returning also raised her spirits slightly. At least Rain had the idea in his head.

They both had cuts in their lips by the time the platforms were finished. Scootaloo was quite proud of how the lattices turned out; she even glanced back surreptitiously as Rain pushed the first platform onto the waterlogged mud, hoping to see a miniature image of the wooden frame on her flank.

Whatever; a swamp-crossing cutie mark probably doesn’t look that nice anyways.

“Come on!” Rain called, having picked up the blanket roll. “We have to get going if we want to get across before nightfall!”

Taking the saddle bag, Scootaloo dragged the other platform to the edge and stepped onto the first, hiding her uneasiness as the branches shifted under her weight. The uneven rectangle, though plenty heavy, was barely big enough for the two children to stand shoulder-to-shoulder. Together they lifted the other piece over their heads and threw it right in front of their current platform, splashing both of them with stagnant water and black mud.

It too held their weight.

In this way they continued, breathing deeply, with limbs unsteady. The swamp didn’t want to release their platforms, and only did so with a loud wet squelch and a burst of mud. Soon they both looked like swamp creatures. Thought their shells were soon thick enough to dissuade even the biggest flies, they also trapped heat like winter jackets. Each chunk that flaked off provided a bit of relief, but a few steps later they would be encased once again. Scootaloo was beginning to think that they should have waded when she noticed the slimy green monstrosity, as thick as her leg, inching through the dark soup beside the lattice of branches like a giant earthworm.

For a long time the opposite shore remained stubbornly distant. Rain didn’t even bother to raise his head anymore. They had no breath to talk, and pretty soon were yanking on the frame so roughly that the knots began to loosen.

Just a bit more. Just a bit more.

Scootaloo’s mouth was full of phlegm, and her sinus burned from all the dust. She wanted to drink, but feared that she might empty the water skin all by herself.

Dusk came again, and the buzzing of the day subsided. Rain could barely put any weight on the disintegrating platform, which they could no longer lift over their heads. Over several minutes they managed to slide it along the one on which they stood and let it flop onto the mud one last time. The frame burst apart as if under pressure, sending one bit of rope flying. Rain collapsed face-first onto the debris and inhaled deeply.

It’s over.

Scootaloo wandered forwards, at first being careful to step only on the branches. They didn’t shift like she expected; the ones that weren’t straight rocked on a pivot, enough to throw her over the side and onto wet but solid ground.

She would have cheered, had she any strength left. Instead she laid there and breathed, wishing there was somepony else who could offer her a drink.

It was dark when she finally found the strength to stand. Rain had fallen asleep exactly where she left him, his hind legs still locked in a standing position.

With all her strength Scootaloo dragged the colt away from the edge of the swamp. To her relief he was still breathing. Propping his head up on a big tree root, Scootaloo slumped back down the gently sloped shore to retrieve the saddle bag.

Rain did not wake up, but he was alive enough to swallow. Scootaloo inverted the water skin in his open jaws, giving him a few mouthfuls before claiming her share. She guessed there was less than half a cup left when she capped it again.

Rubbing against a tree was enough to dislodge the heaviest chunks of dry mud from her coat (and they were heavy). Scootaloo struck her brother rather clumsily to remove his shell, eliciting only a few snorts that could as well have been directed at something in the dream world.

She unrolled the blanket over them both, and held the colt in her forelegs to fend off the feeling of weightlessness that was starting to set in.

In her dreams she wandered the empty streets of Ponyville, passing through all the open doors and dusty living rooms in search of friends who were no longer there.

Chapter 6

Chapter 6

The yellow dust rising from the bluff was all she needed to see. Scootaloo dropped the sweaty saddle bag and galloped forth, the aching in her legs and the numbness in her feet immediately forgotten. She could hear her brother far behind, and he too was running.

Past the last tree, exposed chunks of talus made her stumble, nearly disjointing her ankles, but she managed to right herself and keep going. The sunlight felt like a warm embrace, and the cloud of flies and gnats and mosquitoes finally disappeared on the ever-blowing wind of Ghastly Gorge.

Getting to the peak, Scootaloo flopped onto the scalding sand and twisted her body a few times until she was lying on her back.

Something blocked out the sun.

She opened one eye. What looked to be a great bird glided over her head; or rather, the wings of the bird, as her dark-accustomed eyes couldn’t distinguish its body against the brilliance of the sky.

Morning Rain dived steeply, completely overshooting the sand pit. Scootaloo watched him plummet headfirst towards the ground beyond the far rim of the shallow bowl… and disappear completely from view.

She waited, not quite understanding what had happened. When Rain didn’t reappear she rolled back onto her belly and slid to the edge of the pit, letting the grit wear away a week’s buildup of crusty filth.

Plopping her head over the edge, Scootaloo gazed into the abyss. The cliff face looked perfectly smooth and almost vertical; cracks spanned a hundred metres or more, running all the way to the rocky valley. The boulders below were like jagged teeth, and she could barely distinguish the slightly flatter parts that served as trails for the few travelers who made it down. A creek snaked through those fangs like a line of drool; though it could not have been more than five metres across at its widest point, and looked at first like nothing more than a white vein of quartz in the dull blue talus, her ears were immediately filled with the roar of a great waterfall.

Rain was flying parallel to the cliff wall beneath her chin, growing steadily bigger in her field of view. He was grinning from ear to ear; Scootaloo rolled her eyes as he came closer still. Anypony with half a brain would have noticed the imminent disaster.

Scootaloo felt the gust of wind on her scalp, and the loud whoosh made her wince. The top layer of sand blew out of the pit and settled on the surrounding rocks with a thousand little pit pats.

“Show off,” she mumbled, hearing her brother touch down beside her.

For a while the sound of sand grinding between her back and the base rock dominated her senses. Scootaloo rubbed her neck vigorously until the numerous bug bites felt uniformly numb and three ticks she didn’t know were there fell off and scurried blindly across the now grey sand.

A little dusty but feeling much cleaner than before, Scootaloo stood up at last and shook the remaining bits of sand from her coat.

Rain tried to get up, but his front legs gave way. His now sand-filled nostrils were just the latest symptoms of his deteriorating condition. Scootaloo was barely able to wake him that morning, though he murmured restlessly all night with sweat on his brow. Under the blanket she could feel his fever on her back, and though she dug up plenty of lily bulbs for him that morning he could barely stomach one. His new feathers too were dull and smaller than the old, though Scootaloo’s had grown in just fine.

They sat together at the edge of the cliff, enjoying the fresh wind that seemed to carry no scent of anything. High overhead an eagle was riding the current, floating perfectly still. Scootaloo prepared herself to voice a question that Rain fully expected to hear.

“Are you ready to go back now?”

The colt stood up to shake out his wings again, and would have plummeted into the gorge had she not caught him.

“I can’t,” he sighed. “Scootaloo, thank you for taking me through the forest. You’ve done more for me than I could have ever hoped for. You really can leave now. There’s nothing too dangerous between here and Horseshoe Bay; you can even tell Gari where you last saw me, and she’ll catch up in a day or two.”

“It doesn’t work like that, Rain,” Scootaloo said, putting her foreleg across his shoulder. “We’re a long ways from Horseshoe Bay, and help won’t be close by. Now you can come with me, or I can go with you. You know you only have a day or two left in you, and I know you’re too dumb to find the next town before you fall down dead under a bush.”

“I’m not looking for the next town,” he said, rubbing his temple vigorously. “I’m going southeast until I hit the coast. If Gari finds me, at least I’ve tried.”

But where was Gari? She had brought enough guards to turn the forest upside down; why hadn’t they seen any sign of bat ponies since Ponyville? Why weren’t there a dozen silver-clad stallions waiting for them in the gorge? Scootaloo strained her ears to catch some hint of distant hoof steps on the wind, but it was as if the whole world had become empty since they entered the forest one week prior.

“Wait here, then,” Scootaloo said.

They had left the bags quite far back in the forest. Scootaloo opened the bundle that was her disintegrating cloak and transferred into it all the heavier contents of the saddle bag. The large sack of oats was starting to rancify, and something else in the bag had imparted upon it a strange, unpleasant flavour. After eating a few mouthfuls, Scootaloo tied the lumpy cloak to her back and took the much-lightened saddle bag in her mouth.

“Fill up the water skin,” she instructed as she emerged again from the shade of the ancient forest. “This valley’s bone dry except for that creek down there. If we try to get on the low road we won’t make it out until late tomorrow, and there are plenty of reasons why we don’t want to be down there for more than a few minutes. You can take another quick flight, right?”

The adrenaline having run its course, Rain’s second descent was noticeably slower and wobblier. He glided in a broad spiral, not moving his wings at all. It looked so easy that Scootaloo wanted to try it herself, but a quick backwards glance at her small wings brought her back to the disappointing reality.

The colt landed in the middle of the creek, disturbing its path noticeably. He remained in that spot for a while, and Scootaloo was beginning to worry that he had fallen asleep when his wings finally flared open again.

He landed in front of her with his eyes bulging, icy water dripping from his glistening body.

“That’s better,” he gasped, handing her the turgid leather pouch.

Scootaloo stayed quiet about what that dip might have done for his health; even through sturdy leather the water made her hooves numb. Taking a sip felt like swallowing an icicle, and it tasted as sterile as the air.

Even with her great load Scootaloo now walked well in front of her brother. Truth be told, she didn’t know this part of the gorge at all. Rainbow Dash had showed her the northern tip of the steep, winding canyon, and Applejack once mentioned a high and low road running its whole length, but Scootaloo had only ever traveled the first few hundred metres. She didn’t know if the road was open, or if it was safe.

She found the trail in the form of a rocky ledge, wide enough for three large stallions to walk shoulder-to-shoulder and angled gently downwards. This leveled out about twenty metres below the top of the cliff, merging with a relatively flat platform of cold blue stone. The trail was painstakingly chiseled out of the solid cliff wall, and though a few dips here and there made her stumble it was quite a leisurely walk compared to the soft muddy ground of the Everfree Forest.

Overhead the eagle was joined by another, and their sharp battle cry soon reached the children. Scootaloo shivered.

Midday came and went, and for a brief period the warmth of the sun held the chill at bay. But the wind that had seemed so refreshing earlier that morning now made her skin numb. Though it wasn’t cold per se her nose dripped constantly and she shivered in the shade.

For lunch Scootaloo offered a few of the leftover lily bulbs to her brother, but he only wanted water. The edge of the trail was looking frayed, and at one place a massive wedge had fallen away from the ledge, offering a narrow yet unnerving view of the treeless valley below (so far away that it might as well have been an endless drop).

“You still can’t fly.”

It wasn’t a question, and had it been anypony else asking Scootaloo would have thrown him off the ledge, or at least she would have yelled.

“Says the colt who trips over his own wings,” she retorted instead. “I don’t need to fly. It’s not like I live in Cloudsdale anymore.”

The eagle was alone once again, but now he circled, as if he had spotted some tasty morsel. All the ground squirrels on the plains above screamed together.

“You’re right,” Rain huffed. “Cloudsdale’s not a very nice place.”

“You used to like it,” Scootaloo pointed out, risking a quick backwards glance. Her brother was falling behind. She adjusted her pace again.

“I like the Cloudsdale I remember,” he slurred. “I’d been living in Canterlot for a year when you came, and I didn’t go back to Cloudsdale again until a year after you left. That was when Gari finally told me that my dad was dead.

"She thought it would make me feel better to see my home again, but it didn’t. You remember those cloud bridges, right? And how some of the houses don’t really have a front walk at all, how the front steps would just end… sort of like this trail? I remember walking behind Gari, and seeing all these pegasi zipping by so fast that I couldn’t tell who they were or even what they looked like. Gari knew how I felt, so we had lunch and left. At the time I didn’t notice how she walked on clouds as if she had done it many times before, but that’s not the point.

“Remember how I said Gari doesn’t like Baltimare anymore? I think I understand now. She’s been away from Baltimare for a thousand years. Just think how it’s changed in that time! It’s one of Equestria’s greatest cities now, but back then it couldn’t have been bigger than Ponyville. And I can’t remember Cloudsdale for two years…”

Scootaloo’s tug was strong enough that the colt flopped hard on his side. His front legs hung over the edge of the curved ledge, which was now no wider than his shoulders.

Another step, and he would have toppled off the trail completely.

“Rain, you need to rest.”

He stared at her with a slack jaw, his eyes slowly shifting in and out of focus. Then he turned away and stretched his neck towards the valley floor. Scootaloo put a hoof on his tail lest he leaned too far.

“We can’t stay here,” he managed to say. “This… We can’t rest here…”

Come on, Rain. This isn't you.

“We’ll go back,” she decided. “Rain, get up.”

“We can’t rest here. This isn’t safe. Back isn’t safe. We can’t go back.”

Scootaloo retrieved the water skin. After a long pull of its icy contents, she inverted the open bag over the blabbering colt’s head.

Rain jumped to his feet, his eyes snapping open and his jaw clamping shut with a sharp click.

“We’re going back,” Scootaloo said again.

Rain regarded her with pleading eyes, but Scootaloo met it with a stern gaze. He couldn’t go on, and he knew it.

“The next exit?” He suggested with a sheepish smile.

She should have said no. She should have made him turn back right there. That’s what she would have done, had she known absolutely nothing about the Ghastly Gorge trail system. That’s what she would have done, had she no sense of time or distance or speed. That’s what she would have done, had she not been desperate to get back to the sun; had Rainbow Dash never mentioned the construction of the trails; had Rain been able to walk just a bit faster.

“The upper trail goes down to the lower trail every 5K, and there’s a rest stop every 3K. Some of these places are pretty nice. I mean, don’t trust the medicine cabinets, Celestia knows how long that stuff’s been there, but the sand pits are clean, and there’s lots of firewood at most of these places. Plus they usually have a cabin.”

That Rainbow Dash had only ever traveled about a quarter of the Gorge didn’t bother her. Scootaloo was calculating the distance they had already walked. By her rough estimate, the next exit should be a stone’s toss away; a hundred metres, at most.

“Next exit,” she said at last. “We’ll have a big fire tonight, and help’ll come in no time. We’ll be sleeping in beds again by tomorrow.”

Rain was evidently displeased, but he was in no position to argue. Scootaloo tried to take the saddle bag from him, but he shied away and just nodded for her to lead the way.

The ledge grew narrower still. At first Scootaloo could lean into the cliff wall, but that only lasted for a dozen steps before the stones at shoulder level began to jut out. The edge, never more than an inch wider than her hooves, was covered in tiny cracks. Behind her Rain was leaning hard into the wall, crushing everything on the right half of his saddle bag.

Scootaloo stopped. In front of her was a kind of bridge, no wider than the ledge (or perhaps a little narrower). A massive crack cut the cliff face in half, and the next segment of the trail was about four metres away.

The “bridge” consisted of two beams connected by thin strips of wood like the kind used to make window lattices. On her end it rested about three inches past the edge. The whole assembly sagged in the middle, and she didn’t need to look long to find a broken connector, as if somepony before her had stepped right through the boards.

“Stop,” Scootaloo ordered.

The crack formed a sheer chute straight to the bottom. She couldn’t see anything that might break her fall.

Don’t think like that.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped onto the bridge. The brittle wood cracked as she shifted her weight onto her front hooves, but the sag was not as pronounced as she had expected. Looking between her forelegs, the boulders below might as well have been playground pebbles. For a moment Scootaloo even thought she was looking at a painting on flat ground; a trick of perspectives. Then she took a half-step forward, and the whole structure started bucking up and down in a slow, powerful rhythm. The bridge was more like a ladder, with plenty of places where a hoof might fall through or get stuck. Though she wanted to get off quickly, taking more than one step at a time drew deep groans and snaps from within the weathered wood, and the rocking near the middle was so strong that her hooves actually lifted off the board.

By the time she stepped onto solid ground Scootaloo was soaked in cold sweat and shaking intensely. Dropping the blanket roll, she put her weight into the cliff wall and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to purge the image of that deadly plunge from her mind.
If I’d been leaning just a little to the left…

“Come on!” She called out at last, her voice cracking despite all her effort to calm down. Blood still pounded in her ears like a tympani accompanying the persistent roar of the wind.

Rain stepped onto the bridge.

An ear-splitting crack filled the valley.

The bridge wobbled, and Rain dropped onto his belly, wrapping his legs around the boards and stretching out his wings for balance.

A single rock about the size of a baseball struck him, snapping a few feathers before continuing in its descent. His injured wing drooped slightly, but he kept it extended and shut his eyes even tighter.

A larger rock hit the bridge and bounced. It too fell.

The first wave of boulders rolled along the pre-existing crack in the cliff wall. Scootaloo clumsily turned around on the narrow ledge and sat dumbstruck, her ears folded against the thunderous roar.

It looked to her as if the cliff was liquefying.

One block of stone hopped off another and broke in half, one piece continuing to roll along the groove while the other was propelled away from the cliff wall.

That’s not very big…

The bridge snapped like a twig.

Rain’s eyes leapt open. His lips parted, his ears stood straight up, and then he was gone.

The rock ledge beneath her hooves, the one that had seemed so sturdy and immovable just a second ago, dropped away instantly. For a moment Scootaloo watched in wonder as the slate to her left began to drift upwards, slowly at first but then turning into a blur of dusty blues and greys and whites.

I’m actually falling.

Something huge struck her in the back, but it didn’t hurt. Looking upwards, she saw that the top of the canyon was still flaking away steadily. The debris now included chunks of sod and dirt-covered pebbles. Dust filled the air overhead, and glistening drops of water too, conjuring a brilliant rainbow that was abruptly cut in half by the shadow of the opposite cliff.

Below her, the ground was no closer than before.

A flake of slate bounced off the top of her head, feeling more like a padded ball than the cleaver that it so resembled. The force of impact knocked her back to her senses, and Scootaloo spread her wings and started to flap furiously.

Her hooves touched down on the remnants of the ledge.

She kicked off, changing the angle of her wings now to give her lift. By now house-sized chunks of stone were spinning in the air overhead, their arched paths taking them far, far from the cliff face that had accommodated them for countless aeons.

Always go down as far as you can. Once you hit rock bottom, nothing’s going to move.

And what if I get crushed?

But where else could she go? Her wings were slowing her descent, but at a cost: the giant rocks above were getting closer.

Forwards! I have to go forwards!

Scootaloo adjusted her wings again, dropping onto another boulder. It rotated slowly, angling her away from nearest cliff face. She jumped, aiming for the next sizable island.

A flash of white caught her attention. Twenty metres below her, Rain was finally trying to right himself. He was still clinging onto what’s left of the bridge, which was now upside-down.

“LET GO!” Scootaloo hollered, but the rumbling from the rockslide was so loud that she couldn’t even hear her own voice.

Rain threw the wooden beams aside. His wings were slowing his descent, and he was immediately pummeled with a shower of slate. A few feathers drifted upwards past Scootaloo. He clutched his chest, but already was starting to reorient himself, searching for the edge of the flow of rocks.

“GO DOWN!” She called.

As she watched, Rain arched his back and pushed against the air, gaining altitude as he angled towards a distant boulder just above Scootaloo.

“JUST GO DOWN! RAIN! THE TRAIL’S GONE! THE TRAIL’S GONE!”

But Scootaloo had lingered on her latest hold for too long. The boulder flipped, and she suddenly found herself scrambling for traction beneath it.

When she next saw him Rain had reached his target. One of his ears was hanging limp on top of his head, but Scootaloo now saw that he was not in such a bad position after all. He needed only glide for a metre or two to escape the giant boulders which were still looming overhead.

Scootaloo felt the air leave her lungs as she was momentarily crushed against something huge, but even that didn’t hurt. She kicked off again…

The sharp talus was more like a carpet of spears than fangs. In the quarter-second it had taken to correct her mistake she had lost much of her upwards momentum. She angled her body towards the sky and buzzed her wings, barely dodging the debris flying straight at her face. Her descent was slowing down, but still she was not gaining any altitude.

In front of her and not far above, Rain leapt clear of the stream of rocks and twisted around. Executing a tight roll, he started a steep, wobbly climb…

Long black talons tore into his back, slicing the saddle bag clear in half and clamping his wings down in an awkward position. His head snapped to the side, and his neck went limp.

“RAIN!”

The bird didn’t even notice her as it veered off down the valley. Three sets of those glossy bronze wings would have been enough to bridge the gorge, and each feather was as long Scootaloo’s whole body.

She was still staring at the receding shape of the predator carrying her brother when her world came to a crashing halt.

Author's Note

Is it okay to ask for comments at this point? I'd really like some feedback.

Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Her efforts had not been for naught. Though she tumbled over a great expanse of sharp, abrasive talus, Scootaloo did not black out. Every muscle in her body was tense, and she was tucked so small that she felt like she could tear her own head off.

A sharp protrusion struck the base of her neck, skinning the right half of her face and forcing her out of crash position. With her eyes still squeezed shut, Scootaloo frantically searched the flat surface for something to grab. The boulder was still sliding at a good pace, and if she were to fall off the leading edge…

It tipped to the right, throwing her roughly to the ground. Scootaloo tried to scream, but only managed a soft whimper with what little air that was left in her lungs.

After a moment, Scootaloo realized that she wasn’t moving anymore. Though her head was still spinning and throbbing, the ground beneath her was completely still, save for a few tremors as the last of the big boulders touched down and rolled to their final resting place at the base of the rubble pile.

Curling into a ball again, Scootaloo started counting.

She lost count at eighteen.

Her right eye was crusted shut. It opened with a sickly squelch, and stinging pain radiated across the right half of her face as she worked her sore jaw.

The rock that last hit her stood on its side like a great tablet, as tall as a two-storey house. The edge facing her was like a sharpened blade. About an inch from her back, a large stone cone jutted out of the rubble.

Scootaloo tried to speak, but all that came out was a string of staccato giggles. Raising one hoof to check the state of her face, she instead rubbed her wound full of sand.

The giggling grew into a guffaw. She rolled onto her back with pained tears streaming from her eyes, but she couldn’t stop.

When her maniacal laughter finally died down of their own accord, Scootaloo struggled onto her feet.

The world that had been so still just a moment ago was suddenly careening out of control. The battered filly fell immediately to her knees and emptied her stomach onto the jagged rock pile.

When she finished, her mouth was full of blood. Scootaloo spat a few times and ran her tongue over her teeth.

I guess it’ll grow back.

Her adrenaline-fueled tremors were replaced seamlessly by shivering. Blood trickled over her eyes, and the only way to stave off dizziness was to lay her head down.

I’m going to die here.

The stones were cold as ice. Scootaloo closed her eyes, but there was no stopping her hot tears. And why should she try? There was no help on the way, and nopony to witness her final moments. Why shouldn’t she cry, if it made her feel a little better?

Dad, I should have listened. I’m sorry.

She wanted to yell, to bring down another rockslide and end it all, but her throat was parched. The frothing creek roared indefatigably, almost within reach. She covered her aching ears and waited for the end.

Over long minutes her thirst grew, and though her chest felt like it was split open her lungs did not rupture suddenly, nor did her heart burst. The gap in her teeth stopped bleeding, and her face scabbed over. She was feeling sleepy now, but the chill of the valley kept her alert.

Finally she looked to the creek. It was downhill from where she lie; the slope itself was not especially steep, but the big, sharp rocks that she would need to cross looked rough enough to file down her hooves and her legs too.

Where’s a rusty horseshoe when you need one?

She couldn’t help but giggle at that thought. If there was ever a contest for silliest elderly mare impression, Rainbow Dash could win gold, silver and bronze.

Scootaloo stood up again, being careful not to move her head too much. Taking short steps in quick bursts she stumbled across the rocks, zigzagging downhill towards the roaring flow.

The rocks bent her legs this way and that, always threatening to snap those long bones that now felt as brittle as dry twigs. She felt sick to her stomach again, but there was nothing left there to purge. The world heaved under her hooves like water in a bottle falling end over end.

At last her hooves skidded across a big wet boulder, flipping the filly painfully onto her bruised back. Scootaloo’s scream echoed across the valley. She continued to scream until the flat rock disappeared from beneath her.

Liquid ice rushed over her face and her chest and her legs, through her nostrils and into her open mouth. The rocky bottom of the shallow stream was every bit as uneven as the rest of the valley. The water chilled her to the core, and every bit of pain bled into a uniform numbness. She sat in the middle of the stream coughing up water, her back stiffened against the powerful flow. Then she lie down again, completely submerged and skimming the bubbly water with a slack jaw. Cold seeped through her eyelids and her skull, freezing her forehead. The choppy current hitting the top of her head made her feel strange, as if she was going bald.

Finally, she needed to breathe. Her mane clung to her neck and face, but she now feared dizziness more than cold. She moved at a snail’s pace through the water, and though she slipped constantly on the water-slickened rocks and fought incessantly against the current Scootaloo didn’t feel anything. She heard neither the wind nor the roar of water, and her thoughts were as sluggish as her body.

I’m not thirsty anymore. I don’t hurt anymore. I should get to shore.

She planted her front hooves firmly on the sloped flat rock that first sent her into the icy stream. They found purchase, and her back hooves followed. Without shaking herself dry she lay down with the tip of her tail trailing in the current and closed her eyes.

I’m not thirsty anymore. I don’t hurt anymore. I’m at the shore. Now who has my rusty horseshoe?

I bet Rain brought boots.

Scootaloo jolted awake, completely alert as if electrified. The canyon came into sharp focus. For the first time she noticed the spots of white and yellow and black decorating the rocks around her. Every sharp edge was inlaid with tiny crystal faces that sparkled even in the dim light. The valley was not flat, and the smooth parts were not smooth at all. For a moment she couldn’t tell where she was, until she found the sky again between the mighty walls around her.

Tiny abrasions stung her legs and face and sides, but her body felt so distant that she couldn’t bring herself to care. The rock beneath her had turned red, and blood still flowed freely down her front legs from long, shallow cuts running from knee to ankle.

Step by step she climbed back to the crash zone, holding her head low and steady. Her right eye was less swollen now, and she was able to see quite well. The front half of her body still felt weightless, but through her heightened focus she managed not to fall.

She found a flap of the saddle bag sticking out from beneath a boulder that could have been a mountain in its own right. Further up the slope the other half spilled its contents like a gutted fish.

Like a gutted fish, complete with a growing ring of squabbling ravens. Scootaloo screamed and charged.

The birds rose like a black tornado, each with what looked to be a strip of rough red bark in its beak. The bark was once packaged in paper-wrapped bricks, but the few of these that did not rupture in the fall had been torn open by eager beaks. Scootaloo picked up a piece in her mouth…

Her head snapped back, and all the dizziness from earlier returned. She sat down with her eyes squeezed shut and spat repeatedly on the rock beside her, trying to get the taste of salted blood and campfire out of her mouth.

Hair-thin strings of muscle remained between her teeth. She pushed at them with her tongue and sloshed saliva vigorously through her mouth, but she didn’t get them all. The dried meat had at first the texture of fruit leather left on the stove for too long, but fruit leather never crumpled like that. The foul dust, tasting of death, coated the inside of her mouth and flowed into the back of her throat. She could still smell burnt flesh long after the taste had gone.

Griffin’s travel bag. Right.

When her heart settled down, Scootaloo stood up and started to pick through the oily mess, prodding the debris with the very tip of her hoof. Bits of oats stuck to the greasy rocks or fell deep through the cracks. The water skin was nowhere to be seen; it must have been in the other half of the bag, crushed beneath a boulder that even a skilled unicorn would be hard-pressed to move.

Further down the slope Scootaloo at last found something of use. The outer shell was built up from layers of sackcloth hardened in resin, and well-worn though they were the soles were still a good half-inch thick.

The dull yellow boots went halfway to her knees and fit a bit loose around her smaller hooves; to compensate she laced them tight around her ankles.

It went north, she thought to herself as she stood looking from one side of the valley to the other. Ponyville is north of here. At least I have that going for me.

Another ten metres up, and the rock pile leveled off. The cliff face was smooth and vertical, and the nearest feature that might bear her weight was far out of reach. Scootaloo leaned into the wall and tried to run up with the help of her wings, but it only took five unsuccessful attempts for her limbs to give out.

Lying on top of the rock pile she stared up the valley, scanning the cliff face for any sign of a nest. She remembered Cheerilee mentioning how eagles built big nests in high places. Surely a bird of that size would make its home atop a high cliff?

5 km. there has to be a way up in the next 5 km. I just have to walk…

For 5 km.

She rummaged through the debris for a while longer, and her efforts were rewarded with half of her cloak and a half spool of cord. By now the fabric was stiff and reeking of sweat, with a clearly-visible salt-creep along the edges. Her bits were gone too, the pocket being on the other half of the cloak. After a few minutes she found a way to fashion it into a kind of pouch for the cord, but it really wasn’t big enough for much else.

She was about to return to the valley floor when a metallic glint caught her eye. Rain’s knife was wedged between two stones, its blade resting halfway outside its dark brown sheath. She took the handle in her mouth and pulled the case free by its two long leather thongs. Without checking the blade, Scootaloo tied the strips of cowhide across her shoulders to carry the knife beside the rest of her meager loot.

Not exactly satisfied but out of ways to stall, the filly set off down the north side of the rubble pile, her padded hooves nearly silent against unforgiving stones.

The walls seemed to be closing in on her. In the tunnel of endless greys and blues, Scootaloo struggled to get a sense of distance. Sheer drops appeared out of nowhere, and more than once the filly stopped just short of the edge of a boulder that opened up to a bed of sharp talus. Huge slabs of stone—two, three, four times her size or bigger—shifted under her weight, and dropped to their original position with deafening bangs.

Hungry and cold but most definitely not thirsty, she let out a breath of relief as she rounded a huge boulder and saw on a distant scree slope something white as snow.

“Rain!” She called out. Her crisp voice echoed down the valley, surely loud enough to be heard in Ponyville, but her brother didn’t respond.

“That’s not funny, Rain,” she growled, skimming over the rocks at a quick canter.

The thing raised its bulbous head straight up on a long, muscular neck. Scootaloo slowed down.

Its coat was smooth; from this distance the creature appeared hairless. The skin, whiter than the purest marble of Canterlot, was stretched tight against a robust frame. The outline of its legs angled inwards past its knees, exactly opposite of Morning Rain’s Clydesdale build. It stood with all four of its feet squeezed onto the vertex of a single sharp rock, and though Scootaloo thought it was watching her, she couldn’t make out its eyes.

She began to move forwards again; slowly now, afraid to take her eyes off the thing on the slope. After a while, it lowered its head once more to prod at an adjacent rock. The cranium was almost a perfect sphere; almost pony-like. But its muzzle was reduced to a long, slender protrusion with a small lipless mouth at the tip, and its eyes were beady black dots in the middle of bulging, skin-covered sockets.

“Hey!” She yelled when she was close enough to see its eyes. “Hey! You there! Have you seen a big bird recently?”

Its drooping ears whipped around a few times, but overall the creature seemed more interested in the boulder. Scootaloo noticed its tiny black horns.

I never thought sheep could be this scary looking.

As she approached the base of the slope, the true scale of the sheep’s achievement became apparent. It wasn’t just standing on a rubble pile, though the loose scree on the slanted valley floor was enough of an obstacle for the filly. The sheep had somehow climbed across thirty metres of sheer rock, and was perched on a kind of ledge where a few boulders from an earlier slide had settled, looking like a figure on top of a trophy. She would have even described the pose as triumphant, were it not for the complacent look in its half-lidded eyes.

Scootaloo adjusted the package in her back. The valley seemed to go on forever, and there was no sign of the bird anywhere.

For a moment her thoughts turned to Ponyville. She saw herself walking into her living room; felt her father’s embrace.

And Gari, the mare who had been as good as a mother to her, stood behind him with her hood up and her face downcast. Scootaloo would have to speak to her; to tell her with a straight face that her son had been eaten by a giant eagle.

A sharp crack brought her back to the present. Scootaloo ducked and covered, her wings snapping open instinctively.

The valley rumbled, and she heard the cliff wall shattering, but all the echoes prevented her from ascertaining where the slide would happen.

Boulders rumbled against boulders, against the cliff, crushing lesser stones as they crashed to the valley floor. Scootaloo’s ears popped in the intense pressure wave, and soon tiny flakes of slate rained down on her.

She stayed completely still until she stopped feeling the tiny impacts on her back. The sheep of course was still flipping rocks and ruminating. A cloud of dust was slowly rolling down the valley, and a tongue of blue-green slithered down the once-pristine creek.

Flashes of cold blue light drew her eyes upwards.

The top of the cliff was hidden in a rolling storm cloud. The dense black vapour cycled at a dizzying speed like a giant wheel turned on its side, and whenever a tendril drifted off and threatened to dissipate it would immediately snap back into the main mass like a hatchling running to a hen. Lightning flashed deep within its core, and once in a while a magnificent forked bolt struck the wall below, instantly cutting loose hundreds of tonnes of stone that fell in a sustained torrent.

Scootaloo backed away slowly, unable to take her eyes off the frightening sight. Once in a while the entire cloud would light up like a black lantern, and in those brief flashes the filly could make out the shape of a giant bird with its wings spread.

The rolling front of dust would soon reach her, showing no sign of thinning. Scootaloo felt tiny flecks of grit on her face, and though she retreated steadily there was no way to outrun the seemingly-solid wave. And why would she try? In front of her were Ponyville and her brother; behind lay leagues upon leagues of barren ground.

She pursed her lips and pressed her ears tight against her skull. Untying the cloak around her neck, she tore off a strip just large enough to fit over her eyes. With what’s left of the fabric she made a tighter-fitting parcel for the spool.

The goat bleated once, but when she looked up it had already disappeared into the pale yellow mass.

The valley got darker still as the cloud filled her entire field of view. She could hear sand and pebbles falling.
The sound reminded her of hailstones.

With trembling hooves Scootaloo tied the blindfold behind her head a mere second before a thousand pebbles pelleted her body.

In three breaths her nostrils were completely clogged with dust. She could taste a hint of sweetness in her mouth, and felt the grit between her teeth despite her tightly sealed lips.

Scootaloo opened her mouth for a big gulp of air and immediately took a mouthful of sand and pebbles. Dust crept down under her ears and slowly worked its way through the edges of her blindfold.

She heard the falling stones like a drumbeat, and the ground itself bucked up and down. All the loose rocks under her feet shifted constantly, as if the valley was trying to eat her. She trod lightly, proceeding in bursts of motion towards the source of the vibrations.

Her mouth became bone-dry, and her throat felt like it had an inch-thick coating when the dust finally thinned. Tiny cuts covered her body unfelt, and her closed eyelids were caked with viscous, putrid mud.

Cautiously, she lifted one side of her blindfold and squinted out at the world. She was standing on a slope, and though the air was still full of dust it seemed a little more breathable than before.

A giant boulder hit the ground not two metres to her right, the deafening impact drowning out her scream.

Scootaloo stood on her hind hooves, leaning into the cliff wall. All around her the rocks continued to fall, but she could now see that the deep grooves along which they rolled were directing all the debris away from the very base of the cliff. Though the vibrations made her teeth chatter and her stomach churn, she had wandered into a tiny safe zone.

She cleared her throat, spitting out a thick black glob of muddy phlegm. Her boots and legs were a uniform shade of yellowish-grey, the loose, wrinkly fabric giving her hooves a diseased appearance.

Looking up, Scootaloo saw that the wall had a rectangular fracture pattern, with a series of narrow ledges forming a giant staircase of sorts that went at least halfway up. The storm cloud was right above her head, and she could feel her hair slowly rising in response to the potential in the air.

Not daring to get off the wall, the filly flipped herself awkwardly so that her chest was flush against the cliff. Reaching up towards the first ledge with her front hooves, she gritted her teeth against the pain as she forced her wings up to speed.

Scootaloo rocketed skywards, her wings giving her just enough extra lift to reach the sequential ledges. The rocks tumbled by just to her right, creating an unstable current that constantly threatened to suck her in or throw her far to the left into open air.

Her limbs burned from exertion. She heard the slide as if through ears full of water. She felt as if the rear half of her body would fall away at any moment, but she knew better than to stop. The ledges were no more than cracks now; even a sheep would be hard-pressed to stand long on the tiny features that she now used as launch platforms.

With a fierce growl the filly leapt clear of the last foothold, shooting well past the top of the cliff and falling limp on a carpet of tall, yellow grass. A ptarmigan ascended clumsily above the ground cover, its frantic thundering wings adding but a drop to an ocean of noise.

Scootaloo gulped the static-filled air. Every hair of her coat stood on end now; rolling thunder replaced the vibrations from falling stones, and through closed eyes she saw intermittent still-frames of a red world.

I found the bird. Now what?

Sticking her nose out from the curtain of grass, Scootaloo squinted through flying sand and blinding flashes of electricity. Even from just twenty metres away the cloud seemed solid, and Scootaloo stood in awe of its sheer size. It would have taken the entire Ponyville weather team to compress a cloud of that size, and it was growing still. A constant stream of water flowed from the places where it touched ground and trails of white fog entered through the top which towered higher than the peak of Ponyville’s town hall.
The air reeked of ozone, burning her sinuses and drawing tears from her eyes as grit never could.

The knife came to mind, but even a rough assessment of scale made her shudder. A dozen fanciful plans ran through her mind, all of which hinged on getting through a wall of lightning.

Think it through. Stop and think it through.

She felt the rough wooden handle under her hoof. Was it better to charge with it in her mouth, or try to cut more precisely while hobbling around on three legs?

It’ll end the same way regardless.

Lightning and thunder reached her simultaneously. Scootaloo closed her eyes and turned away as the pressure wave ruffled her mane.

Just beyond her hiding place the thin earth ended, replaced by base rock. With eyes squinted in anticipation of another flash, Scootaloo surveyed a few reasonably-sized chunks. Taking a deep breath, she darted out of the grass and scooped up one angular stone about the size of a big apple. Balancing it in her right hoof, she flung the stone as hard as she could towards the churning cloud, the recoil sending her tumbling backwards into hiding.

A strand of lightning reached for the projectile. The stone shattered on contact, sending tiny bits flying in every direction.

The cloud seemed to waver ever-so-slightly.

After another strike, the filly once again left the grass. This time she picked a big brick-shaped block, and putting her whole weight into it sent the stone flying in a high, lazy arc.

Again lightning reached out in defense, but this time only half the block broke. The remaining fragment, still of a respectable size, disappeared into the cloud.

A cold, wet wave knocked Scootaloo off her feet. Pebbles and ice and water droplets hit her like a big pane of glass, the initial stinging sensation quickly fading to full-body numbness.

When she looked up again the gorge was utterly unrecognizable. The late-afternoon sun shone brilliantly, projecting a small rainbow on the quickly-dissipating fog that was all that remained of the storm.

The lightning had cut out a kind of dry moat that turned the edge of the cliff into a circular island. This pedestal was piled high with slender pines and boulders from the valley, and the tips of a few massive dark feathers decorated the top.

Morning Rain was draped over one log, his mane and wings dripping orange-tinted water. The deep wounds in his back had been washed clear of blood, and flaps of skin were hanging loose around the edges.

“RAIN!” Scootaloo hollered, taking one step towards the pile.

The colt didn’t respond, but something else did. A grey ball, covered in folds of sickly grey skin and roughly the size of her head, rose above the rim of the nest. Two big brown eyes and a hooked red beak were its core features; its face was otherwise identical to the back of its head.

Another one popped up beside the first, and then another.

Identical septuplets.

Without warning, one of the heads snapped forwards, returning almost instantly with a mouthful of cream feathers.

The colt woke with a start, clumsily turning towards his attackers. The hatchlings shuffled backwards a few steps with their heads drawn back on their long, loose-skinned necks.

A shadow fell over Scootaloo, and the powerful downdraft nearly made her legs buckle. She took one step backwards and pressed her wings tight against her sides, planting her legs firmly in anticipation.

The gust threw her off her feet. Her body went numb instantly as electricity shot up her legs and forced her jaws shut on her tongue. The ground zapped her again when she touched down, and she lay on her side, tingling and immobile.

Standing on the sideways ground, the great bird regarded her with its head lowered aggressively. Its eyes shone like polished bronze plates, and the ridge of feathers sweeping back from its almost non-existent forehead gave it a perpetually irked expression. Metallic green feathers dominated its face, fading to glossy black further down the neck.

With each step the ground flashed. Moisture sizzled and rose in puffs of vapour between scaly toes as thick as the timber of its nest. Electricity arced between the iridescent feathers of its magnificent wings, occasionally hitting the ground in front and sending drops of molten rock into the air.

Scootaloo propped herself up on her front legs. Feeling was slowly returning to the rear half of her body, but her hind legs still moved spastically.

The monstrous red beak parted, revealing a mouth full of backwards-facing barbs and a scaly black tongue. Its call was more terrifying than a lion’s roar; Scootaloo cowered in the putrid wind of its breath and covered her ears, but the vibrations traveled through the rocks beneath her up through her chin and echoed endlessly in her skull.

What’s the plan? What’s the plan?

The cliff was completely blocked by the bird’s crackling wings. An excited chatter came from the nest, but the hungry chicks failed to drown out the growls and grunts of the injured, exhausted colt.

“RUN!” Scootaloo shouted. “RAIN! JUST RUN!”

The bird’s head hovered over the filly. Its breath felt like a fire on her side, and the moist air beneath its wings was so thick that her lungs refused to pull it in. Little sparks of lightning lashed out at every part of her body. Desperately Scootaloo groped for the knife, but each time a powerful discharge from its handle deflected her hoof.

For a second the cacophony from the nest fell silent. Then a single shrill cry filled the air, starting as a whimper and quickly building to a desperate scream.

The crackling stopped, and Scootaloo once again felt the natural wind of the valley on her back. The humidity dropped to nothing, and she eagerly inhaled the sterile air.

The bird was looking over its shoulders, its wings now closed. It was terrifying to behold even from that angle. Scootaloo crawled out of its way, stumbling noisily over some loose rocks, but it didn’t move a muscle. She followed its gaze back to the nest, and what she saw made her stomach churn.

Rocking back and forth on his hind legs, his half-plucked wings drooping at his side, Morning Rain stood facing her at the far edge of the nest. Under each bloody foreleg he held the head of a struggling chick. Their downy wing nubs flapped pathetically, and their mouths were stretched wide in their piteous scream. They would have been taller than the colt, had their kicking legs found any purchase.

Pure hatred burned out of his teary eyes (the white of the left had turned bright red). His whole body trembled, and his lips were completely pulled back. It mattered little that his mouth was filled with flat grinding teeth instead of carnivorous fangs; the remaining chicks were throwing themselves out the opposite side of the nest, hopping clear of the dry moat with little wings ablur and scrambling clumsily towards their mother.

She shrieked again, turning completely towards her nest with one hop that threw Scootaloo into the air. Her wings flared open, her head bowed…

With a roar of his own Morning Rain pushed his two prisoners backwards.

They disappeared beyond the edge of the nest as the colt fell the short distance into it.

With another surge of wind and a crack of thunder the giant vanished. The five remaining chicks tweeted and whistled as they flopped around on the rocks.

Scootaloo charged for the nest, feeling completely weightless. She cleared the moat and the edge of the nest too, landing atop a thick pile of faded feathers and pale grey droppings. Morning Rain lay face down on this mattress, twitching uncontrollably.

She threw him against the side of the nest, any consideration for his comfort drowned out by her rage. His pupils shrunk to pinpricks when they finally fell on her face.

The first few punches caught him square in the nose, snapping his head this way and that. But her attack also seemed to knock some sense into him, and before she knew it he had escaped her along the circular wall. Struggling onto the rim of the nest, he launched off even less gracefully than the chicks.

When Scootaloo touched down just beyond the moat, Morning Rain already had a decent head start. He stumbled along the cliff’s edge at a fast limp, his wings dragging against the ground beside him. The chicks were huddled together, their watery, terrified eyes darting between her and the fleeing form of her brother.

With burning eyes Scootaloo set off after him, her wings helping her along the rough path.

She had gone maybe half a kilometer when the cry rose from the valley floor, livid and heartbroken. It was soon answered by a hundred rock slides all through the canyon, their angry grumbles and snarls rolling up and down the valley until they all sounded as one.

Tears streamed down the filly’s face as she picked up her pace even more. She wanted to pass her brother, just so she wouldn’t have to look at him any longer.

Morning Rain, what have you done?

Author's Note

Next Update will be Thursday, Apr 24.

Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Her teeth chattered incessantly; they were probably half their original length by now. The pungent odour of rotting wood and flesh and swamp gas numbed her sinuses and mouth all the way down her throat. Her voice, in the few times she did speak, came out raspy and low, and seemed to go straight into her own ears to be warped and fragmented before getting lost in the next thunderclap.

She lay in her dripping alcove, looking not unlike a tired old dog. Her half-lidded eyes peered out-of-focus into a shifting brown world.

For two days the foul rain fell. Sometimes it came down in sheets, sometimes mixed with jagged hailstones, but it never stopped. Her whole body itched, and whenever she scratched a mass of hair would come off on her hooves; at this rate she would be completely bare in another two days.

Something big hit the leaky roof with a sickening wet crack, but Scootaloo didn’t get up.

Just another frog, probably.

Morning Rain had made it all the way to the end of the gorge before he collapsed, blood and mucus pouring out of both nostrils. By then the storm clouds were already building up in the north, looking like great blotches of blood in the dying light. He was hot to the touch, but his coat was completely dry. Scootaloo built the first shelter on top of him, plucking his wings to seal up the holes left by the knotty, dry twigs that were the only building materials in the arid southern waste. Her own shed was assembled with more care but fewer feathers, and protected her only from the falling debris, but even that was preferable to sharing with…

The mangled remains of a rat, recognizable only by a bit of tail, plopped down in front of her, splashing her face with putrid water and old blood. Scootaloo blew a raspberry to clear her lips, and shuffled back an inch in hopes of escaping the downpour.

Some time ago, when there was a short lull, the filly had ventured out from her hiding place. The air was saturated with the stench of decay, but she could see the edge of the storm in the north. A sickly green ribbon wove through the sky, disappearing beyond the rim of the distant canyon. It was as if a floating river had opened up, draining the stagnant contents of the Clydesdale Bog onto the parched red desert.

The little creek of the Gorge had gone subterranean miles and miles ago, and Scootaloo had been thirsty enough then to stomach mouthful after mouthful of the puddles around her.

Her innards were tight knots; once again she fell on her side, writing and moaning.

The vegetation in the area was equal parts unappetizing and disturbing. The water had softened the ancient black bark of long-dead trees, peeling them back in stringy strips to expose cores of dense, white wood. Scootaloo tried a few chunks, but they were so tough and foul-tasting that she might as well have been chewing the soles of her (brother’s) boots.

The last she saw of him, Morning Rain had not moved a muscle. His legs had swelled to almost twice their usual size and large bald patches punctuated his waterlogged coat. His open mouth caught whatever water dripped from the sill of his roof; such a stench wafted from his shelter that Scootaloo stayed a metre back the whole time.

He was still alive at that point; his chest rose and fell quickly, each breath so deep that his clearly-visible ribcage threatened to tear through his skin.

A weak shriek of pure terror, coming through the pit-pat of the storm as if from a great distance reminded her that the colt was still there.

Serves you right.

While Rain slept without waking, Scootaloo once again found herself keeping an involuntary vigil. With each clap of thunder she heard the ghost of a brutal lament. The wind that made the roof creak over her head had a pulse, as if great wings were fanning the desert-turned-swamp. In every flash of lightning she saw shadows on the land: the profile of a beaked head; the tips of a hundred pinions; a pair of four-toed feet big enough to lift mountains. Whenever her eyes drooped a louder boom roused her.

The shaking of the earth did nothing to ease the cramps in her stomach.

Day was night, and night was total blackness. At times Scootaloo thought that she was asleep, but the dampness never left her for a second. The angry sounds of the storm burrowed deep into her mind, so that she perceived in them terrible curses and threats spoken in an ancient tongue.

Another flash, and it appeared.

Six pairs of lidless black eyes in a bloody skull, each one clear as crystal. Bits of fur and muscle dangled off the bone of the muzzle.

Jaws full of jagged saber teeth so long that the mouth could never close.

A black neck, this at least looking healthy.

The rest of it was just a bleached skeleton, completely clean to the tip of its pointy tail.

The thing stood taller than Princess Celestia, and paced with a supple, silent grace.

Boom!

The front half of a blue pegasus colt was draped across its spine; one of his wings had been completely torn off, and blood poured continuously from his mouth.

Scootaloo turned her head, afraid as always to let it out of her sight. Like all the other times it circled her with the steadiness of a clock, never getting any closer. Over many hours the ring of blood deposited in its wake would grow thicker and darker, unaffected by the downpour until the apparition disappeared.

Water rippled and sand crunched under its ivory hooves.

Scootaloo bit down on her tongue.

It hurt.

The rain seemed to be dying down.

The monster had somehow acquired another companion: a purple pegasus with a short white mane and a somewhat chubby build. His wings were stripped down to the bones, and he appeared to be clinging on with his exposed ribs.

A third figure was taking shape as the thing passed in front of her for the third time. It tilted its head slightly in her direction, and its three right eyes jumped in their sockets to meet the filly’s gaze.

A hairless, dark body with blood and pus running from its pores; bare, decaying wings; legs bloated to many times their normal size; liquefied innards sloshing around like a nightmarish balloon…

The hands of the little clock sitting to her right spun like a top.

Hours.

Days.

Months.

Eternity passed her by in blinks. Her shelter blew away in a gust, leaving her completely exposed to the rain that fell and fell and fell.

The creature and its wretched riders moaned and screamed, weeping with the sky.

Scootaloo screamed.

Scootaloo whimpered.

The circle was diffusing quickly. She watched as the stain turned from black to red to pink before fading to mud in the puddles, and kept watching until she could convince herself that it had never been there at all. Nothing stirred beyond the dripping edge of her roof.

Her clock was gone.

I don’t have a clock.

But she was no longer lying on her side, either.

The downpour had slowed to a drizzle. With a grunt Scootaloo pulled herself out of her alcove, her bowels roaring in protest.

She circled around the front of Morning Rain’s shelter, staying even further back than before. The smell had grown worse; the filly gagged violently, for once thankful for her empty stomach.

The colt’s legs were swollen to magnificent proportions. His neck was stretched out towards the exit, as if he too perceived the stench and wanted to get away. His mouth was opened wide, and the rapid rising and falling of his chest told of just how little air was getting through.

The worst were his eyes. Glazed-over, half-lidded and out of focus, they silently begged the desert for mercy.

It was too bad he couldn’t look skywards.

The scent of the water seemed reasonable after that. Though she kept her mouth shut, drops did flow into her nostril and down her throat, depositing their stench which rose into her mouth and settled on the tip of her tongue. Over time the “rain” had become muddier; Scootaloo only hoped that the bird would leave once she drained the swamp.

Lightning flashed, followed immediately by thunder. When the filly opened her eyes again there was a smouldering patch of parched grey earth not twenty metres to her right.

All around her trails of crimson traced the subtle grooves of the ground.

Out of the corner of her eye, something was moving.

Clenching her teeth and narrowing her eyes, Scootaloo turned.

“Muh… UH! UH! NNNNNAH!”

Her sad little shacks looked like piles of wood in a fire pit.

The colt’s screaming soon died down, and though she stood long after that as if rooted in place...

There’s nothing out here.

Nothing.

The murky brown water flowed around her hooves, wicking into the remnants of her (brother’s) boots…

Why am I still wearing these?

She forced herself to walk, keeping her eyes on the ground. The storm had picked up everything from the bog; leeches and worms squirmed along aimlessly, dead rats and frogs and bits of shattered turtles littered her path, but there were other things too: pale roots and tubers punctuated the filth like little nuggets of gold, and she even found chunks of bushes with little muddy leaves that were leaves nonetheless. Scootaloo scooped up the tiny bulbs; their sweetness was just enough to mask the water and grit. She didn’t care what they were exactly; a few were astringent and bland, and she must have eaten more than one maggot, but it felt good to be eating something again.

For a while she just walked and chewed, her back slowly growing numb from the freezing downpour, until a cascade of thunder reminded her of her place. The world around her was brighter than day as brilliant white bolts split the sky again and again. Scootaloo stared in amazement at the point in the sky where they all originated, her gaping, root mash-filled mouth catching a few drops of filthy rain.

All she could see was its (her) majestic silhouette, black on a white featureless background.

Despite the growing intensity of the downpour Scootaloo sat down on the wet ground and closed her eyes. It felt as if they’d shriveled in their sockets. She chewed slowly, feeling the lump moving around her mouth before it slid down her throat.

The rain turned to mud. The drops stung her nose, sending tiny sharp flecks bouncing against her eyelids and forehead. When she dared to look, Scootaloo could barely see anything through the shifting brown haze. Through flash-blinded eyes her own hooves looked like dark green blobs; lumpy shapes were circling lazily like big fish in a small pond.

With squinted eyes Scootaloo retraced her steps, dragging along any vegetation she happened to stumble across. Stringy stems and roots wrapped around her legs like snares, all their delicate-looking fibers feeling like well-made cord. They crept up past her (brother’s) boots, weaving into her matted coat.

The slimy, grit-filled drops built up on her back, coating her wings with a layer of earth that was soon felt in her knees. Her mane sagged with the added weight, and by the time she found the camp again her scalp ached as if her hair was being ripped out by the roots.

She’ll bury me alive!

Her shack was only a stone’s throw away, piled twice as high as before from the downpour of dirt. She dared not stoop even a little, for the buildup on her back was heavy enough now to crush her.

Taking one last deep breath, Scootaloo pounced for the nearer shelter, fumbling over a sickeningly-warm body and barely avoiding the filth in what little space remained under the feather-lined roof.

She turned around, stepping on her brother as if he was just a hideous, squishy rug. The wood overhead groaned as sludge continued to build up; big black blobs fell from the sides of the roof, making wet squelches as they hit the ground.

The world outside had turned pitch black; even lightning could not penetrate opaque sheets of earth.

Scootaloo flopped down on the wet, squishy ground, not caring what might be beneath her. She felt as if the entire bottom of Clydesdale Bog had been dredged up and piled on her back.

There was no room in the shelter for her to shake dry, not that she was strong enough to attempt it. Scootaloo waited in the darkness, her cold wet shell sapping away all her body heat. For a while she tried resting her head on her brother’s back to take advantage of his fever, but the feeling of his bloated flesh and heaving ribs coupled with the smell made that arrangement unbearable.

Finally, when the roof settled down and claustrophobic brown light began to filter through, when the entrance was all but sealed and thunder was heard again, Scootaloo started grooming. The chunks in her mane didn’t come off easily; she would have left them alone, had her neck been strong enough to lift that slimy crown. In the end her mane was more brown than purple, and itched worse than ever.

With all her strength she extended her wings, breaking the thick carapace into two halves that fell away with a little bit of shuffling. These pieces felt like giant slugs as they slipped down her sides.

The stuff around her forelimbs was held together by a mess of stems and roots. Scootaloo bashed her hooves against the ground to loosen some of the pieces, and then tore into the fibrous mass with her teeth…

Bitterness as she’d never tasted before made her jaws fall limp. Quickly coming to her senses, Scootaloo spat and scraped her tongue on her teeth, clearing her throat too in case some of the juices managed to diffuse that far.

Minutes passed, and at last the filly let out a sigh of relief. She didn’t feel dizzy or numb; no more than she did before, anyways. With shaking hooves she traced the stems that were wrapped around her ankles, but she only distinguish the coarsest of features through the thick soles of the boots.

Monk’s Hood?

It had to be. Scootaloo struggled to recall Zecora’s lessons, but images from hikes with her father filled her mind instead.

“One leaf can kill you. These leaves are easy to recognize, and this root doesn’t look too appetizing, right? You’ll also know by a taste test; I’ve heard that it’s the bitterest thing you can expect to find north of San Palomino, so it’s a lot worse than black coffee. It’s real easy to tell by the flowers; this early in the season, if you want to eat anything just run it by me, okay?”

She managed to pull the loop of vegetation off her left front leg, and held it firmly beneath her right. A thought was forming in her mind; a passing notion that clung to her brain like mud to her body, recruiting her misery and fear and even…

Morning Rain kicked forwards with a groan, nearly diving into the mud piled up against the entrance.

Scootaloo could feel the patches of bare, flaky skin on his side.

She stroked the rough ring beneath her hoof. Rubbing her muzzle against it, she thought she could feel a five-lobed leaf in that fibrous mess.

The colt exhaled slowly; it sounded to her like he was blowing through a straw.

Three black eyes peered through the little slit to the outside world.

Scootaloo shoved the ring through that slit, expanding the opening. The thing retreated just in time to avoid a faceful of poison.

“You eat it!” She yelled. The words felt right in her throat, but she heard nothing. “Do your worst you… whatever you are! I’m not afraid of you!”

With gritted teeth the filly stuck her head out, her eyes narrowed against the grit in the air. The ground was raised a foot and a half from its initial level, and the roof was completely immovable.

The lean-to had turned into a burrow.

There were no puddles now; just a dark mess as far as the eye could see. Scootaloo drove her hoof into mud, grinding the poisonous coil until she was sure that she’d never see it again. Then she put her weight into her front hooves and pushed with all her strength.

The entrance widened by about an inch.

She tried to lift herself to ground level, but the opening wasn’t big enough to accommodate her shoulders. The filly kicked and heaved, straining her neck skywards and sucking in her ribs, but she couldn’t get out. The mud wasn’t runny anymore.

Soon it would be sturdy as a brick wall.

When she dropped back into the shelter, she was met with three inches of water around her ankles.

Her brother was submerged to the top of his head and blowing bubbles through his nose.

Scootaloo hesitated before she dragged him roughly to the opening, wedging his neck between the ground and the roof. His legs flopped uselessly in a sick parody of standing.

Resting her forelegs one on top of the other, she managed to keep her muzzle above the growing water line.

Tears, sweat, water… who even cares anymore?

The worst pins and needles coursed through her limbs, completely immobilizing her.

The water reached her chin.

The roof cracked.

A gust of dry, fresh air surrounded her. Scootaloo gasped, and tasted the sterility of Ghastly Gorge.

“Scootaloo, are you okay?”

Is that…

A cold shoed hoof slid under her belly, and all the pain there went away. She kept her eyes closed as she was lifted out of the water.

“Scootaloo, please talk to me.”

She thought she knew the voice, but even her exhausted mind knew that that was just impossible.

Scootaloo felt another body beside her, this one warm and well-groomed and smelling faintly of not-quite-vanilla.

“Pr… Prin…” Her teeth began to chatter the moment she relaxed her jaw, prompting the sweet-smelling mare to hold her even tighter.

“It’s okay. Just rest for a bit.”

She did as she was told, shivering despite the warmth that now surrounded her. With deep breaths she filled her lungs with clean air, trying to forget the reeking trench from whence she had been rescued.

“Princess Luna,” she mumbled, finally opening her eyes. “You…”

The dark blue mare seemed even bigger than usual. The white of her eyes glowed against a backdrop of tiny glittering crystals. Her brows were furrowed, but not in disappointment.

“I’m sorry,” she said, setting the filly down on a patch of dry clay. She kept her magnificent wings hovering at her side radiating pleasant warmth.

Scootaloo looked to her right, at the hole that was filled with black water glistening in starlight. Past its far rim she stared across a perfectly flat landscape.

“I can’t get to you,” Luna said, her voice almost cracking. “I don’t really know where you are, and…”

“What do you mean you can’t get to me?” Scootaloo snapped, hopping to her feet. Her legs didn’t hurt anymore, and puffs of dust rose from her dry, crusty coat.

The alicorn before her rippled like a reflection in a pond.

Her jaw fell open. Scootaloo felt angry tears welling in her eyes.

Her closed eyes.

“This is the best you can do?” She screamed. “You’re a princess! You can fly! You can teleport! You can… I don’t even know what else you can do! And now you’re telling me that you can’t get from Canterlot to Ghastly Gorge? Even I can do that! I DID DO IT!”

A silver-shoed hoof came to rest on her shoulder. Scootaloo glared at the princess, wiping her chin intermittently.

Her hoof always came away dry.

“I just don’t know where you are,” Luna said, more gently than Scootaloo thought possible. “I don’t have any excuses, I know. I’ve failed you and Rain both. I’m sorry for that, Scootaloo, but I’m here now.”

“You could have been here days ago! Where were you when we were still in the Everfree Forest? Where were you last night? You could have said something…”

The filly was cut short by a fit of coughing.

“Listen to me, Scootaloo.” The tenderness in her voice wasn’t completely gone, but her urgent undertone convinced the filly not to argue. “You have to leave. I know you’re near the edge of the San Palomino Desert. I can’t get into your brother’s dream, so I can only assume that he is not well. It might be days before anypony can reach you, and I know that you won’t last that long.”

“Oh, I can last longer than that,” Scootaloo growled, feeling rather winded. “You’re not worried about me, you’re worried about Morning Rain! He’s… he’s your daughter’s son, so he’s your grandson I guess. Well, he’s not my brother anymore! He's not my problem anymore! He’s just a winey foal who doesn’t care about anypony but himself! He dragged me into this mess, and he’s going to pay for it!”

“That is up to you to decide,” Luna said. “I can’t demand anything of you, Scootaloo; you’ve done more than enough. I know this past week has been difficult for you, and the next hours will be worse still. But if you are to survive, you will have to get going now. Find the railroad. That’s your only hope.”

The princess’s eyes shone brilliant white, drowning out the dreamscape.

Scootaloo sat bolt up, coughing and gagging.

Her whole body was submerged in the icy pool.

Residual warmth from the dream faded quickly, and already pain was returning to her legs. She expelled a few more drops from her lungs, and stood to her full height to look through the opening at the dreadful world outside.

The rain seemed to be clear again; just a gentle drizzle compared to earlier. Morning Rain was still wedged in the exit. He was alive at least, and the rain on his face seemed to have helped with his fever.

Scootaloo yanked him out by one ear and unceremoniously dropped him into the puddle, her only concern being to keep his nose above the water line. Then she began digging, pushing down on chunks mud. It was slow work, and more than once she felt her hooves splintering.

With sweat on her brow and a parched tongue the filly emerged, soaked to the bone and trembling.

Get up. Get up.

Her own lean-to had collapsed from the weight of the mud, leaving only a triangular hole just big enough for one of her hooves. She reached in, probing as far as her tense muscles would allow. There was no airspace beneath that roof, only water. She could feel something tickling her leg like a sprig of some water plant, and a thinner, stiffer string as well…

The waterlogged package came through the opening with a pop. Scootaloo tore through the remnants of her cape and searched the dripping coil for the tip of the cord. Finding it at last, she quickly unwound the whole spool. There wasn’t much left after building the rafts and lean-tos, but she thought it would be enough.

Enough for what?

The knife hurt her teeth, and the taste of the bog had soaked into its unvarnished wooden handle.

The first section was as long as her body. Scootaloo held one end under a hind leg while she twisted the other, coiling it to a more useful gauge.

Useful for what?

Lightning flashed.

Six eyes scrutinized her every move.

When she finished, the filly stuck the blade into the ground with a twist of her head that left her dazed. Still not satisfied she put her entire weight into the hilt, driving it down like a stubborn pike.

With three loosely-twisted ropes hanging across her neck Scootaloo returned to the unconscious colt.

The sky lit up, and she caught a glimpse of the cliffs that marked the abrupt end of the gorge.

That’s north… sort of. Where is the railroad?

She stood at the entrance of the dark burrow facing south, waiting for another lightning strike. Her eyes still ached from the last one.

Boom!

The desert was flat right to the black horizon, interrupted only by a shadowy blotch. The shape looked like a tiny canker on the land, wavering at the edge of focus.

Scootaloo squinted in its direction, pressing her ears flat against her head and clenching her teeth together in a vain attempt to ignore the cold.

Boom!

For an infinitesimally short moment she saw it clear as day. Stout buildings made of hastily-cleaned logs; bright yellow windows that glistened like stars; carriages tall and proud parked out front, retired for the night. She could almost read the clock that loomed above all this, it looking no bigger than a pocket watch.

No railroad. Just that.

Darkness swallowed the apparition once more, but she had its bearing. Scootaloo now turned to face her last problem. Despite all her talking, it still was very much her problem.

Nothing stirred in the burrow. Scootaloo went in rump-first, landing in a pool that came up to her withers.

Morning Rain was sputtering like a dry well, his gaping mouth taking in water and air together.

Getting him off the squishy ground wasn’t easy, and as she rose to full height buoyancy helped her less and less. With another pony on her back, Scootaloo was slowly sinking into the sludge.

“Wake up!” She yelled, but as before no sound seemed to escape her mouth. “Wake up, you big cow patty! You… You…”

Freeing her hooves sapped her strength. She wanted nothing more than to sleep, but that meant choosing between a putrid pool and the icy downpour.

Or that town.

Definitely the town.

She got to work making a harness from the ropes. Rain’s limbs felt spongy to the touch; she didn’t know how tight was too tight, nor did she care. With the long rope she strung his front and rear legs together before struggling out of the den with the free end between her teeth.

The rough cords chafed like a coil of razor blades across her chest. At first it felt like pulling against a brick wall. She scrambled against the slippery mud, her head straining this way and that. Her hooves felt like they’d simply fallen off.

Inch by inch she pulled, until the load disappeared all at once. Scootaloo got up immediately and struggled with the rope around her chest.

Boom!

With threadbare wings splayed at unnatural angles, lying on his side in the middle of a giant puddle, Morning Rain looked like something a cat spat out. He coughed weakly, draining the water from his lungs in small spurts. Big patches of his coat had fallen out, including the part bearing his cutie mark, and the skin beneath was bumpy and loose.

She forced his wings closed and tied him onto her back using the long rope. Then, with a silent roar, she stood up.

Her knees locked and nearly snapped the other way, but she didn’t fall. His loose flesh moulding to her back, and even it was warm no longer.

Boom!

There it was; so far away now, but perhaps within reach. She lifted one hoof and advanced it.

One inch down.

Angry screeches accompanied the thunder, and the raindrops that pattered against the back of her ears gave her a splitting headache. At first she roared right back, but little ponies didn’t have much of a roar. Her jaws soon fell slack, and she struggled to breathe under her sickening load.

With each of his breaths Morning Rain’s ribs slid along her back. Scootaloo wanted to vomit, but all that came out was thick mucus that gradually crept up her throat and soon coated her mouth.

Boom!

Out of the corner of her eye she saw the slimy crimson face again. It exhaled through the hole that was its nose, shrouding her face with cold vapour. Scootaloo didn’t even give it a sidewise glance.

You can breathe on me. I’m so scared.

Boom!

Something was rising out of the mud to her left. Something shiny and red caught the light before the world disappeared again.

Boom!

A fuzzy grey ball jumped up before her. Huge, glistening, innocent eyes met hers. Its little beak was open just a crack, as if it was about to speak. With rapid, staggering steps it matched her pace, always on the verge of asking the question.

Boom!

The top of its head was caved in, but the expression remained.

Hissssss…

Her lungs inflated until her ribs cracked, but she couldn’t get enough air. Her legs moved automatically; she begged them to stop. Her ankles rolled on every other step, but instead of falling she seemed to pick up speed.

For a while she screamed, or tried to scream. Tears barely left her eyes before they were diluted a thousand times, returning to her mouth sour and astringent.

The riders had dismounted. Torsos bearing faces and colours all too familiar crawled along the slimy ground, their eyes or empty sockets never leaving her.

And the lightning! Great bolts pierced her head, turning her world white. Only a pegasus could survive those strikes, but oh how it hurt! Her bones clicked, every muscles in her body grew stiff, and water exploded off her coat. If her heart happened to be at mid-beat, Scootaloo felt like her chest would explode. Sometimes she was struck by a long barrage, and sometimes she would wander with her wretched companions for an eternity uninterrupted.

Past exhaustion, the world seemed to grow brighter around her. She was heading for a bright fuzzy circle far off in the distance. If she could just reach it everything would be okay again.

She blinked, and was suddenly surrounded by giants. Their sharp, broad hats rose into a yellow sky, and they had many big, vacant eyes. Their faces were made of countless tightly-pursed lips stacked one on top of another, all of them determined not to speak.

Help me! Help me! Help me!

“Help me.”

“HELP! HELP!”

Her sobs made breathing impossible. Her legs still moved of their own accord. The storm sounded tamer now; almost rhythmic.

Eyvgocha.

Sumponygethedoc.

Her hooves left the ground and continued to kick against thin air. With the last of her strength Scootaloo giggled at the ridiculous sounds that now surrounded her. The giants had her firm in their claws.

But boy did they talk funny.

The blanket was so soft and warm, and she had no strength to move. Scootaloo smiled and burrowed deeper under the covers.

At first all she could see was a greyish-white haze. Her coat felt fluffy and powdered, smelling of iodine with a hint of lavender. Her chest ached from every breath, but the softness of the bed beneath her was more than enough to compensate.

Her right cheek was pressed against the pillow, and both her nostrils were completely plugged.

There was a big rounded thing not far from her, pale yellow as far as she could tell. Scootaloo tried to raise her head, and immediately fell back with a soft moan.

The thing moved; it had a hint of pinkish-red at one end. Those shapes looked so familiar…

“Sh… It’s okay. You’re safe now.”

Something touched her shoulder. It wasn’t exactly pain that she felt, but the sensation was unpleasant nonetheless.

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

Her haunches were sore down to the bone. Tight, stiff cloth covered her limbs, and there was some kind of shell encasing her torso as well. It was all strangely comfortable.

“Affa Bwoom?”

Her face felt numb and swollen; she could barely close her mouth. Her thoughts were slow as molasses, if a handful of vague notions qualified as thoughts at all.

“You’re safe here, hun. Your brother’s doing just fine too.”

Scootaloo blinked a few times, trying to fix her vision. It sort of worked; the speaker she now saw was a pale orange mare with a red mane and a nurse’s cap. Indistinct grey drawings punctuated the whitewashed walls behind her.

Scootaloo lifted her head ever so slightly, and was immediately struck with a wave of nausea that made her grimace.

“Take it easy,” the nurse said, resting her hoof on one of her patient’s. “You were in pretty rough shape; we had to give you adult doses of a few things earlier.”

That voice was music to her ears. Even as she drove her head into the pillow something resembling a smile took over her anesthetized face. Scootaloo giggled, and that quickly became a guffaw. She could feel the nurse trying to hold her down as her body flopped around, each movement sending a tremendous flash of pain like an arrow from the tip of her tail right through the top of her skull.

I did it. I did it. I DID IT!

When the laughter finally died out two large bodies were weighing her down. Being closer to her head, the nurse heard her whimper and back away first. Apparently noticing her departure, the second one got off her hind legs and dusted himself off.

“Good afternoon, Scootaloo,” he greeted, stepping into the filly’s tear-blurred field of view. “My name’s Braeburn. Welcome to Appleloosa.”

He was obviously an Apple, as was the nurse. The stallion wore a stiff brown vest and a sincere smile, and Scootaloo couldn’t help but smile back.

“How you know my name?” She croaked with the last bit of air left in her lungs.

“Are you kiddin’? You n’ yer brother’ve been missin’ fer a week now. Everypony from here to Manehattan knows who you are. Jus’ didn’t ‘spect you ta turn up in this town of all places!”

“Braeburn!” The nurse hissed. “Not so loud! You’re scaring her.”

“Nah, she’s a tough one. Aren’t you, Scootaloo? Carryin’ yer own brother through a storm like that, and in the dark too! That medal they give you in Ponyville better be big n’ shiny, otherwise you’d better come back here for a proper one.”

“Braeburn, please,” the mare pleaded as the bedridden filly continued to stare blankly. “She needs to rest.”

“Why, she’s been restin’ since five this mornin’…”

With one final shove Braeburn’s tail disappeared into the hallway. The nurse zipped back into the room and slammed the door.

“Sorry about that,” she sighed, brushing stands of hair off her forehead. “Braeburn knows what he’s doing, but he really has no bedside manners.”

“Where am I?” Scootaloo asked after a moment.

“You’re in Appleloosa, sweetie,” the nurse explained, stepping up to her bed once again. “We’re a relatively new town, but we’re on the rail line. You’ll be back in Ponyville in two days, if all goes smoothly.”

“What do you mean?” The haze was clearing from her mind, if not her eyes. Scootaloo was practically melting into the mattress.

“Well, you wandered into town early this morning looking like a walking mud ball,” the mare chuckled. “We couldn’t tell what you were at first, but when we figured that out it was a quick telegram to Ponyville to tell us what to do. They sent somepony to come pick you up, and he should be arriving by the early train tomorrow.”

“Who’s coming?” She asked. She tried to flick her ears, but they were taped against her head.

“Somepony from the Canterlot Orphanage is what I understand. Starry Night…”

Scootaloo felt her cheeks twitching. The nurse noticed the change in her patient and cut herself short. She leaned in and patted her gently on the head as she continued.

“Your dad’s just fine, Scootaloo. It says so right in the telegram. He’s waiting for you in Ponyville… Oh, there there, darling. I’m sorry.”

The filly continued to sob even as relief set in. She held onto the mare weakly, feeling her warmth against her face. The skeletal creature; unblinking metal eyes; a giant beak. Image after image flashed through her mind like… like lightning. She held on with all of her little strength, as if her own tears would wash her away.

For her part the nurse moved onto a corner of the bed and embraced her around the shoulders with one foreleg. Scootaloo would have been embarrassed, but the feeling of another living body against hers made her feel tremendously better.

“There,” the mare said with a kind smile as Scootaloo hiccupped and gasped in the aftermath. “I can only imagine how tough this last week was for you. Now, you’re looking rather skinny. I’ll go get you something to eat. How does that sound?”

The mention of food drew a smile from her tear-stained face. Scootaloo nodded, and even made another unsuccessful effort to sit up.

She realized her mistake as the nurse reached out for the doorknob.

“Don’t leave me,” she begged weakly. “Miss, don’t leave. Please!”

The door opened, and the nurse stopped.

“Mist,” she called into the hallway. “Go down to the kitchen and get something warm and sugary for Scootaloo. And something to drink too.”

Turning back, she gave her patient a knowing look. Scootaloo let out a sigh of relief and closed her eyes again, listening to the clip-clop of hooves that approached her bed and stopped just in front of her head.

Thick, fragrant vapour announced the arrival of food. A mare with a brown coat and purple mane carefully manoeuvered into the room with a steaming vat and a jug of cloudy apple juice balanced on her back. The air smelled instantly of cinnamon, making Scootaloo’s mouth water. Her wings tried to flare, but found resistance against the supportive shell around her torso.

“Careful, Gala, it’s hot,” the new mare said as she slid the tray onto the nightstand.

“Thanks, Mist.”

In the time it took for Mist to leave the filly freed one foreleg from the heavy covers, and was struggling to pick up a spoon through the thick bandages surrounding her hooves. She was wearing fleece pajamas too; a tiny portion of her mind reminded her that it was the middle of summer.

Fortunately the clattering on the tray got Gala’s attention.

“I think it’ll be safer if I feed you, okay?” It wasn’t really a question; the nurse was already tucking her leg back under the sheets. “I don’t want you to burn yourself.”

Scootaloo wasn’t in a mood to argue. Gala gave her heaping spoonfuls of thick, sweet oatmeal, punctuated with icy apple juice through a long straw. The filly ate eagerly, always a little reluctant to let go of the spoon, and despite her overfull stomach was rather miffed when the nurse set the utensil back on the tray and gave her the straw for the last time.

All the sugar from her meal finally woke her up. The numbness had faded from her face. She ran her tongue across her dry, cracked lips and opened her mouth to speak again.

“I want to see Morning Rain.”

Gala paused in the middle of rearranging the tray.

“I’ll check to see if he’s awake,” she said slowly before circling to the other side of the bed and disappearing from Scootaloo’s field of view.

She heard a door opening behind her, and flailed her legs in an attempt to flip onto her other side. The effort made her feel sick.

A few hushed words were exchanged before the door clicked shut. Gala reappeared, much to her relief.

“He’s awake, Scootaloo,” Gala reported. “Before you go, I want you to know that Morning Rain isn’t quite at your level of recovery yet. We did the best we could, but he has those deep cuts in his back. The infection was really bad. You brought him here just in time, but just know that he’s not as strong as you are right now.”

“He was never as strong as me,” Scootaloo mumbled before flipping herself onto her belly with a groan. Gala rushed forth to help her, but the filly was slowly raising her head off the pillow all on her own.

The dizziness was quite manageable; with her ordeal in the desert fresh in her mind Scootaloo thought her current accommodations utterly luxurious.

Her stomach sloshed and boiled, threatening to burst. As she folded her stiff legs beneath her body cold air crept under the sheets and swirled around her padded torso.

Gala offered to carry her, but Scootaloo refused. Even with the mare gently lowering her onto the floor and the soft cushions beneath her hooves the filly hissed as her legs took her full weight. She raised on foot unsteadily, and almost immediately fell against Gala.

“Just lean on me,” she offered. “You really should be in a wheelchair, you know.”

“He’s not going to see me in a wheelchair.”

“You just saved his life. Besides, you’re already wearing a back brace. Might as well look the part.”

“Just walk,” Scootaloo growled, squinting against the pain that was creeping into her shoulders. The soft brace had some give, so that she couldn’t completely relax her back. Clearly the doctor had expected her to stay in bed.

Gala guided the filly along at a reasonable pace. The doorframe, like everything else in the hospital, looked brand new. It was just a bit wider than a normal door in Ponyville, allowing the two to cross shoulder-to-shoulder.

The next room was noticeably dimmer; translucent grey curtains were drawn against the diffuse light coming through the single window, making the small space seem even smaller.

A single lime green steel frame bed stood in the middle of the room, surrounded by a myriad of white and brown machines. Two bags of clear liquid dangled from a pristine stand like overripe fruit in autumn. Little lights on the instruments blinked red and green, but they were otherwise inert. Scootaloo followed the clear tubes down from the bags, tracing their loops and lazy curves until they disappeared into a pale lump on the mattress.

Morning Rain was covered with bandages. His legs were wrapped much like hers, but everything else was so much more elaborate. The heavy plaster shell around his torso extended all the way to the base of his jaw, leaving him completely immobilized. A square window on his back admitted what remained of his wings, and these were supported by rods extending from his sides. A few ruffled feathers stuck out awkwardly, and it was clear from the sporadic twitching that the positioning of his wings was less than ideal.

His tail had been trimmed down, and even it was taped to a splint. The bandages extended out of the cast and onto his face, restraining both of his ears and even his mouth. As she got closer, Scootaloo saw that four dull metal hooks were latched onto his lips. The muscles of his jaw and neck contracted sporadically, sometimes causing his head to jerk and eliciting a pained snort from the colt.

“It’s tetanus,” Gala whispered when Scootaloo asked. “We found some pebbles in his mouth; it’s already done a number on his teeth. This is just the tail end of it, but we gave him a mouthguard so it doesn’t get worse.”

A soft plastic tube extended into his right nostril. The nurse, an older mare with a chestnut coat and blond mane was slowly depressing a bottle filled with creamy yellow paste.

His eyes, clear and sharp once again, were reduced to pin pricks as he frantically scanned his surroundings. He let out a low moan as they came to rest on the glaring filly in front of his face.

Morning Rain was wearing a diaper.

Scootaloo fell over beside the bed and laughed. The cast; the tubes; the bandages; it was just too much! Her sides hurt even worse than before, and her spine clicked against the wood floor as she rolled from side to side. Morning Rain’s muffled sobbing only fueled her mirth. She laughed with her eyes squeezed shut until she was too exhausted to move, and then she laid there with a huge grin on her face breathing deeply and giggling intermittently.

Gala and the other nurse were both standing over her when she opened her eyes. Their mouths hung open, the older nurse regarding her with a look of confusion and disgust while Gala appeared utterly terrified.

Scootaloo raised herself to a kind of sitting position, resting her chin on the edge of the mattress so that if her brother were to open his eyes her smiling face would be the only thing that he would see.

“Look at you now, Rain,” she drawled, sounding rather drunk even to herself. “Look at you. Are you ready to hunt those big bad griffins? It’s not far. You have a plan, after all! The best plan ever, and nothing’s gonna go wrong! Why don’t you beat them up with that stand there? It looks like it’s made of metal! Or you could just shoot that gruel right back out your nose! I bed that’ll teach ‘em!”

Her volume grew steadily as the colt continued to squirm and moan. Streams of tears ran from his eyes as he tried in vain to hide his face in the pillow. Scootaloo was planning her next line when she felt strong hooves grasp her sides.

“Not a word,” the older nurse said flatly as she lowered the filly onto Gala’s back.

Scootaloo opened her mouth, but the nurse had already turned her attention to her patient. She stroked his side and spoke softly, but Morning Rain’s moaning only grew louder and more desperate as he continued to writhe and kick.

In two long strides the two of them were back in the brightly-lit room. Gala closed door behind her and carried Scootaloo back to her own bed. Instead of tucking her in however, the mare made a pile of pillows and propped the filly against it.

“Did that make you feel better?” She asked, looking her in the eyes. She didn’t sound upset, but Scootaloo’s confidence evaporated instantly.

“N… no,” the filly replied, lowering her gaze and letting out a defeated sigh. “I… It’s just that…”

“You don’t have to explain,” Gala interrupted, her voice gentle again. “I can tell that you’re upset with him. But he’s hurt enough already, and so are you. You’ll both recover faster if you’re not fighting, okay?”

Scootaloo nodded. Her heart rate was returning to normal, and a haze was again falling over her eyes. Seeing her drooping eyelids, Gala lowered her onto her back.

The filly sat bolt upright and scrambled clumsily for the foot of the bed, her eyes fixed on the creature clinging to the wall.

A giant red spider, about the size of a clock stared at her with one big white eye. Its legs were linked to a wooden ring, and as the filly watched in horror it lazily flicked its mouthparts.

“What is it?” The mare asked frantically, her gaze switching quickly between Scootaloo and the monster.

“Kill it,” she whimpered. “Kill it! Kill it!”

The spider was shifting its weight; preparing to pounce.

“It’s coming for me!” Scootaloo cried, leaning so far over the footboard that she almost lost her balance. “Kill it! Kill it!”

The nurse got onto the bed and grabbed the ring with her mouth. Scootaloo cringed, but the spider didn’t seem to mind.

“It’s just a dream catcher,” Gala said, offering it to the filly.

“It’s a giant spider!” She snapped, turning away from the thing as it approached her face. She could hear wet clicks as it reached out with its many thread-thin legs.

“Okay, okay, I’ll get rid of it.”

When Scootaloo looked again Gala was closing the main door into her room. The spider was nowhere to be seen.

“There’s a dream catcher over every bed in this hospital,” the nurse explained as she pulled the heavy sheets over the shaking filly. “The buffalos gave them to us. They’re supposed to catch bad dreams before they get to you. I reckon it’s just the drugs still in your head making you see things. You’ll feel better in the morning. I’ll be right here if you need anything tonight, dear…”

Scootaloo watched the grey light fade to black through the window of her room, listening to Gala’s gentle voice recount all the wonderful things of that summer and summers gone by.

She really had no need for a dream catcher that night.

Author's Note

Hammering out a chapter during exam season wasn't the greatest idea, especially this chapter.

Originally, Scootaloo's meeting in the hospital played out VERY differently, but as I looked through the rest of my plan I realized that this will probably work better.

Anyways, please do leave a comment. Feedback is always appreciated.

Chapter 10

Chapter 10

“I… I miss her…”

She patted Rain’s side as tears streamed down her own face. The sharp scent rising from the fire in the middle of the tipi had cleared her sinuses, and now it was making her feeling light-headed. A convection current sucked in fresh air through holes near the ground, and both children were huddled beneath a single big quilt.

“I… I miss her. I miss Gari.”

“Me too,” Scootaloo sniffled.

A younger buffalo came through the entrance flap holding a ragged pillow between her teeth. The sun was setting outside, bathing the encampment in a uniform red glow. On long, fawn-like legs she stood as tall as Big Macintosh. Dirty blond curls covered her head, barely held at bay by a purple-and-white headband. Like the others she didn’t have much of a neck, and her ears naturally flopped parallel to the ground.

“Here,” she said, offering the pillow to Scootaloo. “Rest for a bit, okay? I’m going to see Chief Thunderhooves. You two are safe as long as you’re here.”

Scootaloo put her head down, breathing in the faint smoky scent. The pillow was cold and a little damp by the time she fell asleep.

“Are you okay, Scootaloo?” Princess Luna pulled her into a heartfelt embrace.

“No!” She squirmed and kicked, and at last was set down on the rocky ground. “No, I am not okay! What in Tartarus happened back there? Who were those bat ponies? You better have some answers, Luna!”

“You are testing my patience, young Scootaloo.” The alicorn’s voice reverberated through the dry canyon around them, her brows furrowed in annoyance.

“Well I think you can take it. What are you gonna do? I’m with the buffalos, and it looks like you’re still in the Ridge! If you want me to cooperate you’d better start talking!”

“Very well,” Luna sighed. “I suppose respect is not a priority at this time. You have my word that everything I am about to tell you is the truth and the whole truth as far as I know.

"The railroad between Ponyville and Appleloosa is currently closed. Starry Night is badly injured; my guards found him just past the Ghastly Gorge Bridge. It appears that his attacker took everything he had and cast him out of the moving train. A telegram from Appleloosa says that they were attacked by sylvanocians, and they accuse me of using excessive force. I want you to know that that is not true; as of this morning all of my guards were no further south than Ponyville. Even now they have not yet reached Appleloosa.”

“You don’t have to wait for your guards,” Scootaloo interrupted. “If this is a dream, I can show you right now what we had to escape from.”

The words were barely out of her mouth when an armoured figure emerged from the shadows. Scootaloo turned to face her creation, and was surprised to see an ill-defined conglomeration of parts. The ears of the helmet, the shoulderpieces and a few of the overlapping plates were just as she remembered, but the body was mostly a blurry mess of grey and black.

Regardless of quality, the image had the desired effect. Princess Luna studied the shoulderpiece intently, and even reached out to feel the engraving.

“It’s just as Gari feared,” she mumbled. Turning her attention back to Scootaloo, Luna sat down and motioned for her to do the same. “This might take some time. I have not rehearsed this story as my daughter has. Scootaloo, the sylvanocians are demanding that Gari and I return to the Colony immediately. My guards are protecting the Canterlot Orphanage, and I can only assume that the most recent attack was another demonstration of power. A faction among them has grown incredibly strong, unbeknownst to anypony in Equestria until a few weeks ago. Had Gari come to me directly after the tragedy at the orphanage, a lot of this might have been avoided. Instead she mobilized every one of my guards in hopes of containing the incident. It seems that their loyalty lies with my children first and foremost; I did not know what happened until I entered the empty barracks on the night you two left Ponyville. In hindsight perhaps it would have been wiser to let her continue her search, but that didn’t occur to me at the time. Instead I grounded the guards and brought them all back to Canterlot along with Gari in order to regroup. That was why I could not meet you in Ghastly Gorge.

“On the night that I spoke to you in the desert I was heading back to Ponyville to meet with Twilight. You can imagine how your father reacted when three alicorns showed up on his doorstep that evening. He had it in his head to chase us out of town all by himself, and I knew that we could not leave until you and Morning Rain were safe. Searching for you would have taken days, and I was correct to think that you were in dire straits. Again, I am sorry that I could not do more for you, but then again you came through very well.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Scootaloo muttered, crossing her forelegs across her chest. “But I still don’t know why you’re still not doing anything. You know exactly where we are now! Why don’t you meet us here?”

“Because you will not be safe traveling with us,” Princess Luna said. “Two days after you left, we were issued an ultimatum. These attacks will only get worse until Gari reaches Kelp Town. Each detour we take might mean another disaster like the one today. Your safety was guaranteed to us if we gave up the search, and these ponies who hunt for you now are the ones who will see to it that we honour their terms.”

“So two alicorn princesses can’t beat a bunch of bat ponies?” Scootaloo’s eyes narrowed.

“Rest assured, I can hold my own against every Royal Guard in Canterlot,” Luna said, her voice taking on a venomous edge. “Can you say the same? It will take me one full day to reach you from where I am now. My guards might get there by tomorrow morning. These sylvanocians that attacked Appleloosa know exactly where you are, and they’re just a casual jog away. Surely you see the problem? I am sorry that you have to be involved in this crisis, but no amount of arguing will get you out of it.

“Now, I have some news that you may appreciate, though it may also prove to be a great burden on your mind. Rainbow Dash is on her way to Appleloosa, and she intends to accompany you on the rest of your journey.”

Scootaloo turned to the Princess, her jaw hanging open.

Rainbow Dash. THE Rainbow Dash! And she wants to go on an adventure with ME!

“That’s the best news I’ve heard all day!” Her wings buzzed in excitement. “Luna, this changes everything! Getting to Horseshoe Bay will be a breeze with Rainbow Dash around!”

Luna placed a hoof on her shoulder and fixed her in a stern gaze. “I said this knowledge may prove to be a burden to you yet. Rainbow Dash is able-bodied and willing to fight, but she is alone and likely ill-equipped. If she does not arrive in the next three days, you will have to leave without her. These are unpredictable times, and we face a resourceful opponent. Your success depends not only on strength and cunning, but also timing. They will try to hinder your sister’s arrival, and if you stay still they will win. Have faith in her, but know that she is not infallible. Again I say to you, you must not linger among the buffalos!”

By now the growing brightness was familiar to her. Scootaloo took one last deep breath of the dream world’s pristine air and savoured its seamless transition into a smoky, numbing haze. Her body gently repositioned itself until she was sprawled out on a thick, fuzzy mat. Fire crackled somewhere to her right. It was the only source of light, and its warmth on her face was not unlike the summer sun.

“Arrr!”

Two large bodies fell through the tent flap, landing in a heap on the dusty ground. The two children sat bolt upright and scrambled away from the intruders. An especially large buffalo was trying to pin down a considerably smaller bat pony with great difficulty. The dark blue stallion struggled fiercely, the tips of his wings digging little rivets in the dirt as he fought to plant his legs. The rear half of his body disappeared into the darkness outside. Glossy fur and mane gained corporeal form under the orange firelight, but faded seamlessly into shadows wherever they were cast. Though his opponent roared and grunted, the bat pony glared silently at the dumbstruck children with his huge black eyes.

“Get the ropes!” The buffalo called over his shoulder when he had both forelegs over the back of the bat pony’s neck. His great shadow fell over the stallion’s entire body; from Scootaloo’s angle it like he was lying behind a disembodied head.

Another buffalo appeared with a loop of rope between his teeth and a lamp hanging from one horn, his bulky form blocking the entire entrance. After restraining the stallion, he backed out of the tent in slow, deliberate steps with his eyes glued to his prisoner. The bat pony was wearing a sturdy blue jumpsuit that ended at the base of his neck, and his deflated mane was a clear sign that he had worn a helmet not that long ago.

“Sorry about this,” the first buffalo said as he dragged the bat pony away. “They usually don’t get this far.”

Before the heavy flap fell against the entrance Scootaloo caught a glimpse of the camp outside. Two bonfires burned in front of every tent; bright red light rippled over every surface.

Eventually the children returned to their mat. The blankets felt heavy and oppressive on her back, and Scootaloo could not get her wings to fold. To her right, Morning Rain shivered incessantly. She spent the rest of the night in a tense stupor, her ears erect and constantly probing for unusual noises until dawn.

For breakfast the buffalos provided a big bowl of cold green mush; mashed cactus pads, according to the one who gave them the pillows last evening. Little Strongheart was her name, though “little” was a relative thing; she was a lot younger and leaner than the other buffalos that the two ponies had seen, but quite sizable by pony standards.

Scootaloo enjoyed the crunchy, melon-like texture of the gruel. It was slightly sweet and strongly cooling; by the end of the meal she was huddled under the blanket again (much to the buffalo’s amusement).

Little Strongheart left with a half-empty bowl and returned with a towel and a steaming basin of water. She unwound the bandages around the filly’s front legs and cleaned her wounds in silence. They were all scabbed over now; sharp pain was replaced by the dull discomfort of bruises.

“I don’t think you need bandages anymore,” the buffalo noted as she wrung out the discoloured towel over the murky, lukewarm contents of the basin. “It’ll heal better if you let it air out a bit. I’ll just tape your hooves. Chief Thunderhooves wants to speak with you.”

Scootaloo squinted as she pushed through the heavy canvas flap into a brilliant, cloudless morning. A chilly wind blew over the flat land, tickling her back and reminding her of every hairless patch on her body. The thick gauze around her hooves tripped her a few times before she got used to them. Thankfully the guards from the previous night weren’t around to see her first few awkward steps.

The camp, made up of dozens if not hundreds of generously-spaced tipis arranged in a radial pattern, was big enough to pass for a town. Some of the fires from the previous night had burned down to smouldering ash, but most were now bracketed by wooden stands bearing blackened copper pots. Enormous cauldrons filled to the brim with bright green sludge dangled from crossbars as thick as roof beams. As she walked, the swift wind carried a hundred unfamiliar scents past her nose.

Scootaloo knew that she was being watched. A few times she turned her head to see a pair of beady brown eyes staring right back. The buffalos didn’t even trying to hide their curiosity, and while most of them seemed nice enough the extra attention made her uneasy. Maybe it was because they were all so big; even the clumsy babbling calf playing within reach of its mother was nearly the same size as the pegasus filly.

She found the red-tipped tipi just as Little Strongheart described. Its extra-large entrance stood wide open, and the splayed top flaps let in plenty of light even without a fire. To the right of the building was parked the escape vehicle from the day before. She recognized it by the pungent smell of apple cider, and by the two identical black blades buried in its side. Each one was as long as her tail yet not much thicker than a kitchen knife, with concave edge facing downwards in its current orientation. The force of impact had broken off the shafts of the scythes; it was a wonder the blades themselves weren’t bent.

“… All in all, it’s really strange.”

At the sound of voices Scootaloo zipped into the generous space beneath the cart. The buffalos found her cowering in the shade with her eyes squeezed shut.

“Hey Scootaloo,” One of them said after a moment of silence. “What are you doing down there?”

He was looking down at her with a good-natured smile on his broad, honest face. Scootaloo was still having trouble distinguishing bulls from cows, but this one didn’t look or sound familiar. He wasn’t Gooseberry, although his companion might very well have been.

“You’re still a bit shocked from yesterday, aren’t you?” He continued as he guided Scootaloo out from her hiding spot.

Scootaloo nodded, grimacing at the click in her shoulder as she stood to her full height.

“I’m Dawn Runner, by the way. I guess you’ve noticed these blades too?”

“I got stabbed with those,” she mumbled.

“Yeah, sorry about that.” The other buffalo was definitely Gooseberry from the day before.

“Well, it could have been worse.” Dawn Runner walked right up to the cart and struck the glistening edge of one blade with a mighty uppercut that lifted one side of the vehicle.

Scootaloo winced, but the buffalo calmly placed his undamaged hoof back on the ground.

“Go ahead,” he said. “Touch it all you want; there’s no cutting edge anywhere. Basically it’s all spine. This black stuff is silver, and if you look closely you can see a nice pattern in the tarnishing; they put a lot of effort into these things. The metal’s excellent as well; hard but not brittle. Must have been a nightmare to work. And have a look at that shaft.”

The filly craned her neck and squinted at the inch or so of honey-coloured wood stuck in the ring. Its jagged end looked more like a bed of crystals than a snapped branch.

“That’s some dense wood,” the buffalo explained. “The closest thing I can think of is ebony, but you’d be hard pressed to find a single core long enough for a spear shaft, never mind a few dozen. Besides, this isn’t ebony at all…”

Scootaloo stared blankly at Dawn Runner as his speech devolved into a chain of unfamiliar jargon. Eventually a forceful bump from Gooseberry jolted him back to the present, and nearly sent him crashing down on top of the tiny pegasus.

“Anyways,” he coughed. “Thanks for telling me about these, Gooseberry. This gives me something to work with, at least. When do you need them by, Scootaloo?”

“Come again?” Scootaloo blinked a few times, her sluggish mind struggling to keep up.

“Chief Thunderhooves told me to provide you two with some weapons for the road, and I’m thinking these blades can make decent knives. I can sharpen these edges real quick and put in new grips. They’re heavy enough to use as machetes too. How does that sound?”

“That’s… great,” she replied half-heartedly. “I don’t know when I’ll be leaving. In a few days, maybe; why do we need weapons again?”

“You haven’t spoken with the Chief yet, have you?” Dawn Runner offered her another reassuring smile before clamping one of the blades between his teeth. “I won’t say anything more, then. Come on Gooseberry, hold this cart. These things are stuck real tight.”

A shadow fell over the filly as she pondered the buffalo’s words. Turning around, she found herself standing with her nose an inch away from a solid wall of shaggy grey fur. The smell of incense was overpowering; she suppressed a grimace as she backed away to get a better look at the new arrival.

His humped back rose as high as a rail car, and his shoulders were nearly as wide. Two grown stallions could stand in a hat made for that head; the broad blue ribbon of his headdress had enough fabric to make a ball gown with patches to spare. A fan of brown-tipped white feathers extended from his crown, almost obscuring his hump from view. Scootaloo’s stomach churned as she tried to imagine what monstrous creature could have provided feathers that big.

“Come with me, Scootaloo,” he invited in a low, rumbling voice. With a smooth, dignified gait he stepped past the pony and into his tent; the cavernous entrance was just big enough to admit his bulky form.

She looked to the buffalos at the cart one last time. Gooseberry was doing his best to stay on the bed while Dawn Runner yanked on the lodged blade. The wheels shuddered and axils screamed with each powerful tug.

The giant stared in silence as she stepped into the well-lit tipi. The triangle of sunlight coming through the roof vent illuminated a section of wall adorned with the image of a herd of charging buffalos. Hundreds of them ran the circuit around the interior wall. Each one wore two white feathers on his heads; when she looked at them closely, Scootaloo realized that they were real feathers. Probably the doffed winter plumage of ptarmigans. The specks of white seemed to glow with their own light against the dark dyes portraying hide and dust and irregular stone columns. Higher up in the tent a dog-like profile glared down at her from within a vibrant blue circle, and the bright red apex of the conical structure seemed to her a fair facsimile of the summer sun.

Scootaloo stood with her mouth hanging open, listening to the eternal gallop of the phantom stampede.

“Is something wrong?” The buffalo asked after a moment.

“It’s nothing,” the filly replied, tearing her eyes away from the wall. The only safe direction to look was down. “I’m just a little distracted, I guess.”

“That is understandable,” he said. “You have seen much since you left Ponyville, and you will see more still. I assume there are things you would like to know?”

“I’m not sure,” she said slowly. “I was hoping you would tell me more about what happened yesterday. A griffin was supposed to pick us up from Appleloosa, but in the morning there were just bat ponies everywhere. What’s going on?”

The buffalo studied her with his ever-thoughtful gaze. “I do not know the exact details, but I will tell you as much as I can. This is a matter concerning ponies, and we buffalos try to intervene as little as possible.

“Your princess visited Gooseberry in a dream, telling him to discretely transport you and your brother out of Appleloosa if you so asked. Apart from that, you know as much as I do about yesterday’s attack. Luna violated an ancient agreement when she entered a buffalo’s mind, and I am disappointed in her. She knew that dreams are sacred to the buffalos, and that she has no right to enter ours. That, of course, is none of your concern. I do not hold any of her actions against you, Scootaloo. However, your brother has done something rather foolish. You know what I am referring to.”

“That big bird?” Scootaloo guessed.

“Your brother is a very cruel boy, if she is to be believed,” Chief Thunderhooves sighed. “Two of her children died at his hooves and yours.”

“I didn’t kill anything!” She interrupted, her wings angrily snapping open. “I only wanted to make sure he didn’t get eaten!”

“That might very well be,” the chief’s steady, powerful tone easily silenced her protest. “Unfortunately for you, she is not in any mood to bicker about the details. Her judgement is final, Scootaloo. You should know the outcome of resisting.”

Scootaloo felt her knees trembling as the words sank in. The buffalo’s grave eyes met her pleading ones. He might as well have been carved from stone.

“W… What will she do to us?” She stammered. She thought she could smell ozone in the air, and clenched her teeth in case a bolt of lightning found her through the hole in the ceiling.

“Do not be scared, Scootaloo. She does not want your life anymore, although that was her original intention. The great thunderbirds are not known to be so merciful. You must have done something to earn your life. She will not hunt you anymore if you and your brother agree to serve her.”

“What do you mean?” Her words squeaked out of her throat. It took great effort just to open her mouth.

“Rest assured, you will not have to worry about it for quite some time. You may find the work to be distasteful at first, but it will not be unreasonably difficult or time-consuming. Now I have digressed far too long. The thunderbird is not a matter of immediate concern to you. I have summoned you in order to discuss the remainder of your journey.”

“So Princess Luna came to you too?” Cold sweat tickled her back; she felt as if a great weight had been lifted. Scootaloo knelt down and tucked her wings tight against her body. The fuzzy floor mat beneath her was as cold as ice.

“She was reluctant at first, but I forced her to stay,” Chief Thunderhooves said. “I made her tell me everything she knows about these bat ponies, but she does not know a lot. A total of twenty bat ponies tried to sneak into this camp last night, and we are currently holding all them captive. I have interrogated all of them, but they will not speak. The healer tells me that they have intact tongues and voice boxes, and they are not bound by any silencing spell. They are also exceptionally strong, and the Princess tells me that they become stronger at night. If they keep coming at this rate we will have no choice but to start disposing of them permanently.”

It took her a second to realize what he meant.

“You can’t be serious!” Scootaloo gaped at the buffalo, whose expression had not changed.

“I hope it will not come to that,” he continued. “However, it is clear to me that they are interested in you two and nobody else. My buffalos are in danger as long as we continue to host you in our camp. In time they will try to confront us in open combat, and with Appleloosa in ruins there will be no other asylum for you.

“The only way to ensure your safety and ours is for you to leave us as soon as you are ready. We will provide weapons and supplies: food; water; boots; cloaks… everything you will need to reach the Hayseed Swamps in the east. There are ways to travel this desert without being seen, and one of us will go with you as a guide. But you must decide when it is you intend to leave so that I can make appropriate preparations.”

“I’m waiting for somepony,” Scootaloo said. “She’s coming from Ponyville. I don’t think I should leave without her.”

“Will she be swift?”

“She’s the fastest flyer in all of Equestria,” Scootaloo recited eagerly.

“Is that so?” Chief Thunderhooves looked her over with half-lidded eyes. “I suppose you are being truthful. You understand that if these bat ponies become unmanageable I will force you to leave?”

“It won’t come to that,” she said, though her confidence drained quickly under his dark scrutinizing eyes. “Chief Thunderhooves, if there are that many bat ponies out there waiting for us, how are we supposed to get all the way to the coast? We need all the help we can get, and I don’t think we can go the rest of the way without at least one more pony on our side.”

“You have come this far, have you not?” For the first time the buffalo smiled. His teeth were like a wall of yellow bricks. “Do not think yourself powerless. It is a long road from Ponyville to this place, and your path was hardly the most direct. You have traveled this far, and I do not see any reason that you would not be able to finish your journey.

“Luna has told me a lot about you, Scootaloo, and I think this advice will not be superfluous: do not abandon your brother. I know how you feel about him, but he may prove to be useful yet. I am not saying this to scare you, but out on the road you two might only have each other. Even a cruel, uncaring companion has his uses, and I do not believe he is as bad as you think.”

“I guess you’re right,” Scootaloo sighed. “I need three days at least. Can you give me that much?”

“We will do our best. You may return to your shelter now. Do not wander around too much, and do not go outside after dark. Bat ponies lose most of their magic inside tipis, and you will have guards all through the night. They may know where you are, but they will not get to you.”

When she emerged into the sunlight again the day had warmed up considerably. Heat haze and fake water toyed with her exhausted mind. The exposed skin on her back shrank like a hay fry in hot oil. Halfway to her destination Scootaloo already longed for the tipi’s cool shade.

Low, sustained sibilance tickled her ears, coming loud and clear over the low voices of the buffalos going about their daily business. It filled her with inexplicable terror, and she hastened her steps the rest of the way. She was breathing heavily when she finally hopped through the big oval entrance as if being pursued by timberwolves.

“I can’t do it!” Rain growled, slamming his face into his pillow. “How do you even remember something like this?”

Little Strongheart turned to the filly. She was lying on top of a mat across from Morning Rain. Two feet of dirt separated the two, unremarkable save for a few angular stones.

“Is something wrong, Scootaloo?” The young buffalo asked.

“Can you not hear that?”

“She can’t,” Rain interjected. “It’s some kind of off-key sylvanocian signal. If they were doing it properly we wouldn’t hear anything.”

“Do you know what they’re trying to say?” Scootaloo did her very best to imitate the steadiness of the buffalos.

“I don’t.” His eyes were practically bugging out of his head, and his bottom lip twitched in agitation. “It’s probably the prisoners calling. We have to leave, but I can’t even feel my hindquarters right now.”

“Be patient,” Little Strongheart said, probably not for the first time that day. “You’re going to rip open your stitches again if you keep trying to move. Just relax and memorize this map. It’s the most useful thing you can do right now.”

“I don’t see how this is relaxing,” Rain groaned, though he obediently turned his eyes back to the patch of earth in front of him.

Scootaloo settled down beside her brother and looked at the ground. A familiar shape had been scratched into the packed dirt. Little mounds stood in for hills, and two orange stones represented the Ghastly Gorge. The finer details dropped off towards the north, but every building in Appleloosa seemed to be accounted for in a carefully-arranged cluster of pebbles. A long crosshatched line traced the railway from the Gorge all the way to its eastern terminus. Sharp stones marked the Macintosh Hills in the south, but the vast desert at the centre of this map seemed utterly foreign to the filly.

Bright blue threads traced the paths of rivers that Scootaloo had never seen on any map in her life. Bits of straw inserted into the ground marked the expansive orchards of Appleloosa and other towns along the rail line, but these were not the only trees. A forest, easily ten times the size of any settlement, grew in a long strip parallel to the Macintosh Hills. Most of the map’s components made sense despite many novelties, except for the sand-filled groove that ran through the centre of the desert roughly parallel to the train tracks.

“That’s Rattlesnake Canyon,” Little Strongheart explained. “It’s really beautiful; you have to see it to believe it. Few ponies have ever been there, and I don’t think these bat ponies can find it at all without one of us buffalos guiding them. Right now, you don’t have to know anything about the desert except for the towns and the waterways. I’ll be with you at least to the canyon’s eastern end. That puts you about two hours south of Dodge Junction here… four hours with your legs, I guess. After that, you’ll want to enter the Hayseed Swamp at this point right here. It’s the driest part. And here you have to turn south just a bit to avoid crocodiles in these deeper waters, and then…”

Morning Rain slowly raised one hoof. The buffalo fell silent, a blush creeping across her face.

Throughout the day Scootaloo often craned her neck to check on the featureless blue sky through the open smoke vent, hoping to glimpse a rainbow where there could be none.

Chapter 11

Chapter 11

“Are you sure you have everything?”

“Yup. One tonne of food; one tonne of water; one tonne of giant sword thing. I’m all set.”

“You’re rather ungrateful, you know?”

“Yeah, well maggots in your back tends to do that to you.”

“I’ll take out the maggots tonight. It’s that or scraping your wounds with a wire brush.”

“It’s like they’re crawling under my skin.”

“Rain, shut up.”

The colt closed his mouth instantly and turned to face his sister with a hint of fear in his big green eyes. He had been like that since they came to the camp. Whenever Scootaloo returned to the tipi he inched towards his side of their spacious mat, and at meals he waited for her to finish first. On the second day Little Strongheart brought them separate bowls to dispel some of this tension. Although Scootaloo enjoyed her newfound power at first, her brother’s timidity was starting to annoy.

The three travelers, each with a considerable load, stood sandwiched between two large buffalos hitched to travois and draped with blankets that hung down to their ankles. In this way they were completely hidden from distant onlookers as they waited for the others to finish striking camp.

Bat ponies continued to come just as Chief Thunderhooves predicted. None of them had entered the tent, but every night Scootaloo awoke to the sound of a scuffle. Ninety-seven in total had been captured, and all were left to bake in the sun bound and blindfolded. Now the buffalos heaped the prisoners in one big pile, putting the fresher ones near the bottom. The twenty from the first night looked to be near death; flies frequented their eyelids undisturbed.

The buffalos were divided into three big herds. In the previous day scouts had been sent out to guard the road to the east; their hawks had been circling since sunrise. It was safe to leave.

“We are ready,” a female voice called from the back of the procession.

Scootaloo pulled her mask up to her eyes. With their drab brown cloaks and boots the ponies easily blended into the herd. The buffalos kept a quick pace, and Scootaloo had to run to avoid getting trampled.

“Break away,” Gooseberry ordered from a few rows forward.

A narrow gap opened between the buffalos in front. Little Strongheart picked up her pace; the two ponies had to sprint to clear the disintegrating formation.

The land was dotted with boulders, or so it appeared to Scootaloo until they stood up all at once and raised long wooden tubes to their lips. The scouts wore featherless headbands that covered their shiny black horns, and even their eyes were hidden behind painted grilles.

She heard soft puffs as a volley of darts took to the air. Ahead of her Little Strongheart was slowly pulling away; her pack might as well have been a bag of feathers. Scootaloo could not hear Morning Rain over the stampeding hooves behind her.

Far in the distance, the brown pinprick that was the young buffalo leapt into the air and vanished. Scootaloo slowed down instinctively, but the clattering of armor-clad bodies against hard ground pushed her back up to speed. The mask sank into her gaping mouth; she would have removed it had she been able to gallop on three legs.

The ground dropped away suddenly, and for a moment she hovered over a valley full of striated red columns. Panic took hold when her wings found resistance against the parcel on her back. She was falling out of control. The canyon was nowhere near as deep as Ghastly Gorge, but it was deep enough to hurt.

Scootaloo was intercepted by a brown blur halfway to the hard valley floor. The sudden change in direction knocked the air out of her lungs and left her head spinning as she was set down on a pile of rock flakes. A few seconds later her brother tumbled off the cliff at almost exactly the same spot, and Little Strongheart repeated her aerial rescue.

“You two rest here a bit,” she gasped between mouthfuls of water from her wooden canteen. “We will not be running anymore. Welcome to Rattlesnake Canyon.”

The ponies drank greedily, and then sat panting in the shade of the sandstone walls. Scootaloo had thought the cloaks rather heavy for the scorching desert days, but she quickly grew to appreciate it as she rested with her back to the wind. Grains of sand adhered to her sweat-soaked hood; better it than her mane. Morning Rain was coated in an even layer of sand, and Scootaloo guessed that she was similarly-adorned.

“What did I tell you?” Little Strongheart laughed. “If you don’t keep that hood up, your ears will fill up with sand in no time. Ponies don’t belong in the desert. Mules and donkeys, maybe, but not ponies. Those perky ears will be the death of you. Big eyes, too; you’re lucky we’re going through the canyon where there’s some shade.”

“Can you be quiet?” Rain hissed with his eyes rolled upwards. “Sylvanocians have big ears for a reason.”

“Is that what you call them?” the buffalo said. “In any case, you have nothing to worry about. Sound travels up and down this canyon; it never leaves. You can’t see it from ground level either. And what if they somehow wander in here? There are a hundred caves and overhangs, and I know them all. And I am safe to assume that these bat ponies will need water eventually? Well, they will not find any without a guide who knows where to look. I think you will find these next few days to be quite uneventful.”

They took up their loads again and proceeded down the valley at a slower pace. Little Strongheart’s long legs and springy steps meant that she was the only one that was not running per se.

Scootaloo had to adjust the sling of her sword constantly, and in the end left it dangling at her right side where it was utterly inaccessible should she need to draw it quickly. She and her brother were proficient with their new recurved cleavers in the sense that they could draw without cutting themselves in half.

“It’s all for show,” Dawn Runner had explained when he first brought them the weapons. “Better for clearing paths and splitting firewood, these things. Take care not to hurt yourselves.”

The long shafts of the scythes had been replaced with curved, rope-wrapped handles like the end of an umbrella. The shape and balance of the blades had not changed at all; Scootaloo nearly got a faceful of needles the first time she took a swing at a cactus.

Hanging from the same harness, the filly also carried a tiny axe of sorts. A “tomahawk”, according to Chief Thunderhooves when he passed it under her cloak that morning. It was a last-minute gift, and Scootaloo was not quite sure how it looked or how it worked. Nevertheless she appreciated its lightness compared to the mountain of other gear heaped on her back.

Though no two pillars looked the same, Scootaloo soon lost track of distance and direction. Her line of sight never extended more than twenty metres or so; for most of the day she had nothing but blurs of brown and fleeting glimpses of a tail to guide her.

“I can’t go slower,” Little Strongheart called near noonday. “You two should pick up your pace; you might as well be going backwards!”

The trail consisted of a single layer of fine pebbles over a rock bed; perfect for rolling ankles and breaking up bare hooves. Morning Rain skinned his knees at the first incline, but one glance from his sister convinced him to keep quiet.

They ran through the brief midday heat, until Scootaloo rounded a stone mushroom and nearly ran headlong into their guide.

“That took you long enough,” the young buffalo commented when Morning Rain appeared. “I didn’t want to stop for lunch until we got to a gully, and here we are. Take a break, you two.”

Rain fumbled with the lid of his canteen; Scootaloo offered him some of her water when it looked like he was about to cry.

The dense, greasy lumps of dry berries and straw made the ponies very thirsty. They each tried to eat big mouthfuls at first, only to gag on the leathery mass as it dried out their mouths. Initially it tasted like a spicy campfire; the strong flavour of dry wild strawberries came through as she chewed, making palatable the starchy chokeberries and saskatoons. Their guide didn’t try to hide her smile as she watched the ponies’ many faces of surprise and displeasure. Both canteens were empty when they finished, but their cakes of food seemed no lighter than before.

Scootaloo looked around for something fresh to chew on, but all she saw was sandstone and pebbles. Now that she thought about it, she hadn’t seen anything green since they dropped into the canyon. Not even chunks of dry wood or dead tree roots. She licked the sand and grease off her lips and silently wished for more water.

The “gully” was the saddest little trickle Scootaloo had ever seen: one inch wide and barely half an inch deep, its crystal-clear flow was less than what a single storm drain in Ponyville could pick up after a light spring shower. A kind of basin had been dug out in its path to form a useful pool. Little Strongheart took their empty canteens and slowly sank them in the pool; their three containers completely depleted its buildup, drying up everything downstream.

After one last quick drink the children packed up once again. Despite her earlier assertion Little Strongheart seemed just a little slower in the afternoon. Scootaloo looked up as often as she could, but there was no sign of their pursuers.

She did not see Rainbow Dash either.

As the day progressed their route seemed to curve gently northward. Near nightfall the canyon grew very narrow all at once. The trail ran straight for one hundred metres through what looked to be a crack in a rock wall, and at one point the two sides of the cliff formed a complete arch. Although the sky was not quite dark, the filly could barely see her feet as she emerged from the bottleneck.

Little Strongheart was gone.

Scootaloo turned around, but the pass behind her had faded into fuzzy patches of grey and black. Something seemed to be wavering just at the edge of focus; she wanted to believe that it was the flapping of her brother’s dull cloak.

“Scootaloo, why are you just standing there?”

The filly jumped at the sound of the voice beside her. At first she thought that a boulder had spoken. Then the boulder flicked its ears and cracked a mischievous smile. In the desert buffalos could be as discrete as bat ponies in the night.

Morning Rain staggered out of the growing darkness soon after, and Scootaloo was relieved to see that nothing else moved behind him. Little Strongheart led them into one of many small caves at the base of the cliff. Its interior was pitch black, and the two ponies were hesitant to enter knowing what real monsters may lurk in shadows so deep.

They dropped their bags near the cave mouth and lie down side-by-side facing outwards. Scootaloo could barely make out the opposite cliff. Their little slit of sky was fading quickly, though the stars had not yet appeared. Their guide was rummaging in her bag behind them, and presently a sharp scrape and pop alerted both of the ponies.

Little Strongheart stood with half her face illuminated, holding a very long match between her teeth.

“Come over here, Rain,” she instructed, waving him over with one newly-polished hoof that flashed in and out of her ring of light.

True to her words, the buffalo proceeded to pick the fat white grubs out of the colt’s back. Scootaloo looked on from a distance, her disgust slightly outmatched by morbid curiosity. The maggots squirmed frantically in response to the light; Little Strongheart removed them one by one and collected them in a wooden bowl. Rain hissed whenever she touched his back, but she was more than strong enough to hold him down.

In the end his wounds looked surprisingly clean; surely they would heal properly this time around. He chewed on a dry poppy bulb as new stitches were put in, falling asleep before the match finally burned out.

“How are you doing, Scootaloo?” Little Strongheart whispered after emptying the bowl of maggots outside.

“I guess I’m fine,” she sighed without turning. “Just a little tired.”

“You’ve been looking up an awful lot. Are you still worried about Rainbow Dash?”

“She should have arrived yesterday.”

Her sinuses tingled as she continued to stare into the inky sky. She had practically begged the buffalo chief for a fourth day, clinging to the notion that her sister was just traveling slower than expected. But there had been no rainbow streak in the sky at sunrise, and no new ponies in the camp except for a handful of sylvanocians.

What’s taking so long, Dash?

“Don’t worry about her, Scootaloo,” Little Strongheart said. “I know Rainbow Dash too. Maybe not as well as you do, but I know her. She supported the buffalos’ cause in our conflict with Appleloosa even though she had only known us for a short time, so have no doubt in your mind that she will come for you.”

“I know that,” Scootaloo retorted. “Rainbow Dash is my sister; of course she’s coming. But what if the bat ponies have her? Princess Luna told me that she’s alone, and there are lots of bat ponies, and…”

“She will be okay,” Little Strongheart said flatly. “Her safety is not your responsibility. You are already taking care of a younger brother, and that is more than enough for you. Besides, if Rainbow Dash cannot look after herself, don’t you think that you’d be better off without her anyways?”

Scootaloo’s blood boiled at that suggestion, but she was too tired to argue. Her hateful glare was completely lost in the darkness; she wasn’t certain if she was even facing the buffalo at all. She slept with her hood up and her chin resting on her bag. The gentle current coming through the cave entrance would alert her of unfamiliar scents; even a bat pony was bound to smell bad after a day in the desert.

The cave was pitch black when Scootaloo awoke. Her heart pounded in her ears, and she hardly dared to breathe.

She had heard something.

“Mmmmm…”

Scootaloo kicked with her booted back legs, skidding noisily across the hard cave floor. She scrambled to stand even as her sluggish mind matched the voice to its owner. Her muscles were burning as she settled down again. In her panic she had inadvertently moved off her warm patch of ground. She sucked in her belly to avoid the icy stone slab beneath her and balanced awkwardly in a low crouch.

The sound returned. It was not nearly as loud as she thought initially, but its spirited persistence made her whole body cease up in fear. Her close-fitting hood, good though it was at keeping sand out of her ears, prevented her ascertaining the source of the noise. She thought it came from behind her. In her mind she saw tiny sharp claws scraping against sandstone. Many claws worked frantically without rest.

Desperately.

Hungrily.

The whimper died in her throat. Scootaloo squeezed her eyes shut and hid her head under her heavy pack. She weighed down the edges of her cloak beneath her hooves, adding some reassuring tension on her back and sealing off any openings through which a bony claw might reach to drag her into the night. What she really wanted was a heavy winter blanket.

The wind picked up, producing a low, steady tone as it blew past the cave's mouth. She could hear the scraping no longer.

Scootaloo didn’t know when she fell asleep again.

Dawn found Morning Rain and Scootaloo huddled in the cave entrance, holding each other so tightly that they could have been mistaken for one pony. Their gear lie inert exactly where they had left it the night before, and neither of them had made any move to retrieve it.

The colt sobbed hysterically as he clung onto his sister, who barely had her own breathing under control. She too hid her tear-streaked face, but could not stop herself from stealing the occasional glance into the small stone chamber.

A low mound of blunt sandstone chunks marked the spot where Little Strongheart had slept. Long double streaks on the cave floor ended at the edge of the rubble, serving as the only evidence of the buffalo’s final struggle.

Not visible from the front was the part of the pile where the two children had excavated in hopes of uncovering their friend; the part that fell away at the colt’s first tentative push, dozens of blocks tumbling down an endless black shaft.

They waited until midmorning with Morning Rain facing the cave while Scootaloo watched the canyon. Little Strongheart did not return, and finally they had to accept that their guide was gone for good.

The ponies retrieved their supplies without once turning their back on the mound of rocks. They stayed shoulder-to-shoulder throughout the operation, and only ventured inside long enough to grab an item with their teeth before backpedaling out again. Scootaloo’s pemmican bag was not closed properly, but she was perfectly content to escape the cave with less than a third of her food intact. Most of Little Strongheart’s stuff was left undisturbed, except for her water flask which Scootaloo took in their last run.

They dragged the loose gear a good hundred metres down the valley before either of them felt it was safe to stop. Scootaloo looked over her shoulder every few seconds as she hastily packed. Both children kept their swords lying on the ground within reach; Morning Rain even took his out of its burlap scabbard.

They topped off their canteens from Little Strongheart’s and drank what they couldn’t carry. Scootaloo was reluctant to part with the extra canteen, but it proved to be too large and awkward. They hid it inside a crack in the southern cliff before continuing east.

Scootaloo did not need a guide in front of her to keep up her pace that day. Her brother followed right on her heel, and even passed her a few times. Finding the right trail was not the problem; the canyon turned gently and grew narrow in places, but it never branched. The challenge was finding water. To that end Rain had memorized Little Strongheart’s map in surprising detail, and their canteens were never dry for more than five minutes. They skipped breakfast and lunch, instead chewing on pemmican whenever they waited at a waterhole.

The canyon seemed to go on endlessly, and the cycle of run-drink-refill took a heavy mental toll on the children. Swords came out whenever they stopped, and every change in the wind had them craning their necks every possible way.

Late in the afternoon Scootaloo finally decided that enough was enough. They had reached a scorching, open area where the canyon became more like a crater full of round, crumbly hills. Even the flat cacti grew in the shade, and big sun-bleached stumps clung onto cracks in the base rock by the tips of their dead roots. They stood unearthed by centuries of dry hot winds, like giant spiders waiting for giant flies.

“I’m going up there,” she said, pointing to a dome on the north side of the depression. “If anything is following us, I’ll be able to see it.”

“I’ll come with you,” Morning Rain said shakily.

“You can’t even walk right now,” Scootaloo pointed out, patting his bandaged back to emphasize her point. “You need to rest as much as possible. Watch my stuff, and stay in the shade. I’ll be back in five minutes.”

Scootaloo wanted to doff her cloak, but the sun beating down on her exposed face was already bad enough. She had to squint lest the glare blinded her.

She always had a clear line of sight to her brother. He was lounging with his head uncovered as to stay visible. His brown cloak broke up the lines of his body, so that his face seemed to be floating amidst the rocks. Seeing that she was watching, he waved at her with a nervous smile on his face. Scootaloo returned the gesture before turning to face the bulge. It was a lot bigger up close, and steeper too. Weathered sandstone was slippery wet or dry, and it was soon apparent that she could not climb directly.

The north cliff did not look to be such a treacherous climb; more of a ramp than a cliff, really. Scootaloo could even see some dimples and cracks that would make excellent holds. She glanced one last time at her brother, who was now cradling his open pemmican bag between his front hooves.

The filly rounded the base of the hill, and immediately felt a calloused and mud-caked paw on the back of her neck. Her mask was pushed off her nose, replaced seamlessly by a cool wet rag so that she had no chance to cry out.

The last thing she remembered was a sharp organic tang in her nostrils, like the fumes of cheap gin left to bake in summer heat.

Author's Note

This chapter was longer in my initial plan, but I didn't want to blow past two convenient stopping points.

So what do you guys think? Leave your comments below!

Chapter 12

Chapter 12

“I say we eat ‘em both!”

“You’d eat yer own mother if she ‘er here!”

“I would! And you would join me!”

A raspy song rose from a third throat, slithering into her ears and turning into sandpaper in her head. She was securely hogtied, and the resulting tension in her back kept her eyes shut and full of tears. Her captors had taken her cloak, and she was just far enough from their fire to feel the occasional fleeting wash of warmth that did her no good.

Scootaloo hissed when both her thighs cramped up at the same time. She twisted this way and that, but her restraints left absolutely no room to stretch out.

“Grinder, I told you to retie her before she wakes up!”

“Well, maybe I didn’t feel like it! Whacha’ gonna do ‘bout it?”

The smack was so loud that even Scootaloo tucked in her neck. A moment later she felt a huge paw on her front hooves. The ropes fell away, and she immediately kicked out her legs like a pegasus in flight. The creature chuckled, and the stench of his hot breath made her blood run cold.

“There. That’s better, isn’t it?”

His paw scraped across her belly, moving towards her head. She tried to hide her face in the ground as it pass over her neck, but this drew another burst of laughter. He stopped when he reached the back of her jaw, cupping his paw over her chin. She could feel sharp, serrated claws resting just behind her ears.

Scootaloo opened her eyes. A massive shape hovered over her, its features lost in the darkness. It reached down with an arm as thick as a tree trunk. Before she realized what it was doing her front legs were bound once again.

“That’s so you don’t run,” he growled, rejoining his companions at the fire.

“Guys, bring her over here. She’s not used to these desert nights, you know.”

Scootaloo couldn’t believe her ears, and craned her to look past the bulky bodies to the other side of the dancing flames. The creature that had settled down mere second ago lumbered back to the filly and lifted her with two shaggy arms. She was carried to the far side of the fire and set down on the warm ground next to a lean brown figure.

“Little Strongheart!” She gasped. Scootaloo couldn’t hug her properly, but the buffalo understood.

“You see?” The one named Grinder bellowed, showing off a mouthful of pointed yellow teeth. “We’re not so bad! Now if only that brother of yours would show up like he’s supposed to, we can all go our separate ways!”

Scootaloo squinted through the smoky fire at her captors. They had remarkably flat faces, with sagging flaps for cheeks and big black noses that glistened with a film of moisture. Swamp green eyes glistened in the firelight, with vertical black slits for pupils and no sign of whites. Their lips looked like an extra row of jagged teeth, and all three sported noticeable underbites.

“What are they?” Scootaloo whispered to the buffalo.

“Diamond dogs,” she replied. “They travel through here from time to time; usually they’re not a problem. From what I understand the bat ponies hired these three to catch you and your brother.”

“And we’re doing just fine!” Said the nearest dog. “Two out of three on the first day of our first contract! We’ll all be in the mercenaries’ guild!”

“There’s no mercenaries’ guild you bloody idiot!” Grinder swung clumsily; his companion easily ducked under his arm.

“I say we make one!” He continued, playfully shoving his attacker. “Diamondback, your pops is a mercenary, isn’t he? And it pays well, right? Better than the mines, I mean.”

“You don’t talk about my pops like that, got it?” The one who untied Scootaloo jabbed a flint-tipped arrow across the fire, startling the other two. “We’re going to be guides. This job is just a diversion. We’re going back in two weeks, we’ll become official desert guides, and nobody’s going to hear a word about any of this.”

“Come on! We just made a thousand bits in a day and a half! And don’t tell me we can’t spend bits! My folks go to Canterlot all the time! I tell ya', a thousand bits can get you far in that place!”

“We haven’t made a single bit, Crag! And I don’t like the looks of that guy, all his talk be damned! You two better have your bows ready when we hand them over; I’d not be surprised if they turn on us the moment they get what they want. Pops says bat ponies are trickier than unicorns, and we’re dealing with both.”

Crag whistled through his teeth and raised a familiar canteen up to his lips.

“Where did you get that?” Scootaloo yelled.

The dog started, spilling water all over his brown leather vest. He eyed the filly in annoyance as he combed the water out of his fur with one paw.

“They got all your supplies when they caught you,” Little Strongheart explained, easily holding down her fellow prisoner.

“Aye, and your brother’s been without water for half a day,” Grinder pitched in without looking up from the half-formed arrowhead on his knee. “We don’t even have to track him; he’ll come to us before the night is through, just you wait!”

Scootaloo looked to the buffalo, and got a little comfort from the confidence in her eyes. Morning Rain knew where to find water; he could be miles and miles away by now.

What am I thinking? My brother wouldn’t abandon us like this!

On the other side of the fire pit Diamondback was skewering something on a long wooden rod. Tomatoes, maybe? Really big ones, if that were true. But where did he get tomatoes in the middle of the desert?

“Scootaloo, maybe you should close your eyes…”

The buffalo's warning came too late. With a grunt Diamondback hoisted his loaded skewer over the fire.

Three skinned hares dangled in the flames. The lean red muscles were evenly dusted with dry spice, and in death their lips were pulled back in a vicious sneer. Scootaloo trembled, unable to look away from their empty sockets. To her they seemed to be the eyes of the fire itself.

They’re dead. Animals die. It’s normal.

Tears streamed down her cheeks; she told herself that it was from the sharp scent of burning pepper. The faces in the fire swelled and stretched. Tendons popped off the bone, jaws fell slack, and sickly yellow juice hissed as it dripped into the pile of glowing char.

“Breathe, Scootaloo,” Little Strongheart urged. “They’re not going to hurt us. Diamond dogs are hunters; they’ll eat meat whenever they can get it. That’s just the way they are.”

“I can hear you,” Crag half-sang as he pulled on a stubborn rabbit leg. His tone changed completely when he saw the filly. “Oh, I’m sorry. You see, that’s why we put you over there in the first place. We didn't want to scare you...”

He tried to pet her, but the hot grease on his paws had her scrambling backwards as fast as her bound legs would allow. He remained slouching at the fireside looking mortified, the roasted hindquarter in his right paw dangling all the way to the dusty ground.

“Let her be,” Diamondback ordered. “We’ll be rid of them by tomorrow.”

The diamond dog turned his back reluctantly, but throughout the meal he made an effort to block the rabbits from view of Scootaloo. Little Strongheart brought a canteen and a pemmican bag for her, but the filly would not swallow more than a bite. She tasted blood in the dry leathery fruit; reaching into the depths of the sack, she expected a jagged skull or a pile of ribs. The buffalo tried to feed her, but thought better of it when Scootaloo started dry heaving.

Every time she closed her eyes the rabbits were there. Half-stripped of flesh, blowing fat bubbles between their teeth. She had seen skulls before, and dead animals too, but this was different. She curled up even tighter, driving her face into the ground in hopes of escaping the sickening fumes of the bonfire. The buffalo nuzzled her gently, but she could barely feel it. The smell was maddening; rich as a cake in the oven, but completely unappetizing.

“Hey, did you see that?”

“Yeah.”

Scootaloo looked up. All three of her captors were standing with their backs to the fire squinting into the night. Diamondback knocked an arrow on his sapling bow, keeping his grass-woven quiver propped upright against his leg. Grinder, who stood just a hair taller, kept his bow fully drawn as his head swiveled this way and that.

“Bloody bat ponies,” Diamondback hissed. “Shoot if you see anything.”

Crag lit a torch in the fire, his eyes flashing orange when the greased rag flared up. With his free paw he reached into the pile of stolen goods, taking one of the repurposed scythes. It didn’t seem nearly as big when he held it; more like a long working knife, really.

“There!”

One arrow whizzed through the air, followed quickly by another.

“Stop that!” Snapped Diamondback. “You just about hit me! Crag, you go watch the prisoners! Make sure they don’t get away! Grinder, watch my back. Don’t turn around unless I tell you to!”

Scootaloo turned away from the fire and immediately felt an eerie sense of foreboding. The flickering light seemed to have a discrete boundary, and beyond it lay perfect darkness. Even Crag’s fresh torch failed to extend their line of sight. The stars above looked as they always had, yet she could not fight the feeling that they were in fact white dots painted on a low, black ceiling.

“What’s happening?” The diamond dog whispered as he crouched down protectively over the girls. His breath reeked strongly of roasted rabbit, and Scootaloo felt her nausea returning.

Behind them Grinder fired again, and was swiftly rewarded with a hard slap on the back of his head. Something was shuffling around just out of sight; its limbs dragged along the rocky ground like the belly of a big snake, and it was impossible to tell exactly where the sound originated. Scootaloo stared unblinkingly into the darkness. Twice she was startled by shadows moving at the edge of her vision. Twice the arrows flew, disappearing silently into the dark world.

This is it.

Shadows flowed like fog, coalescing into flesh and bone. Scootaloo did not need to see it to know what it was. She could feel its six black eyes pinning her down like an insect in a museum. Three skinned rabbits rode on its back, and they too stared at her and nothing else. She told herself to breathe, but her chest felt like a rigid wooden barrel.

Scraping was replaced by the sound of wings. Grinder released another arrow every few seconds. Diamondback was no longer the proud owner of a full quiver.

“Crag, get your bow!”

Sparks rained down over Scootaloo and Little Strongheart as the diamond dog scrambled to his feet. He took the torch with him, and the darkness closed in just a little more. Scootaloo pressed closer to the buffalo and covered her muzzle with her hooves.

“Aaaah!”

Crag fell with a muffled thump. The arrow did not penetrate his heavy leather vest, but shock stopped him from getting up.

The remaining diamond dogs emptied their quivers in less than five seconds. Scootaloo flattened herself against the ground as the stream of arrows sailed directly overhead.

No one spoke in the silent minutes that followed. They were truly silent, for even the gentle night wind had died down.

Click.

Click.

Click.

Every few seconds another arrow shaft snapped. It sounded so close; Scootaloo guessed two metres directly in front of her.

Untie me! Please! Don’t leave me here!

Click.

“Screw the job,” Diamondback declared, just loud enough to be heard at the edge of their dwindling ring of light.

“But… A thousand bits…”

Click.

“Bullocks! We’re worth more than a thousand bits!”

All argument was put to rest when the arrows returned. Splintered shafts spun through the air, harmlessly showering over the heads of the two remaining diamond dogs. The shadow was definitely advancing. A bulge of darkness had formed right in front of Scootaloo, flowing like the foot of a giant slug.

The ground rumbled from frantic excavation. Little Strongheart hopped onto the filly to shield her from flying rocks. Thus she was stuck with the living shadow wavering mere inches from her unprotected face.

“Wait!” She managed to call out. “Wait! Don’t leave me here! PLEASE! I DON’T WANT TO DIE!”

She could hear the diamond dogs receding into the depths of the ground. The shadow engulfed her head, blinding her instantly.

A large hoof wrapped in many layers of sturdy cloth touched her face. She heard feathery wings folding, and saw firelight through her eyelids soon thereafter.

Scootaloo screamed.

Somepony was holding her by the shoulders. She struggled with all her strength without opening her eyes. Another voice ticked the fur of her ears, but she couldn’t make sense of it.

COME TAKE ME ALREADY! TAKE ME AWAY!

Her mouth moved to form words, but air rushed through her like the untameable waters of Ghastly Gorge. She felt completely weightless. Her skin was numb, so that the ground beneath her no longer registered in her mind.

Scootaloo’s head snapped back and forth from powerful blows. She thought the movement funny; like a carnival ride.

The hoof from earlier forced her eyes open, filling them with sand in the process. She enjoyed the strangeness of this feeling, and even giggled when she saw the colt's pale face staring straight at her from two inches away.

“RUN!”

She tried to yell “no”, but another incoherent scream escaped as soon as her lips parted.

Loops of thick rope slid over her muzzle, and suddenly her mouth snapped shut. Her spit tasted like blood.

They threw a cloak over her back and led her by the nose away from the fire. She did not see anything that night. The rhythmic beating of broad black wings drove her swiftly across the land, and not for the last time.

Author's Note

Probably no update next week. I'll be editing.

Chapter 13

Chapter 13

A single shaft of light illuminated the dusty chamber, shining down from an opening high in the rubble pile at the former entrance. At first a diffuse red patch was cast on the uneven sandstone wall. Slowly it crept, becoming brighter and warmer, and then fading slightly as it passed the halfway point of its leisurely journey. The beam scanned in a predictable arc across many feet of ancient rock before it found the fuzzy, salt-flecked face.

Scootaloo moaned and covered her head with her forelegs. Her hooves were steaming inside her boots, and her tongue was swollen at the tip.

“Mommy…”

She smiled as she nuzzled the mare who held her. Feeling the warm body made her sad. A part of her mind insisted that everything was not alright. That pesky voice in her head had dwindled in volume throughout the night, but it never went away.

“Everything’s going to be fine, Scootaloo. Mommy’s going away for a while. Be brave for me, okay?”

She was instantly blinded by the glare. Scootaloo sprang up with a low hiss. Blotches of purple and blue danced across the inside of her eyelids. She whimpered as she groped the air in front of her, but her mother was gone.

What did she look like?

As memory returned, a deep sense of loss closed around her heart. She sobbed and screamed as love and warmth were replaced with fear and dry heat.

Morning Rain scampered to her side and placed a hoof on her cloaked back. Scootaloo shoved him aside with all her strength. She got no pleasure from listening to her brother tumble across the rocky ground.

Little Strongheart sat with her in silence, being far too big to be thrown around. Thankfully she didn’t try to touch the filly as her tantrum ran its course.

In the end Scootaloo lie exhausted in a cold puddle of her own tears. The dust turned to mud on her face. She wanted nothing more than to see her father and Gari; Gari especially.

Gari wouldn’t beat her for such an outburst. Not as hard, anyways.

“Rain, get over here,” Little Strongheart ordered.

The colt approached Scootaloo from the front, coming within reach just long enough to drop off a canteen. Thick blood oozed from scrapes on his face; his sister’s doing, no doubt. He kept his eyes on his boots as he lie down across from the girls.

Little Strongheart used a piece of gauze as a facecloth to groom the ponies. As the grime was removed from Scootaloo’s face, some of her anxiety washed away also. Soon, the small abrasions in Morning Rain’s forehead were the only physical signs of his afternoon scuffle.

“Feeling better?” The buffalo asked.

Scootaloo nodded, being careful to exclude Morning Rain from her field of view. She wasn’t sure what she would do if she had to look at him; whether to give him a hug or a black eye.

“Okay, here is the plan,” Little Strongheart continued, pacing slowly around the ponies. “It’s about four o’clock; if the bat ponies can find us, they’d be here already. However, I don’t want to be caught traveling after dark, and it’ll take me an hour to clear this blockade.

“Now Scootaloo, your brother has something he would like to tell us. Seeing that there is no sense in us moving until tomorrow, let’s hear it.”

Morning Rain inhaled deeply.

“Out with it,” Little Strongheart snapped when he started playing with the hem of his cloak. “You said you’d explain everything once Scootaloo wakes up. She’s not sleeping, is she?”

“Well…” his voice was little more than a whisper; Little Strongheart’s footsteps echoed loudly in the cavern.

“First of all, what was that thing you did last night?” The circle was getting smaller; Scootaloo flicked her tail nervously. “You don’t look like a bat pony to me, but maybe you belong with them.”

“I’m don’t!” Rain protested.

“Then tell me what you’re doing out here. You bring trouble wherever you go. Unless you tell me why I should keep helping you, I will hand you over to them and return to Appleloosa with your sister.”

“I…” He sniffed loudly, but the buffalo’s words left him no room to dodge the question. “I… I was using sylvanocian magic! I learned it from one of Princess Luna’s guards! That’s it! I swear!”

“And you are very skilled at it?” She pressed on. “As good as the scouts they sent to take you from our camp?”

“No, I’m not good at it!”

“Don’t lie to me. It might take me a while to clear that blockade completely, but I can open a hole big enough to throw you out. And it will be dark soon.”

Scootaloo looked at her brother. He cowered beneath his dusty cloak, shifting his hooves constantly to stay facing his interrogator. His eyes were huge, and his mouth hung open in a silent, helpless wail.

He was not lying.

“Rain, last night you were just a big blob of darkness. You said only bat ponies could do that.”

“That wasn’t me!” He said, stretching his neck for emphasis. “It’s hard to explain…”

“We’re not stupid, Rain,” the buffalo interrupted. “This is your last chance. Get to the point, or you’re bat bait.”

He stared right into Scootaloo’s eyes as he spoke, and she saw in them all his desperation from that night so long ago when he first came to her.

“The sylvanocians are getting stronger.”

“What does that mean?” Little Strongheart asked.

“Sylvanocians aren’t just pegasi with bat wings,” Rain explained. “They’re guardians of the night, and they have a kind of magic that can’t be fully emulated, even by Princess Luna herself. It only works at night, but Gari says that it used to be as powerful as alicorn magic. Before Nightmare Moon, they could travel anywhere almost instantaneously, become completely invisible, and even change the weather. But that was a thousand years ago. Most sylvanocians today don’t have much magic to speak of; Princess Luna’s guards are some of the most powerful, but even they can’t give off an aura like the one I felt last night.

“I could sense them as soon as the sun went down; they were still very far away, but I could already feed off their aura. Sylvanocians can sustain their magic much better than earth ponies and pegasi, so one of the first things Summer Dusk taught me was how to syphon waste magic. The group that's hunting us is so powerful that just reaching out a little gave me more magic than I could ever use. It felt amazing; in the middle of the night I could see everything! Whenever I closed my eyes, my ears took over. It was like I never blinked! I tried to make a shroud—that thing I did to you in Ponyville—and you know the rest.

“I was wrong, Scootaloo. The griffins are nothing compared to sylvanocians. If I could do so much just with waste magic, think of what they can do!”

“Well, they’re pretty dumb if you ask me,” Little Strongheart said. “With all that power at their disposal they should have caught us last night. Now, are you sure that you are telling the whole truth?”

“I believe him,” Scootaloo spoke up, and Morning Rain immediately relaxed. “Little Strongheart, if you still want to throw him out tonight then I’m going with him.”

To her relief the buffalo smiled kindly and sat down close to them.

“I think you are being truthful, Morning Rain, even if your story does not stand up to scrutiny. I will remind you that you only know what you know. Do not assume anything in this matter; if I understand correctly, you have been wrong before.”

The colt bristled, but had nothing to say. Scootaloo giggled.

“We will part ways tomorrow,” she continued. “Even at your pace you can easily reach the end of this canyon in one day. I will leave you with one canteen and all the food. Scootaloo, I suggest you share your weapons.”

“My weapons?”

“The diamond dogs took your brother’s sword only. You still have your sword and tomahawk. I did not take you for a thief, Scootaloo.”

“I’m not!” Cried the filly. “Well, not anymore.”

“Chief Thunderhooves doesn’t just give away tomahawks, and certainly not his own.”

“He gave it to me when we left!” She insisted, her face flushed with rage. “Take it if you want! You can have the sword too! Take everything! See if I care!”

“It is no great matter to me,” Little Strongheart said. “I will ask Chief Thunderhooves when I next see him. However you came into possession of it, I am glad that you have it now. South of this desert is a very different Equestria from the one you are familiar with. I only know of it through a handful of traders, but it is not a place that I want to visit. You will find very few towns, and none as big as Appleloosa or even Dodge Junction. Keep your heads down, and do not start any fights. You will not be the most unusual travelers in those parts, but do have some common sense. If you are caught stealing…”

“I am not a thief!” Scootaloo snarled. The muscles of her legs were loaded like springs, and her wings twitched aggressively underneath her cloak.

Morning Rain watched her with a different kind of fear in his eyes. It was the same expression he had worn when Gari found the stash of stolen trinkets in her pillowcase. The same one from that night Scootaloo tried to sneak out through the window, tempted by the promise of sixty bits for cleaning the chimneys of some unicorn’s mansion in Canterlot.

Don’t do it.

Little Strongheart cleared her throat nervously.

“Just try not to act in the heat of the moment,” she said. “That’s all I’m trying to say. Goes for both of you; look out for one another. Now, let’s have dinner. I want to be sleeping again before the sun goes down.”

Scootaloo shared a pemmican bag with her brother. The food had crumbled almost to dust, but never had they eaten anything quite so eagerly. Not even Gari’s freshly-baked cookies.

By the time the patch of light finished its daily round all three of the travelers were fast asleep.

“Hello sweetie, how was your day?”

“It was great, mommy! You won’t believe who’s in my class…”

Scootaloo trailed off. She had had this conversation before, but in a different place. Her mother—a light brown unicorn with piercing green eyes—smiled pleasantly from the hallway of her Ponyville house.

“Mom?”

The word sounded so strange coming from her mouth. She couldn’t recall the last time she said it to anypony.

“What’s wrong?”

“You…” The idea came and went like a skittish mouse, but it solidify in her mind with each passing. “You… You’re not my mom, are you?”

Upon hearing her words the mare sighed and extended her wings; wings that Scootaloo had somehow ignored up to this point.

“I’m sorry,” said the alicorn. “I was hoping that you would appreciate my presence…”

She was interrupted by the sudden weight of a life-size, Scootaloo-shaped necklace.

“Gari! Oh, thank Celestia! Is this really you?”

“Celestia has nothing to do with this,” she said seriously before grabbing the filly in her forelegs and returning the hug. “I am here, Scootaloo, and I am glad that you are not mad at me.”

“Mad at you?” Scootaloo repeated incredulously. “I missed you, Gari! I mean, I was a little upset when Rain told me about what happened in Canterlot, but that wasn’t your fault. When you came to Sugarcube Corner, I panicked. I didn’t mean to be rude, you have to believe me! I miss you, Gari! Even Rain says he wants to see you again!”

“Oh, sweetie, I miss you too.” Gari hugged her again. She never wore makeup or perfume; right now, she smelled of a dusty road. “I always meant to visit, but Ponyville is a lot further than Cloudsdale. That’s no excuse at all for an alicorn, but I hope you are not too offended. You were one of my children, Scootaloo, and I will always care about you.”

“Really?” Scootaloo gaped.

“Really.” Gari affirmed, tapping the filly gently on the tip of her nose. “It’s been a long three years, Scootaloo. You’ve grown so much. I know that I have little right to say this, but I am proud of you.”

“So… Were you in my dream last night?”

“I was,” she admitted. “You were so far gone, I just had to do something. I know how much it must have hurt to wake up, but I couldn’t stand losing you.”

“But…” Scootaloo felt her throat constricting. A part of her didn’t want to know the answer to the question she was about to ask. “Did you mean any of it?”

“I love you as a daughter,” Gari said, seeing right to the filly’s heart. “I am more than a thousand years old, Scootaloo, but I clearly remember my early days. How my brothers and sisters all clambered for Luna’s attention. We didn’t believe that she could love us as we were: young, uneducated and powerless. We called her ‘mother’, but only because she told us not to call her ‘princess’. Over the years, though, she showed us what love really meant.

“A mother’s love is not depleted like the wax of a candle. There is always enough. Don’t think that just because there were so many of you at the orphanage that I would forget the ones who have left.”

“Thanks you,” Scootaloo choked with happy tears in her eyes. “It… It means a lot to me.”

“Gari! What are you doing?”

The brown alicorn turned her head slowly, holding Scootaloo closer as the latter started to shiver.

“Come with me!” Princess Luna’s voice echoed in the black emptiness of the dreamscape. “NOW!”

Scootaloo hadn’t noticed the void at all until Luna’s interruption, but now she clung even tighter to Gari. If Gari left her now, she would certainly fall.

“Mother,” implored the smaller alicorn. “Don’t make me leave now. It will do more damage than good.”

“Do not argue with me, Gari!”

Scootaloo closed her eyes and squeezed with all her might. The anger of the princess rippled all around her like a shockwave, and the muscular neck slipped from her embrace like steam from a kettle.

“Scootaloo, wake up!”

Morning Rain nudged his sister for the twentieth time that morning. Whenever he moved her even slightly, the orange pegasus obstinately repositioned herself without opening her eyes.

“We’ll leave without you!” He screamed into her ear, only to hear an annoyed shush from Little Strongheart.

“Go ahead,” Scootaloo mumbled. “See if I care.”

“What’s gotten into you?” Rain sighed, lying down across from her.

“I didn’t sleep well,” she said, looking up at her brother with one half-lidded eye.

They exchanged a knowing glance. Scootaloo stood up and shook herself vigorously until her spine stopped popping. Her jaw was tight, and no amount of stretching could make it feel better. She chewed on a mouthful of pemmican as she hoisted her bag.

At the cavern’s entrance Little Strongheart was slowly dismantling the boulder wall.

“Stand back,” she warned.

A wedge-shaped stone sprang from the rock pile as the buffalo jumped off. The ground shook as the wall disintegrated from top to bottom, most of the debris rolling outside into the canyon. Scootaloo sneezed when the red dawn reached her eyes.

Her stomach twisted into knots as the dust settled. The cave was situated twenty metres up the cliff, which was itself made of uneven blocks of sandstone embedded in barren yellow clay. The remains of the demolished barricade served as a steep staircase, but how Little Strongheart ascended in the first place remained a mystery.

No amount of begging could convince the buffalo to accompany them even a few steps further. Scootaloo even offered to carry her supplies, but that only made her laugh.

“You know where to go,” she said in parting. “I would stay clear of Dodge Junction if I were you. They’ll expect you there, and I would not be surprised if some bat ponies are checking into the inn at this very moment. You know your destination, and I know mine. Let’s leave it at that. Take good care of that tomahawk, Scootaloo. You’ll not find another one like it.”

She was gone before the ponies could respond, leaving them no other choice but to continue their own journey. Morning Rain carried the sword and harness, and his sister was quite thankful for it. The axe dangled at her waist on a loop of fabric torn from Little Strongheart’s pemmican bag, and this arrangement proved to be much more comfortable than having a heavy scabbard chafing at her back.

The cliffs turned to rolling hills by midday, and soon thereafter they ascended a gentle slope onto the giant skillet that was the desert proper.

Under the afternoon sun they were reduced to a snail’s pace, dragging their feet with their mouths hanging open. Scootaloo steamed under her hood with her mask pulled up past her eyes. The water in the canteen was almost hot enough to burn her tongue and seemed to evaporate as soon as it touched her lips, leaving her thirstier with each big mouthful.

The desert went on forever. Morning Rain seemed to know where he was going, but as the sun sank low and their shadows grew long there was still no sign of reeds or even trees. More and more often they scanned the cloudless sky; their ears were tuned to the sound of beating wings.

“Stop,” Scootaloo ordered under the last light of day, when her shadow extended like an endless runway before her. “Rain, we’re not going to make Hayseed Swamp tonight.”

Morning Rain did not argue. Their canteen had been empty for hours, and the chill night wind dried them just as well as the scorching sun. Neither of them had the breath to hold a conversation as they plodded towards the north.

They heard the town before they saw it. The rattling of railcars broke the silence of the deepening dusk, guiding the two weary travelers. A little closer they heard wooden axils, screaming like a hundred shrill violins.

Scootaloo lowered herself against the ground as the peak of a clock tower appeared on the horizon. Its weathercock caught the last ray of daylight, so that the matte black arrows seemed more welcoming than all the gaily-painted log houses combined.

At first glance Dodge Junction was indistinguishable from Appleloosa. It had only one street, if the unpaved clearing in front of its train station could be considered a street at all. There looked to be only room enough for a few dozen ponies, and when the last lattice slammed to for the night it became quiet enough for Scootaloo to hear the shallow tributary on the other side of the houses.

She led the approach, inching along on her belly and keeping her head down. There was no cover to be had; any alert watcher could have easily picked them out in the last fifty metres. Still they remained low, tucking in their tails and letting their dusty cloaks fall flat on the ground. If the bat ponies were in town, nightfall would offer no respite. But all she heard as she shuffled the last inches to the first wall was soft clinking of silverware coming from inside.

They hurried along in fading twilight, dashing between the houses and ducking far below bright, curtained windows. Every building seemed to be occupied, and the sweet aroma of fresh bread and casseroles and pies tugged her towards one door after another. All she could think about was a hot meal, but she knew that she mustn’t.

At the end of the row stood a kind of big warehouse. Its doors were as large as the ones on the Apple Family barn, though these were made of fine milled lumber and ornate steel bolts. Overpowering scents of rotting fruit seeped through the cracks, dredging up memories of midsummer nights in the back alleys of Canterlot.

”Daddy, I’m cold.”

Scootaloo shook her head to clear her mind. She could barely see her brother now, and the stiff wind pierced her cloak like a thousand icy needles. The decision was made in a heartbeat.

Morning Rain got onto her back to reach the top latch. The two pushed with their full weight, forcing the door ajar just enough to squeeze through.

Mice scurried between her legs, their paws popping against the flypaper floor. Scootaloo kept her shoulder pressed against her brother’s side as the two walked together in total darkness. Morning Rain moved with complete certainty, his footsteps keeping as steady a beat as ever. It occurred to her that he might be seeing things that she couldn’t.

“This looks good,” Rain commented under his breath when he stopped.

Scootaloo could feel bits of dry fruit pasted to the warped wooden floor as she knelt tentatively. She pulled her cloak beneath her to avoid touching the sticky mess, but being bundled up made her feel trapped. The axe head bit into her side as she pulled the fabric tight across her back, and the sweet smell burned her parched throat.

What is this stuff?

There was only one type of fruit contributing to the stench, and it wasn’t apple. Not watermelon either; the scent wasn’t nearly as offensive as a rotting melon. Too sweet to be pear; too twisted to be raspberries.

“Oh sweet Celestia.”

“What?”

Morning Rain stood up, and Scootaloo felt her last tie severed. Her ears rotated, tracking the direction of his receding footsteps, but she was no bat pony. He disappeared from her senses when he stopped moving some five metres to her right.

A loud slurp startled her. It was followed by loud chewing.

Is he eating gravel? Scootaloo wondered as she stood up cautiously.

“Come over here, Scootaloo!” Rain whispered excitedly. “Come on! Follow my voice!”

The filly moved with her legs spread like a pyramid, probing the ground for obstacles. The gesture was all for naught, for after only half a dozen steps she walked face-first into a rounded wooden surface. It rotated slowly from the impact like a giant wheel suspended off the ground. She scurried backwards like a startled cat as a squeaky conveyor belt began to move.

”Daddy, it’s too noisy. Why can’t we sleep outside?”

”It’s too cold tonight, sweetie. Now come here.”

A warm, sweaty wing fell over her shoulders.

“Come with me,” Rain said nervously.

Scootaloo matched his steps. She smelled damp wood right before bumping into the big barrel with her recently-scuffed nose. It was set like a stone pile, heavy enough to support her weight when she reared up and leaned over its open rim.

The warm water had picked up a bitter tinge from its container. Little round fruits bobbed against her muzzle, their slender stalks tickling her nostrils and making her sneeze. One of these found its way into her mouth as she drank, and her eyes widened at the taste of its tart, juicy flesh.

She ate almost without chewing, swallowing twigs, stones and all. The seeds were exactly like gravel, and she nearly cracked her teeth the first time she bit down. It was like bobbing for tiny apples, and she did not care that some of them were overripe or worm-ridden.

“Come on, Rain,” She panted, taking a break with her chin on the splintered rim. “You must be hungry too.”

“No… you… you carried more!” The colt didn’t even try to hide his fear. “You should eat more. D… don’t mind me.”

Scootaloo stared in the general direction of his voice, ignoring the beads of water that ticked her face and even smothering the coughs in her chest. Her suspicious, worried eyes shifted focus along the line, never seeing anything.

“Rain,” she said seriously. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” he replied, having silently moved a few degrees to the left.

So he can see.

“You’ve been acting weird since we met the buffalos,” Scootaloo said. She turned her head slightly and strained her ears to catch his sneaky steps. “What’s the point of having me here if you don’t tell me what’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing,” he insisted, backing away now. “Really!”

“You know, this town has a train station. I can hop on the luggage car and ride all the way back to Ponyville. Is that what you want?”

“Yeah,” he whimpered. “Yeah, you should go, Scootaloo. You’ve done so much for me already! Just go back to Ponyville and let me have whatever’s coming to me. You’re better off without me!”

“I thought we’ve been through this already,” she sighed as the colt started crying, having finally backed all the way to the wall. “Please tell me why you feel this way now. I’m your sister. You can trust me.”

“You should leave, Scootaloo!” He insisted. “Get away from me before something else goes wrong! It’s just like you said in Appleloosa: I don’t know what I’m doing here! My ideas will get both of us killed! I don’t deserve a sister like you!”

Scootaloo looked on slack-jawed as the colt sobbed and gasped somewhere in the darkness.

Oh Rain, I didn’t mean it. Not like that.

She swallowed. Her throat was like set concrete.

Okay Scootaloo, you have to say something.

“The first time I heard those stories…”

“Rain,” She ventured. “I’m going to tell you something. If you ever tell anypony else, I’m gonna deny it.”

He continued to cry, though she thought she could hear a change in his rhythm. Scootaloo had to clear her throat a few times before her throat would obey.

“Before Rainbow Dash became my sister, I was really worried about what she thought of me. Like, really worried. I would have taken out her garbage if that could get me into her good books. Heck, I’ve actually done it! But I don’t feel that way anymore. Do you know why?”

“Why?” Rain sniffed.

“Because we’re sisters now,” Scootaloo said with a smile on her face. She didn’t get to say those words often. “I know that she doesn’t always want me around, but she’s there for me when I need her. That’s what a big brother or big sister is supposed to do, no matter how tough it gets. Don’t get me wrong, you’ve done some really stupid things since we left Ponyville. But if Rainbow Dash agreed to be my sister after I nearly fell off a waterfall, I won’t hold against you the things you’ve done.”

“But…” In her mind Scootaloo could see Rain’s mouth moving silently. “But… It’s not fair!”

“Hey, life’s not fair. We Children of the Night know it better than anypony.” She wanted to go to him, but was scared by the prospect of wandering a room full of big, silent machines. “Listen, I was really mad at you back at the hospital, and I said some nasty things. It doesn’t mean that I’ll just leave you like this. If you promise me that you’ll try to be more level-headed from now on, we can forget this ever happened.”

“Do you mean that?” Rain asked hopefully.

“I thought we already promised not to lie to each other,” Scootaloo said.

His face was tear-soaked when he tackled her onto her back. She struck her funny bone on the side of the barrel, but Morning Rain’s laughter was genuine.

“Thank you,” he hiccupped, and snorted noisily into the hem of his cloak before continuing. “I promise I’ll be a better brother.”

“That’s not what I said,” Scootaloo replied, her serious tone undermined by involuntary bursts of giggling.

“I promise I’ll be more level-headed!” Rain corrected. “I’ll be responsible! I’ll think stuff through!”

“We’ll see,” she said, rubbing the back of his neck with her uninjured front leg. “Come on then, I don’t think I’ve ever had cherries this good.”

They ate and drank from opposite sides of the barrel; the waterline dropped six inches by the time they were finished, and the remaining fruits floated in a murky red slurry. Juice dripped from their manes and muzzles as they stumbled over to a patch of relatively clean ground near the big wheel. The poor pony who had to open in the morning would find the warehouse floor resembling a bloody crime scene.

With cloaks tangled together and their hoods pulled up, they stayed comfortably warm through their deep, dreamless slumber.

Chapter 14

Chapter 14

They both had a slight limp as they walked the squelching ground, with a hard-learned lesson in botany fresh in their heads: cherry pits are completely indigestible.

Though there was no sign of bat ponies that morning, neither of them spoke until the sun was high overhead and Dodge Junction sunk under the yellow horizon.

Scootaloo was the one who broke the silence, rolling onto her back without warning and clutching her ribs as she laughed heartily.

“The… The look on your face! That… that’s rich! If I had a camera!”

“Hey, it really hurt!” the colt protested, flushing all the way down his neck.

“Ugh, don’t remind me.” Scootaloo was still trembling as she got back onto her feet. “You know, I don’t mind your terrible planning anymore. That wasn’t in your plan, was it?”

In the end they laughed together; a testament to the sincerity of their promises.

The desert didn’t end abruptly. Late in the morning tufts of wilted yellow grass dotted the flat, stony ground. These were dusty and full of ancient fungal spores, tasting even worse than pemmican. Later still the first sign of green appeared beside the river, and thin patches of grass quickly gave way to lush lawns of reeds.

The ponies stayed just close enough to the river that their canteen was seldom used. For lunch they went among the towering cattails of the muddy bank and dug up a feast of starchy white roots. This they ate whilst sitting in six inches of warm water turned murky by their digging, with broad green blades tickling their backs. Scootaloo thought she could stay all day in the riverbank’s gentle embrace, watching the mesmerizing patterns of long leaves blowing in the wind and listening to their enthusiastic yet gentle applause. Her bland, filling meal soothed her stomach and made her a little sleepy, and the sun was so bright that for a time thoughts of bat ponies and shadow magic seemed like quaint notions out of a storybook.

Scootaloo didn’t know how long she sat in the shallows beside her brother, but the sun was still high when she cast her cloak onto the shore and peeled off her boots (which had become perfectly moulded to her hooves). The air tickled her legs, and her vibrant orange coat had become a light brown shell of sweat and dust.

But that was about to change.

The river bottom dropped away steeply past the rushes. Scootaloo filled her lungs and plunged under the slow-moving surface. The tannins-tinted water, warm from its long journey through the sunny desert, smelled and tasted like sweet earth. There was nary an inch of exposed sand on its brilliantly-illuminated bottom; the water plants grew like a shag carpet, waving in the current as cattails in wind.

She swam against the gentle flow, her head rarely breaching the surface. She chased schools of glittering blue fish through the underwater jungle and blew bubbles from the river bottom. In those three metres of vertical space she was free to fly. She tucked her legs in beneath her and let her body undulate with the current, her wings beating slowly, gracefully to propel her forwards.

Morning Rain removed his bandages. His stitches were still quite noticeable, and he could only wade in shoulder-deep. The few time Scootaloo looked over, he was always staring enviously. She really felt sorry for him, and thus returned to shore sooner than she would have liked.

The children sat under the hot afternoon sun, not even bothering to shake themselves dry. Rain’s wings hung at an unnatural angle, and refused to fold completely. He would need to see a specialist, and those were hard to find outside of Canterlot and Cloudsdale. Until then, he was grounded.

Welcome to my world.

They talked in hushed voices and high spirits, Scootaloo cradling the tomahawk in her lap. It was a rather unassuming tool, considering Little Strongheart’s opinion of its value. Its steel head was about half the width of a typical hatchet’s, and the only unusual feature was the dagger point of its rear. The handle was made of a straight core of pale, light wood with tightly-wound grass forming a glossy cross-hatch pattern. The axe was much easier to wield than the broad scythe blade, but Scootaloo knew that it would do her little good in a fight.

“So Princess Luna told you that something was wrong in Appleloosa?” Rain asked after his lively retelling of last Hearth’s Warming Eve in Canterlot.

“Yeah,” Scootaloo yawned. “She interrupted my welcome home party. I didn’t even get to try the cake!”

He giggled at that, and got a hard bump on the shoulder for it.

“What did she tell you?”

“I don’t remember much,” she replied, her brows furrowing as she dug through her many memories from the past two weeks. “She mentioned something about a griffin coming from Canterlot…”

“Starry Night?”

Scootaloo struggled to focus with her groggy, half-lidded eyes. Morning Rain had the strangest expression on his face, simultaneously scared and curious and thoroughly amused.

“Yeah,” she said slowly. “Yeah, that was his name. Do you know him?”

The colt rolled over, convulsing on the leafy cushion with trembling wings and mouth stretched wide open. Scootaloo jumped to her feet and was ready to restrain him until the first choked laugh escaped his throat. He clutched his sides, doubled over in pain as he guffawed like a madpony.

“I… Oh…” He gasped as he rolled onto his belly with great difficulty. “Oh… Sc… Scootaloo, you wouldn’t believe if I told you. You’ll… You’ll kill me if I do! I’ll put all my bits on it!”

“I’ll kill you if you don’t,” she grumped, concern turning to annoyance as her brother sat up again with a smile to rival Pinkie Pie’s.

“Remember all that stuff I brought from Canterlot?” He said. “Well, most of it was Starry Night’s stuff. He works at the orphanage; that night I left, he was packed to go hunting. I just threw my boots and a bag of oats on top and got on the train with his bag! I meant to return it, you know; I don’t like jerky, I just wanted to borrow his map and tools mostly. I didn’t expect to lose everything in Ghastly Gorge. That stuff costs a fortune, Scootaloo, and most of it you can’t even get in Canterlot. That water skin was brought from across the ocean for sure, and he says that he has to go to Talon for rabbit jerky. Starry Night will be so mad if he finds out that all his gear’s gone. He’ll probably skin me to make another water skin!”

“And you’d deserve it,” Scootaloo said when he finished.

“I do!” He cackled, and then they were both laughing.

They stomped their bed of leaves into the soft mud and each took a long drink before getting dressed reluctantly. The cloak and boots, still reeking of sweat and smoke, felt especially restrictive against soft, clean coats. Scootaloo couldn’t get her ears to tuck comfortably under her hood, and constantly rustled her wings for the first few kilometres. She even considered tearing holes in her cloak, but knew that she would regret it in a few hours.

The waterway broadened even more, fed by deep, overgrown gullies. When Scootloo next looked down, the lifeless sand and clay of the desert had turned into rich black loam full of moss and liverworts and sheets of glossy round leaves that hugged the ground. The sun was high and hot when the southern floodplain of the Pacer River crept beneath them like a quiet tatzlwurm. Not a single patch of bare earth could be seen; vegetation grew on islands and over water, and rose out of water, and floated on the water so that from a distance there seemed to be no water at all.

Scootaloo led the way along the last bit of dry ground, and quickly realized the truth about maps. The river was not a discrete highway where water traveled uninterrupted from the northern glaciers southeast to Horseshoe Bay. Even in the rocky north the Pacer branched into a thousand life-sustaining waterways, so that a barge journeying on the “Pacer River” through the cliffs of Foal Mountain would pass a major confluence many times a day until the waterway became so wide that a sharp-eyed pegasus in her prime would be hard-pressed to pick out the far shore.

All the water east of the Everfree drained into the expanse called Hayseed Swamp, though calling the whole area a swamp was no more accurate than calling Ponyville a suburb of Canterlot. True, the ground was never dry, but the water was constantly flowing in most places, and treeless expanses many kilometres wide were not uncommon. Mighty willows rose from the water like battalions of giants, so that reeds tall enough to conceal Princess Celestia to the tip of her horn looked like well-trimmed lawns by comparison.

The children made bundles with their cloaks to carry their boots. Despite her best efforts Scootaloo quickly lost the shore. An ankle-deep crossing to an “island” had them trudging up to their knees for the next hour, pushing through dense water plants below and above the surface. Frustrating though it was, neither of them could resist taking a bite of the plants around them. Most were tender and pleasantly sweet, and with so much fresh water all around the occasional mouthful of spicy leaves made for an exciting surprise.

“So they’re not allowed to hire you as a gargoyle anymore?” Scootaloo asked through a mouthful of water hyacinth.

“Gari stopped it after Silver Flute broke her wing on the fire station,” Rain explained. “I guess it wasn’t a great job anyways.”

“You were a gargoyle for the East Clock Tower,” She recalled.

The gargoyle was an occupation unique to the orphans of Canterlot. Preschool-age pegasi were especially favoured, since most were used to heights and took great pleasure in chasing pigeons off bell towers and neatly-shingled roofs. Morning Rain’s big wings made him especially suited for the job, and he used to make extra bits selling pigeon eggs to the city’s many painters at one bit for a dozen.

“I didn’t like it,” he explained. “You wouldn’t know this, but gargoyles are supposed to put down hatchlings if we found them with the nest.”

“I know,” Scootaloo grumped. That she never got to perch on the Eternal Summer Theatre’s ancient brick steeple still bothered her.

“Usually it’s not a problem,” he continued, answering her complaint with a sheepish glance. “Pigeons lay a lot of blank eggs. But a little while after you left, I found a nest with chicks. There were three of them, and they were just so tiny; they all fit on my hoof.”

“That doesn’t mean they’re tiny,” Scootaloo quipped. “You can fit three turkeys on one of your hooves.”

“Hey!” Rain exclaimed with mock pain.

“Couldn’t resist,” she giggled.

“Anyways, I just couldn’t kill them, so I hid them in my egg basket at the end of the day and brought them home. I didn’t have a new roommate, so raising them was easy. I kept them in my snowsuit so nopony could hear them.”

“Those were really nice snowsuits!” Scootaloo interrupted. “You wasted yours on three flying rats?”

“Come on,” he whined. “You know I’m a sucker for cute things.”

“Why didn’t you just tell Gari?” She pointed out. “Didn’t Shade Weaver have a bunny?”

“Well, I was a little embarrassed,” admitted the colt. “You’re right, pigeons really don’t do much of anything, and these ones turned out to all be grey. I thought I was done with them after they learned to fly, but then they started following me around. It was like those cartoons with little birds flying around the bad guy’s head after he gets hit with a brick.”

They both got a laugh out of that mental image. Scootaloo lowered her head and nearly snorted up water.

“Anyways, Mortar caught on real quick and got himself an owl to deal with the birds, and for a while I had three carrier pigeons. A few weeks later Silver Flute got her wing caught in a crack on the fire station tower, and Gari told all of us to stop doing it. I was one of the last gargoyles in Canterlot; isn’t that a nice title?”

“That’s nothing,” retorted the filly. “I was the last chimney sweeper in Canterlot, and I was a courier.”

Among the children of Canterlot Orphanage there was a long-standing tradition of comparing to see who had the worst job. The contest between ground couriers and gargoyles had been raging for years, and could set even the best of friends at each other’s throat in a sentence or two.

“That doesn’t count!” Rain argued. “You weren’t allowed to sweep chimneys in the first place!”

“It pays real well, and it’s way worse than anything you’ve ever done,” she said triumphantly. “If you want to talk about tough work, I’ll always win. Have you ever hauled a baby grand piano across Canterlot with a rusty metal scooter? I didn’t think so.”

“Have you ever scrubbed ten years’ worth of pigeon poo off of a twenty storey ledge?” He shot back, the good-natured playfulness gone from his voice.

“Have you ever run over your own wings?”

Scootaloo braced herself as she spoke, and managed to keep her head above water.

“That’s not funny!” Rain cried as he wrestled on her neck.

The water became murky as the two fought. Shredded stems floated to the surface, tickling their faces and legs. All their gear was thoroughly soaked, yet still they waged battle in a war which preceded their siblinghood.

They were interrupted by a thunderous splash. Looking across the overgrown floodplain, Scootaloo saw a big grey log spring from the depths with a blast of glistening white foam. It sailed through the air with one end skimming the surface, straight towards an earth pony walking on water.

“Oy! Sto’ it ye big scaly toad!”

The children ran for cover in the rushes. When Scootaloo looked again, the log rested clear above the water line with the end facing the pony split like a giant slingshot.

“Git back t’ yer hogs ‘n cows, ya hear?” Bellowed the bargepony. Scootaloo now saw that he was standing on a broad blue platform, which heaved wildly as he began beating his newly-acquired cargo with a broad paddle.

Deep, sibilant growling filled the air. The log twisted and snapped at the onslaught, its great weight tipping the stern end of the barge with canvas deckhouse clear off the water. The bargepony swayed a little before dropping down on all four, never skipping a beat in his enthusiastic cussing.

Scootaloo felt sick as she realized what she was witnessing. The water around her knees might as well have been a bottomless ocean, and she took a step back hoping to get higher.

The barge was doing a nose-stand when the crocodile closed its mouth at last and flopped overboard beneath the floating plants. It was seen off with one last enthusiastic whack with the paddle, but the dropping of the boat back to horizontal finally threw the pony off his feet. He was standing again before his craft could stop swaying, still mumbling vile curses under his breath that made the children blush.

“Buck off, ye scaly brainless bag o’ teeth! Zit ‘ere’s no fodder fer the likes ‘a yee!”

Having had the last word, he ceremoniously dusted off his dark blue coat and reared up with a long pole gripped in his front legs. He pushed with long, smooth strokes, three of these being enough to reach a decent speed. Hyacinth and lily pads piled up under the low bow and rolled onto the deck, the bargepony pushing his craft like a wind-up toy.

Scootaloo looked to her left and saw Morning Rain shivering like the last leaf of autumn, his pupils reduced to pinpricks on eyes that threatened to bug out of his head. A few minutes ago she might have laughed, but now she just backed further into the marginal vegetation, hopefully into shallower water.

The two stood in silence among the towering rushes. Wading east was no longer an option in their minds. Scootaloo continued away from the place where they spotted the barge, but the water deepened again. There was no shore.

“We can’t go in there,” she said as they stood at the northern edge of the tract.

“What can we do?” Rain whimpered. “There’s no road here! There’s not even dry land!”

“We’ll need a ride,” she replied, squinting at the horizon. “That boat has to land somewhere. I’ll bet there’s dry ground within a day’s walk of here.”

“What about the crocodile?” He asked.

“There’s probably more than one,” she said, and did her best to copy the keen grin that Rainbow Dash wore so well. “We’ll just have to outrun them. Now come on, we have a boat to catch.”

Scootaloo trotted along awkwardly, trying to keep her hooves beneath the surface. The water dampened her steps, but she had no idea how crocodiles hunt. Her head turned at every movement in the water, and a leaping fish nearly made her scream.

They found out quickly that to follow the barge would involve lots of swimming. For the first stretch—a relatively open channel between the rushes and a grove of moss-covered willows—Scootaloo moved quickly by pushing off the ground with the very tips of her hooves. The water did not become shallower at the base of the trees, however; Scootaloo lost the ground completely and had to cling to a slick trunk to catch her breath. Morning Rain, who had never been an especially strong swimmer, huffed and sputtered behind her with his face barely above the surface. His back was completely submerged.

What time they lost in swimming was made up in shallower tracts. Emerging from a long tract of tall red reeds, Scootaloo saw the tail end of a neon green barge glide beyond a patch of trees.

Climbing into the broad branches of a willow, the children were rewarded with a breathtaking view. Open water, shallow and clear, glistened under the afternoon sun. Trees encircled much of the perimeter, completing the illusion of a small lake with shores.

Scootaloo could see three barges, two blue and one green. From the higher vantage point she could see that the boats were quite big; the decks were broad rectangles, each one twice as long as the Apples’ biggest traveling wagon and about half that wide. The deckhouses were made of tight, multicolour canvas, and these added another wagon-length still.

“Whet ya be haulin’ t’day, Maestro?” Sang the pony who was recently attacked.

“No gud kitch, Ca’tin,” replied the massive earth pony in the green barge, who with his faded brown vest looked to be Ponyville’s Bulk Bicep in disguise. “Jist skinny perch ‘n pathitic lil’ picker’l, t’s kitch o’ the day. Git ‘m down ta’ Warmblue’d, awl do! Mik Warmblue’d ‘fore dinner, ‘n awl et well t’night. Hard dem Griffins come early wit no meat o’ thar un. Thall et awny’n, n’ pay li’ kings ‘n queens, awl till ya!”

“Good un ya, Maestro!” Exclaimed the first bargepony. “Any’n frum yer pith, Matter? Nev’ understud why yid nev’ fish. ‘em griffins pay fer passage, aye, ‘cept by yer fare yid break yer back a’fore ye eat!”

“Now if that were true, I would not be here talking to you, would I?”

Scootaloo was taken aback by the third bargepony’s refined accent, and instantly took a disliking to him. He sounded like a self-important aristocrat, the kind that used to tip her the bare minimum for a cross-city rush delivery. His neatly-clipped mane and the shoulder-high socks on his front legs fueled the impression that here was a stallion who could fill his days with a hundred garden parties and his nights with the finest champagne if he so wished.

“Bah!” Snorted the pony in the green barge. “Yid chew reeds fer a livin’ ‘n till ‘s yer pleasure! Dun bick’r nun wit Mas-ter, Ca’tin. Less ya come lik the Doc!”

This last comment greatly agitated the fair-spoken one. He heaved his long pole out of the water, letting his barge drift as he jabbed at the giant.

“I’ll have you know, I had nothing to do with what happened to Doctor!” His voice rose angrily as his companions cackled. “He was an idiot, just like the two of you! And I hope his craziness catches on! I’d gladly see you paddle up the Pacer after him; there’s room for the both of you in Dodge Junction!”

“Peace! Peace!” The first one cried, his laughter dying abruptly in his throat. “’S no need fer that talk, Matter, ‘less ye want us gone that way.”

He sighed at this and lowered his pole. “I’m sorry, Captain. I didn’t really mean all that.”

“Aye,” replied his companion. “Yid bet’ not. Yer mouth dun serve ye, ‘nit’s pity. Naow, ‘less ye need sutt’n from me awl be gun up ta’ Spurton ‘n ze wife.”

“You’re still in Spurton?” The aristocrat said incredulously. “Don’t you think that’s just a bit too close to Percheron Landing?”

Morning Rain let out a little yelp at the mention of Percheron Landing, and Scootaloo felt a chill pass through her despite the sweet muggy air. Little known in the north outside of military circles, the town was supposedly the gathering place of the most dangerous pirates on the east coast. It was the EUP’s greatest challenge, and a black hole for the children of Canterlot Orphanage where mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters went to never return.

“Nae,” the one called “Captain” chuckled. “Thar good folks in Spurton, ‘n rich un’s in Perch’ron. I take it you’ve nev’ been to Perch’ron?”

“I haven’t,” he said indignantly. “And I don’t plan to.”

“Yer loss, Matter,” the other said.

The meeting adjourned after that, each bargepony pushing in his own direction. “Captain” returned upstream, perhaps for a rematch with the scaly beast. The muscular one guided his craft alongside the pony in socks. Unbeknownst to them, two children quietly dropped into the water and frantically swam in pursuit of their swift boats.

For the time Scootaloo knew which boats to follow. No way were they going anywhere near Percheron Landing.

The current picked up as the clearing became narrow. One hundred and fifty metres from the tree where they had rested, the blue barge veered off towards a low wharf of dark wood protruding from a field of reeds. The hull bumped into a wrapped pile, the crunch of dead brittle leaves sending a flock of cowbirds careening noisily skywards.

They entered the reeds as soon as they could, not eager to be spotted just yet. The relief Scootaloo felt when her hooves touched bottom was indescribable. But the leaves around them were long and stiff, so that every little movement sparked a cascade of rustling that rang through the entire field.

“Ow!”

Morning Rain fell with a loud splash. Scootaloo turned around, but a reed wall separated her from her brother.

“Oy! Who goes there?” The bargepony sounded more amused than concerned, and Scootaloo heard his paddle whistle through the air a second time to strike the hapless colt. “Come on out, all of you! Unless you’re a crocodile. Stay there if you’re a crocodile.”

“Stop it!” Cried Rain, deflecting a third powerful strike. “I’m not a crocodile!”

Scootaloo followed the voices for half a dozen steps and emerged into a clearing on the muddy bank. Her brother lie with teary eyes squeezed shut on a sheet of felled reeds, clutching his head and chewing his lip. The barge pony stood on one of many uneven wooden pallets that formed a dry pathway to the dock, his cracked wooden paddle slung over his shoulder with a domineering air.

“Oh, there’s two of you,” he sneered, showing a mouthful of straight yellowing teeth. “And what’s your name, little girl?”

His muzzle was small; effeminate, even, though Scootaloo would never say so. His light grey coat was oddly clean for a pony who spent his days pushing a boat, and his silver mane looked to be recently-combed. The socks on his forelegs were made of heavy brown cloth; more like long boots than socks. The considerable wear at his wrist justified his using them, though the fact remained that his confreres took no such precautions.

“Well?” He prompted. “Cat got your tongue? Frog in your throat? Should I knock it out for you?”

“She’s Scootaloo!” Rain blurted out. “My name is Morning Rain! We’re from Canterlot Orphanage!”

“Orphans, then?” He said, idly hefting his weapon. “Well, what’s your business here? If you’re begging for bits you’ve come a long way to do it.”

“We are Children of the Night,” the colt explained, indignation warring with pain in his voice. “We don’t beg, sir, but we do need passage.”

“Do you need it today?”

“As soon as we can have it,” he said. “We lost our bits a while back…”

The stallion’s face turned dour at that.

“So you’re saying that you don’t beg,” he said in his smooth, overbearing voice that made Scootaloo want to buck his legs out from beneath him. “But you want me to give you free passage. I don’t see why you can’t just swim. I heard pegasi float pretty well.”

“You didn’t understand,” Rain continued. How he was staying so calm Scootaloo did not know. “We lost our bits, but we will gladly work for you. I am a candle maker,” here he shifted slightly to show the mark on his flank, “and my sister is the fastest pony in Canterlot on land and in water. We’ve worked a hundred jobs between the two of us. Do you have clothes that need repair? Messages that need delivering? Shall we cook for you?...”

The bargepony was shaking his head vigorously long before Rain could finish.

“You’ve got nothing I want! If I needed somepony to mend my clothes or make my food, I wouldn’t be out here on my own now would I? And candles! Don’t get me started on candles! Commodore down in Bareback had candles on his lighter, and lost his boat for it. I don’t need your stinking candles!”

“We can row for you,” Scootaloo pitched in, her patience stretched like an overfilled balloon.

He stopped talking at that and stared at her, sizing her up. And then he laughed.

“You? Row? Do you need a good whack in the noggin, or have you had too many? My barge is two tonnes empty. No, you won’t move it much if there were ten of you.”

“We need to get to Horseshoe Bay!” Morning Rain insisted. “There has to be a way!”

“Like I said, swim.” He brandished his paddle, making the poor colt tuck in his head. “You’ll not find any barge to take you for what you have. But my fare is the lowest you’ll find, and ten bits isn’t hard to earn. How about this: I’ll be back in a week, and if you can get ten bits by then I’ll take you. I’ll take you all the way to Saddletowne, if that’s where you’re headed.”

“We can’t wait for a week!” Rain implored. “Let’s talk about this, okay? Here, I have this nice sword…”

He began fumbling with the brass clasp of his sling. The barge pony frowned and slowly raised the paddle high over his head as if he would strike him again.

“Master! What’s going on here?”

All turned at the deep, authoritative voice.

The griffin’s pure white face was almost too bright to look at, like a torch inside his brown hood. His massive bird’s head was propped atop a bird’s neck, and his scaly yellow claws were those of a bird also. Another head, even bigger than his, with foot-long fangs in its mouth and framed by a fiery red mane, peered unblinking over his shoulder.

Beside the one who had spoken first was another griffin of similar size, with gentler features and a red-streaked tuft of down protruding from her own hood. This one had a black longbow slung over her shoulder and supported the right half of the blankly-staring monster.

With these two to wonder at plus their terrible cargo, Scootaloo almost didn’t notice the two kids skipping along the wooden path at the front of the procession. They were about the same size as Morning Rain, with huge wings of their own. One of them had black bat wings; a very odd thing to find on a griffin, but then Scootaloo hadn’t seen that many griffins in her life. Otherwise they looked like identical twins, one wearing a green hood while the other wore khaki. They were bound straight for the ponies, their smiling beaks eagerly parted.

Scootaloo was so awestruck at the griffins and their game that she failed to notice Morning Rain faint.

Author's Note

I hope you're enjoying this as much as I am. I'm enjoying this a lot.

Chapter 15

Chapter 15

“Papa, asa coon seve kani?”

As they got closer, Scootaloo saw that the girl with feathered wings had a slight limp. Her rear left foot—the broad foot of a lion cub—was bandaged.

“Don’t talk like that, Sweetie,” the big male griffin said. The two adults, burdened with the lifeless manticore, fell far behind the children.

“He dead?” Asked the one with bat wings, who reached the ponies first. She lowered herself against the boardwalk and poked Morning Rain’s ear with a single worn talon.

Now that she had a clear look at the young griffins, Scootaloo felt like she might faint too. The unconscious colt’s current tormentor wore a necklace of brightly-coloured pheasants, each bird hanging by its broken neck on a tiny noose. A male in mating plumage made for a gruesome pendant. His red-striped tail feathers trailed against the ground even when the griffin stood at full height. The other twin had two brown hares draped across her neck, their limp corpses hanging like shoulder pads.

“I see your hunt has been fruitful,” the stallion commented, casually driving the head of his paddle into the soft mud.

“I catch all this!” The bat-winged one squealed, immediately abandoning the still-unconscious boy to wave her necklace proudly over her head.

“Oh, I see,” he replied with a smile. “And what about you, Gina? I didn’t even know you could catch rabbits this time of year.”

“Snares, Master,” the other girl grumped. “No shoot. Waste time fletch arrows. Grace shoot better.”

“Master” threw his head up and laughed a shrill, shuddering laugh.

“You girls are just learning Equestria Standard,” he said. “I’ll forgive you for that, but you have to remember to use pronouns and proper tenses. It’s not like that griffin squabble you’re used to.”

If they were offended the children didn’t show it. Grace went back to prodding the unresponsive colt, flicking his limp ears now. Unfortunately for her the adults had finally caught up, and the male was none too gentle in throwing her aside with one powerful swipe of his claws.

“Don’t do that,” he growled before turning his attention to the stallion. “And I would appreciate it if my daughters didn’t learn to speak from crows. What seems to be the problem, Master?”

“Problem?” The bargepony repeated in exaggerated shock. “Well, there’s no problem at all Gregor. I found these two in the reeds just now, and I was just explaining to them that I can’t take them to the coast without proper fare.”

With a grunt the griffins heaved off their load. The monster rolled on its side, limbs as thick as a pony’s waist flopping like bags of grain.

“Did you need a paddle to tell them?” He demanded between sips from a weathered water skin.

“They’re orphans, Gregor,” the pony said as if that was answer enough. “They’re armed too, as you can clearly see. And the boy seems really eager to get going. I don’t like the looks of him.”

“He’s alive,” reported the female griffin. Even Scootaloo, who harboured no ill will against griffins, cringed inwardly at the sight of her sharp, dusty talons resting on the boy’s face. “He’s going to have quite a headache when he wakes up, poor kid.”

Gregor’s golden eyes scanned the scene and came to rest on Scootaloo. They were the eyes of a hunter, and awakened in her a primeval fear that compelled the girl to lower her head and lock her knees.

“Where are you from?” He asked in a softer tone.

“I’m from Ponyville,” she replied, realizing her mistake too late.

“Hah!” Exclaimed the stallion. “What did I tell you, Gregor? He said they were from Canterlot!”

“We were!” Scootaloo cried, her gaze shifting between the pony and the griffin. All she could think about was how his talons looked like little black knives. “We both lived in Canterlot Orphanage, but I don’t live there anymore! We were traveling on foot! We ran into some trouble and lost all our bits! We just want to cross Hayseed Swamp…”

“And I’m being very reasonable for charging such a modest fare,” the bargepony said, more to Gregor than Scootaloo. “You’ll not find a better rate, but even The Master needs to live.”

Gregor nodded and twisted around to reach beneath his left wing. Scootaloo had a hoof on the handle of her tomahawk before she realized what she was doing.

The griffin took out a small yellow satchel closed with drawstrings.

“I think sixty bits will cover it from here to the Jackdaw?”

“Seventy,” the pony harrumphed. “I’m telling you, these two are nothing but trouble. You just wait and see.”

“Seventy it is,” Gregor agreed, and began counting out little gold coins on his leather-gloved palm.

The female griffin gently picked up Morning Rain in one arm and began walking for the dock with the girls skipping along beside her. She stopped after a few steps and looked back at Scootaloo, and the latter followed without a word.

“Just stay in one place and don’t touch anything!” The bargepony called after her.

The wharf creaked under her hooves. The twins picked up on Scootaloo’s discomfort, and started hopping on the spot causing the boards to heave wildly.

“Stop it,” the big griffin hissed.

They obeyed instantly, and exchanged sheepish looks before vaulting the foot of water between the dock and the barge. Scootaloo prodded the flat wooden deck with one hoof, and quickly withdrew it when the barge drifted lazily away.

“Come on,” urged the big griffin while the twins giggled on the deck behind her. “Step over quickly, or just jump. You won’t fall in.”

Scootaloo leapt with a running start. The deck seemed solid at first, but slowly responded to the new passenger by rolling to the side. She began to fall backwards, her wings beating frantically in a vain effort to regain her balance.

The griffin caught her with a scaly claw and held her firmly to the deck until the rocking subsided.

“That wasn’t bad,” she said with a most disconcerting smile, the corners of her mouth turning upwards to reveal bright white molars behind her parted, toothless beak. “My name is Galina, by the way. Who are you?”

“Scootaloo,” replied the girl.

Morning Rain lie just inside the deckhouse with a wet rag on his forehead. The twins had arranged all his gear in a row along the port side of the deck, and the contents of his pack was enough to distract them from him.

“Tikana asi set,” Galina snapped. “Goon set papa manticore.”

That seemed to mean something to them. The twins began undoing clasps and clips, conjuring gear out of nowhere; in the end their pile of pockets and belts and leather quivers (two each) was about all that could fit in a large saddlebag. The one with bat wings still wore two broad black straps across her chest, though she had nothing on her big enough to justify them.

“Stand over here,” Galina said to Scootaloo when the twins were out of earshot. “My husband’s bringing the manticore.”

With Gregor and “Master” walking shoulder-to-shoulder under its massive torso and the girls each supporting one of its broad forepaws the manticore was loaded without incident. The barge dropped three inches from the added weight; one more straw would surely sink it.

“That’s a good catch,” the bargepony breathed as he examined the monster, taking especially long to admire its pearly white fangs. “I didn’t think they could get this big.”

“This is the biggest I’ve seen,” Gregor chuckled. “He put up a good fight; Gina got banged up pretty bad, but you got him in the end, didn’t you?”

In reply Gina unsheathed a short dagger from her forearm and proudly raised its corroded black blade for all to see.

The bargepony whistled. “It’s a real family effort, then. Can you spare me some venom? Just a vial, or whatever you care to give. There’s a doctor in Warmblood who wants some.”

“You should have thought of that before taking my money,” chided Gregor. Seeing the pony’s ears flattened dejectedly, he added, “I’ll think on it. You won’t be needing it for a few days, am I right?”

Apparently satisfied with this answer, the stallion adjusted his socks and turned towards the bow to fiddle with the mooring lines.

“Wait!” Grace suddenly exclaimed just as the last rope was hauled in. “Where Cabbage?”

“Cabbage!” Gina hollered towards the boardwalk, her claws cupped around her beak. “Tikana! Asa li!”

In Scootaloo’s peripheral vision the manticore twitched. Everyone onboard jumped to face the carcass, the bargepony going so far as to raise his paddle over his head.

So long was the monster’s red mane that only a bulbous green-and-yellow head could be seen poking out of the fluff, and Scootaloo had to concede that “Cabbage” was aptly named. The bird, about as big as a large chicken or small turkey, hopped down in a flurry of feathers and sand. Its wings, colourful and well-preened and broad though they were, could not bear its tremendous weight. Landing with a thud, it galloped clumsily towards Grace, its head bobbing wildly.

“Keep an eye on that thing!” Master growled, putting down his paddle and resuming his pole. “Exotic chickens. Honestly!”

“Cabbage not a chicken,” Grace laughed, scratching the bird’s stubby neck. “He is a kakapo!”

Cabbage nudged the griffin affectionately, until Gina joined in. Then he opened his beady black eyes and reached for her claw with his perpetually-smiling beak.

“The Master has a point,” Gregor said, lying down beside his daughters. “Remember what happened last time you brought him to school? Just keep an eye on him. Your mother and I are going to move all this meat out of the sun. You two can start cleaning if you want.”

As soon as Gregor turned his head, Grace stuck out her pointed black tongue and grimaced in disgust.

The barge had moved quite a ways by this point, once again pushing across overgrown waters. The two adults struggling with the manticore made the barge heave again, and Scootaloo waited until they finished stuffing the carcass into the deckhouse before checking on her brother. The twins followed her, the big green parrot standing tall and proud like a morbidly obese falcon on Grace’s back.

The deckhouse turned out to be quite spacious. The manticore took up the rear half of the room, looking lifelike with its paws folded beneath its chin, a crown of pheasants and hares upon its head.

Morning Rain lie with his eyes closed. Wet cloth could not hide the two big lumps on his head, and his injured back was stretched out for all to see.

Gregor and Galina were busy tending to the boy, brushing twigs out of his coat and examining his chipped hooves. They made room for the girls when they entered. Between the adults and the gawkers Morning Rain was completely surrounded.

It was then that he decided to wake up.

Wall-eyed at first, Rain grew two shades paler as the scene before him came into focus. The twins had leaned in to within an inch of his face, Scootaloo was not far behind them, and Cabbage was sitting on Grace’s neck with his head resting atop hers.

“Ow!”

In the blink of an eye he was sitting up, and the griffin kids were lying on their backs holding their beaks. Cabbage squawked noisily, his legs flailing at the sky as he spun helplessly on his back. The adults retreated also, leaving Scootaloo to deal with the screaming boy who was stretching the canvas covering of the deckhouse to its limit.

“What’s going on in there?” Cried the bargepony from the deck.

“Rain,” Scootaloo said, grabbing her brother by the shoulders and pulling him away from the wall lest he tore through it. “Rain, come with me. Come outside.”

That was easier said than done. His legs shifted constantly between resisting and fleeing, and he was always craning his head towards the griffins.

“Sorry,” Scootaloo mumbled as they passed the shadow of the roof.

She walked him past “Master” all the way to the bow. There she sat down and bade her brother to do the same.

“Scootaloo,” Rain hissed when he at last calmed down. “What’s going on? Where are we?”

“This is the barge,” she replied. “We’re crossing Hayseed Swamp.”

“With them?” He gasped. “Are you crazy?”

“Rain, what’s gotten into you?” Scootaloo looked into his eyes. The left one moved with a slight delay.

“What’s gotten into me?” He spat. “They’re griffins! We’re stuck on a boat with griffins!”

“You said the bat ponies are the problem, not griffins.”

“Bat ponies are the bigger problem!” Rain managed to get out before he clutched his head and fell flat on the deck. “Ow, ow, ow…”

“They seem pretty nice,” she reasoned. “You should be grateful; you’d still be getting your head bashed in if it weren’t for them.”

Rain shot her a venomous glare between waves of crippling pain. His wings beat against the wooden deck. Scootaloo could do nothing but watch and pull him back by the tail when he got too close to the edge.

“I didn’t hit him that hard,” the Master said. Scootaloo didn’t even acknowledge him.

“We should leave,” Rain said through his teeth. “Catch another boat. I don’t care how long it takes. Let’s go.”

“We’re not going back,” she declared firmly. “Rain, nothing’s going to happen to us. Trust me.”

He didn’t say anything after that, but continued to grind his head into the deck. About half an hour later Galina came to relieve her watch, and Scootaloo returned to the shade of the deckhouse where Gregor was preparing dinner with his daughters.

“Are you okay?” Scootaloo asked of Gina.

“I am not hurt,” she replied.

Gregor had erected a tiny metal tripod at the entrance to the deckhouse. A length of tubing connected it to a metal jar that had once been red.

“Stand back,” he warned, seeing Scootaloo approaching from port.

Sparks showered down on the metal frame from the edge of his knife, followed a moment later by a flash of red and a soft pop.

“Griffins,” the bargepony mumbled without turning.

“Don’t complain, Master,” Gregor said good-naturedly. “Even you appreciate a good hot meal.”

“I appreciate an intact boat,” he retorted. “Oy! Don’t do that! Do you want to lose a hand?”

Grace scampered back from the edge, still holding the dented and blackened pot at arm’s length.

“Use a pole,” he ordered gruffly. “I keep enough for all of you! Don’t be like the Admiral’s son; bent down for a drink, had no head when he was through!”

“Do as he says, sweetie,” Gregor said.

Scootaloo watched the griffins from a safe distance. Grace filled the pot using a long bamboo pole with a porcelain mug tied to one end. Shriveled nuggets of carrots and greens floated in the slightly brown-tinted water, looking wholly unappetizing at first. After a few minutes on the tiny stove, the soup started to take shape. Scootaloo helped Gina grind hardtack in a sack, her hooves being well-suited for the task.

“Go fetch your mother,” Gregor instructed Gina when the viscous content of the pot was blowing big bubbles of aromatic steam.

Scootaloo saw a chance to slip away, but Gregor tapped her on the shoulder.

“Aren’t you going to eat?”

“There’s lots to eat out there,” Scootaloo stammered, quickly checking the overgrown water around the barge. “I… I don’t want to be a burden to you.”

“We have enough,” he said. “You’re looking kind of thin, you and your brother both. Have some soup, okay?”

Galina returned to the deckhouse with Morning Rain leaning listlessly on her side. Scootaloo looked at him questioningly, getting a defeated glance in return. Taking it as a sign of approval, she knelt down beside the twins and watched Gregor ladle soup into matte metal bowls.

The griffin spoke truth; the ponies had lost quite some weight since leaving the comforts of civilization. They could live off raw grass and bland leaves for a long time, but days of walking took a toll on their bodies. Scootaloo ate with gusto, the salty broth satisfying a craving she didn’t know she had. She didn’t care if it was carrots or celery or a lump of hardtack that she was tasting, and her tongue was numb from the plethora of spices when she licked the last drops from the bowl and looked longingly at the now-empty pot.

Grace poured out a small pile of nuts from a drawstring bag for Cabbage, and dinner conversation was held over a background of clicking and snapping as the parrot worked at his own meal. Morning Rain was especially intrigued by his antics, and would have let his soup go cold were it not for Galina periodically putting a spoon in his mouth.

“Master” had his bowl balanced atop one front hoof while he pushed with the other in an automatic motion. The twins told him all about their five day hunt in broken Equestrian, periodically drawing a harsh laugh or a comment from the otherwise surly stallion. After that the discussion turned to bows and arrows, and from here on Scootaloo was completely lost. The griffin girls argued about the benefits of quail versus turkey feathers, of steel or flint heads, oftentimes going off in their aggressive griffin tongue until Gregor or Galina rebuked them.

Scootaloo was beginning to feel at ease in their company until Grace climbed over the ever-present manticore and returned after much cracking and sawing with a big black ball.

“Grace, we’re not eating that just yet,” Gregor said. “We have to eat your pheasants today, before it goes bad.”

Her head drooped in disappointment, and the little griffin tossed the thing to the back of the room. Her father snatched the dead birds off the manticore’s head and began yanking them violently from the string. Feathers filled the air as he plucked them with deft fingers, slowing down only for the ornate rectrices of their tails.

Morning Rain squeezed his eyes shut and covered his nose. Scootaloo could not open her mouth. It was “Master” who broke the silence.

“Come out for some fresh air,” he suggested, obviously speaking to the ponies only. “It’s a fine night.”

Scootaloo helped her brother up, and they spent the last light of day on deck. The air had become waterlogged, and black trees loomed all around them. Deep-throated frogs sang non-stop, and big red dragonflies hurried about their final flights. The griffins laughed and spoke merrily over the sound of sizzling fat, and the rich fumes from their main course had Scootaloo’s mane standing on end until the bones were dumped overboard half an hour later.

Gregor’s white face hovered like a mask on the wall, taking on a yellow tinge from the warm light of the stove-turned-lamp.

“I think that I have a right to know what you are doing so far from home,” he said, leaning into the light. “You understand that I am only looking out for my family.”

“We’ll tell you the truth,” Rain said nervously. “Please don’t make us drink, sir. I told Gari I wouldn’t.”

“You misunderstand,” the griffin explained. “It isn’t about the alcohol. It’s all about this.”

He dispensed onto his palm a small black lozenge from a glass vial and held it out under the light. It looked like a grape-flavoured hard candy.

“This is a truth serum,” he said. “Taken in water, it doesn’t work very well. It dissolves just fine in whiskey, however.”

Scootaloo looked at her brother uncertainly, and then at the heavy veil over the entrance. Only the manticore accompanied the three in the deckhouse; even Cabbage had been ushered out to wait on deck.

“We’ll tell the truth,” she pleaded. “We have nothing to hide.”

“You’ve lied before,” Gregor pointed out. “Come on, you don’t need to drink much. I’ve paid your fare, and all I ask is to be sure that you will be honest with me for an hour. I will drink with you, so you may question me also.”

“Fine,” Scootaloo sighed at last. “What’s the harm?”

Morning Rain opened his mouth, but a disapproving glance from his sister killed the argument in his throat. It was getting late, and everyone onboard was evidently expecting them to cooperate.

Gregor dropped one lozenge into each of three glasses and unscrewed a flat silver flask. The liquor turned black upon contact, but returned to its clear and honey-brown form by the time he stopped pouring.

“Drink it quickly,” ordered the griffin as he held up his thimble of a glass.

Scootaloo wrapped her lips around the cup and tipped its contents down her throat, coughing as the drink set her mouth and throat aflame. Her brother beside her was doing likewise. The liquor left a sweet, smoky aftertaste, and warmth radiated from her stomach.

“Let us begin,” Gregor declared. “You are both children of Gari, Daughter of the Luna, yes?”

“Yes,” Scootaloo replied immediately, and heard Rain saying much the same thing.

“You both lived in Canterlot,” he said. “Scootaloo, you said that you no longer live there. Tell me about yourself. Have you been adopted?”

“No,” she said. “My dad left me in Canterlot for a year while he was an officer of the EUP Guard. We moved to Ponyville after he came back, and I have lived there ever since.” Resisting only made her words come out faster; her last sentence became an unpunctuated string of syllables, at the end of which she stuffed her hooves into her mouth.

“You’ve said nothing wrong,” Gregor said with a kind smile before turning his attention to the boy. “Your name is Morning Rain, and that is the only name you’ve ever had?”

“No sir,” he answered, his eyes widening in surprise as he continued to speak. “I was called Bucket Hooves and Mothwings when I was little. Later on they called me Barn Owl because I was learning magic with Summer Dusk. And…”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Gregor interrupted, allowing the boy to catch his breath at last. “I’ll just call you Morning Rain. And now, why have you come so far? Does Gari know about this?”

Don’t say to kill griffins. Don’t say to kill griffins. Anything but that, Rain!

“I don’t know,” Rain said after a long silence. “I… I was… I was mad at Gari for letting my brothers die.”

He sniffed loudly and wiped his eyes.

“You were there when Canterlot Orphanage was attacked?”

“Yes,” he said.

Scootaloo felt like she had fallen into an ice bath. Slowly she turned to her brother, and saw her fear mirrored in his eyes.

“How do you know about that?” He asked shakily.

“I was in Wintergreen when I got the news,” Gregor replied in an even tone. “Gari sent a telegram to every visiting griffin and sylvanocian in Equestria, telling us to return home as soon as possible. She told us what happened, though I didn’t believe her at the time.”

“When did she send it?” Rain pressed on, standing up and stretching out her wings aggressively.

“It must have been more than two weeks ago,” said the griffin without a hint of uneasiness. “I do not remember the exact day, and I don’t think I still have the transcript.”

Rain stood his ground, glaring in silence at Gregor through the shimmering veil of hot air above the hissing gas lamp.

“I’m sorry to hear what happened,” he said solemnly. “I sincerely hope that whoever did this to you will be brought to justice. Gari has seen their faces, and we will soon know their names. They will not escape, Morning Rain.”

The boy sighed and resumed his seat down beside his sister.

“A few more questions for the two of you,” Gregor coughed. “You are carrying a blade of the Midnight Guard. How did you come to possess it?”

Scootaloo was unfortunate enough to be the first to speak, and was thus compelled to deliver a lengthy retelling of everything that happened since Appleloosa with Rain filling in a few gaps. She had talked herself hoarse by the time Gregor cut her off, leaving her feeling numb and violated. Words rolled off her tongue straight out of her head. She had divulged her darkest thoughts and her weakest moments, and all before her brother and a stranger.

And a dead manticore… and two strangled hares.

“So what do you know about this ‘Midnight Guard’?” Rain demanded while Scootaloo drank greedily out of a wooden bucket offered to her by the griffin.

“The Midnight Guard are like Royal Guards for the Children of the Night,” Gregor explained. “They were originally formed out of the sylvanocian refugees who fled to the Garden of Shadow after Nightmare Moon’s banishment. Princess Luna’s guards are all drawn from among their ranks. That blade you have is definitely one of theirs; war scythes are ubiquitous among Children of the Night, but few are so elaborate.” Here he cleared his throat. “I can talk all night about the military might of the Garden of Shadow, but that would do you no good. Now, I want to know more about the two of you in particular. Scootaloo, tell me all you know about your birth father?”

“His name is Dust,” she said without wiping her muzzle. “He was a wheelwright for the EUP Guard. Before that he was a hobo.”

“And your mother?”

“She was the fairest girl in all of Canterlot,” Scootaloo blurted out, her cheeks flushing in embarrassment as she recite those dimly-remembered words of her father’s from her early childhood. “She’s the only decent girl in that dogpile they call the aristocracy. She ran away with… my dad… and for a while they lived happily on the railroad. She was strong, smart and brave… Just like… Just like her… daughter…”

She stopped as her vision grew blurry with tears. The griffin did not press her and moved on to questioning the boy.

“My father is Summer Rain,” he answered impatiently. “He was a lieutenant of the EUP Guard. I don’t know a lot about him. He died a few years ago at Percherone Landing.”

“And your mother?”

He did not answer immediately. Scootaloo looked over at him and saw the storm brewing behind his glistening green eyes before he exploded.

Never had she heard language so foul. Morning Rain screamed at the top of his lungs, and after long seconds of uneasy listening she managed to piece together something about a nameless mare from Baltimare. His hooves swept across the deck, knocking over the lamp. Fortunately Scootaloo was quick to react, dumping the remaining water in her bucket over the glistening mantle before it could set the deck alight. The sweet scent of white gas filled the room as the canister hissed and sputtered in the dark. She did not dare to move, listening to Gregor struggle with the frantic boy lashing out at everything within reach. Rain didn’t repeat a single vile phrase, and each pause was only long enough for him to draw in a long, shuddering breath.

“Stop!” Gregor Bellowed.

The boy’s words became mumbled gibberish before fading completely, like a freight train derailing at full speed. In its place rose a heartbroken sob, soon joined by another.

Author's Note

Did I make up a language just so I can write dialogue with complete disregard for grammar? Maybe. Maybe.

No update next Thursday.

Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Scootaloo wriggled beneath a broad, warm wing. She was jammed snugly between two bodies, and a substantial weight held down her head.

Suddenly a spear point fell from her fluffy headgear, and the pony woke with a sharp cry. She heard gurgling from above, and moments later another scaly foot scrambled for purchase on her flattened ears.

“Ow!”

The big wing folded against its owner’s side, allowing all the children beneath it to stand up. Scootaloo whipped her head back and forth, but Cabbage had very strong feet. The parrot clamped down like a vice, and beat her mercilessly with his sizable wings as he twisted around to counterbalance the rocking of his hostile steed.

“Scootaloo! Hold still!”

Another pair of claws closed around her neck. Gina held down the pony with all her strength while her sister removed the panicked bird.

“Cabbage!” She scolded, holding the parrot against her chest with his wings clamped under her claws. “You don’t scratch ponies!”

Galina lumbered to her side and took the pony in her arms.

“Just a few scratches,” she reported after a thorough examination of her scalp. “Gina, get the first aid kit.”

The griffin patched her up quickly and suggested she should go back to sleep. Scootaloo declined politely and went into the breaking dawn, making sure to fasten her axe around her waist. Its weight seemed so natural now; her stride had adjusted to its presence, so much so that she felt off-balance without it.

The Master was curled up in the middle of the deck with a rubberized tarp for a blanket. The boat’s long pole was fastened to the starboard side via a rusty bracket, and despite Scootaloo’s initial skepticism the barge did not drift during the night.

“Keep it down,” the stallion mumbled grumpily, regarding her with one bloodshot eye as she passed. “You think it’s easy, ferrying all you griffins and kids and chickens and…”

His rant devolved into meaningless mumbling as sleep claimed him once more. Scootaloo fluttered her wings irritably as she approached the bow; the morning fog was hot like steam from a kettle, and sweat did not cool her one bit. Breathing the air made her feel light-headed.

She sat down at the front edge and peered through the haze at the line of red shining through the surrounding trees. Her head was swimming with uneasy thoughts. She wished the sun would rise faster.

After the truth serum wore off, Galina had spent a good hour with the ponies in her lap trying to calm them down. Scootaloo vaguely remembered lying exhausted on a sleeping mat beneath the griffin’s wings and watching the twins get ready for bed. The last thing she saw was the Master climbing over the manticore with a loudly-hissing lantern between his teeth.

Her brother’s outburst seemed to her like a bad dream. Morning Rain had always spoken so highly of his father. There had been nights when he only talked about the countless heroic deeds of Lieutenant Summer Rain of Dredger Company. But the vile curses that rolled off his tongue could not have come from a boy who’d never met his mother. There could only be one explanation, and Scootaloo shuddered at the thought.

It can’t be! He tells me everything! He wouldn’t hide something like that!

The gradually growing light did little to ease her mind. She lay down on the deck and stretched out her wings in one last attempt to cool herself before the sun baked her dry.

Morning Rain joined her when the fog had cleared enough to see the nearest trees. They did not talk, but the way he leaned his head on her neck told her just enough. Scootaloo draped one foreleg across his shoulder and held him close despite the almost feverish heat radiation off his back. It seemed the Master had finally grown some sense. He worked around them in grim silence, speaking only to Gregor in a hushed tone.

They stayed at the water’s edge until Grace announced that breakfast was ready. Scootaloo would have declined, but both the griffin and her bird insisted. It was hard to say no to the giant parrot’s persistent tail-pulling.

The ponies walked with their heads down past the mound of equipment near the deckhouse entrance. At the very top were Grace’s disembodied bat wings. She had no real wings, only two deformed nubs sticking out of her shoulder blades. The right was larger than the left, with two tiny feathers sticking out at an odd angle. With two fewer appendages, she was noticeably smaller than her sister.

Scootaloo eagerly ate the griffins’ sweet oatmeal. Again the Master took his meal on the job, looking like a rockstar with the last of the morning fog swirling around his ankles.

Near the end of breakfast the conversation between Grace and her mother grew heated. She evidently wanted something, but Galina was reluctant to consent. At last the latter sighed in defeat, and the girl hopped once in triumph, the nubs on her back drumming excitedly against her sides.

Galina placed the black canvas wings on her daughter’s back and tightened the buckles. Grace tapped her toes restlessly for the minute it took to adjust the many straps. No sooner had Galina stepped back, Grace’s wings sprang open with a bang.

Scootaloo’s jaw dropped. The curves of the ivory frame looked organic, each digit tapering to a rounded point. The black canvas looked light as silk, contrasting beautifully with the zigzagging red hem.

“You like it?” She said to the ponies while her sister rolled her eyes.

“D… do they work?” Scootaloo asked hopefully.

Grace did not answer in words. A single powerful push got her feet off the deck, and she remained hovering just below the low ceiling with shorter strokes. Her prosthesis didn’t move quite as smoothly as real wings, but it was no doubt effective. The tremendous wind generated by her flight was little comfort for the jealous Scootaloo.

“Where can I get one?” She asked as soon as the griffin landed.

Grace’s wings came with a square leather saddle between her shoulders where a bird could perch, and that was where Cabbage stayed for most of the morning as the children played on deck. The twins taught Scootaloo and Morning Rain how to sharpen their blades, and then to haft arrows. The water pole was always close by, and even the parrot did not manage to keep his feathers dry.

The griffins had a kind of harsh soap that came in a spheres resembling an ostrich egg. After picking reeds the ponies were given a pile of laundry and half a wood barrel. They stomped on the many cloaks and hoods, the water in the barrel quickly becoming brown and developing a film of twigs, oil and dead insects.

Grace was proud of her wings, and told many stories about long flights and all the different coverings she had at home. She had been born without wings, and knew a lot about the various styles of prosthetics available to the griffins. Scootaloo was the only one who was truly interested, and her questions were eagerly answered: Yes, she could get a set for herself; Yes, she could get them in blue; No, wooden frames would not work, only whale bone.

When the ponies climbed out of the basin and rinsed the suds from their freshly-cleaned coats, Gina and Grace were waiting for them with a small pile of short stone-tipped arrows.

“Can you throw darts?” Gina asked, speaking slowly and deliberately in the unfamiliar tongue.

They couldn’t, of course, and the griffins found great pleasure in teaching them. For once Morning Rain’s enormous wings gave him no advantage. After half an hour Scootaloo had mastered picking up darts using only her wings, while her brother still struggled to balance a full-length arrow for more than five seconds. As for Grace, having no wings left her with some rather creative options; it turned out that a quick front flip imparted more than enough force to send darts whistling down range by the handful.

Scootaloo’s first few tries sent darts spinning through the air, rarely touching the wooden board they were using as a target. She lost two overboard, but the griffins were content to trade them for a laugh at her expense.

“Slowly when you start,” Gina said before flicking another dart into the weathered wood with a loud boom from her large white wings.

By the time Scootaloo land her first shot the griffins had written off the idea of a shooting contest with the ponies. The target looked like a porcupine from their tight pattern, and now they supervised with half-lidded eyes from just inside the deckhouse. Cabbage strutted in a circle around Morning Rain, who was chewing on his tongue as he tried for the hundredth time to fling a dart with his relatively functional left wing.

“Mama, ecas set feric?”

Scootaloo folded her tired wings and looked back towards the deckhouse. The twins had stood up, and Cabbage scampered over to their side wearing his dumb smile.

“Vaset feran!” Galina snapped. “Set dune avasa!”

This reply displeased the girls, who dragged their feet further into the shade with their mother watching closely. Cabbage hung his head and slumped back to the bow theatrically.

Scootaloo glanced quickly at the Master, who was staring across the water lost in thought.

This is my chance.

“Rain,” she said, lifting the arrow off his wing. “Do you want to talk about what happened last night?”

“Nothing happened,” he said. “We all took the truth serum, and we all told the truth. That’s the end of it.”

“So… you just really hate your mother.”

“I didn’t say that!” He said, a little louder than was necessary.

“Rain,” Scootaloo said as she guided him to face the starboard edge of the barge. “I’m worried about you. What you said last night; did you hear it from your dad?”

“And what if I did?” Retorted the boy angrily. “What if he said all that? What’s it to you?”

“You attacked Gregor last night,” she said. “Was your dad drunk when he told you all that stuff? How often did this happen? You’ve told me nothing but good things about your dad.”

“Yeah, he was pretty drunk,” said Rain without hesitation. “Officers get drunk. That’s what officers like to do. Canterlot pays for his food and lodging for years at a time; what else is he gonna use his paycheques for? Don’t tell me your dad’s never been drunk!”

“Did he hit you while he was drunk?” Scootaloo asked.

“Yeah, and that’s normal too. You know it is!”

“Come on,” she said, pulling him closer. “He hurt you pretty badly. I think you’ll feel better if you talk to me about it.”

“I’m fine,” he grumbled. “I’ll feel better if we never talk about this again.”

With that he shuffled out of her embrace and went to the deckhouse to help with lunch.

At least he doesn’t hate griffins anymore.

The Master ate with them in the deckhouse, anchoring the barge like he did the night before. Rice porridge and roast rabbit were on the menu, and he did not hesitate to snatch a well done hindquarter much to Scootaloo’s disgust.

“It’s just a rabbit,” he said defensively. “Oy! Stop staring! I don’t need your Canterlot sensibilities on my boat!”

The combined effect of the warm meal, humid air and early start overtook Scootaloo as she and was scrubbing the dishes. After pouring the soapy dishwater overboard she joined the other children on deck.

“…And then he sailed out of Percheron Landing, never seen again!”

Gina smiled proudly as Rain and Grace looked on with pale faces. The Master broke the silence with his manic laughter.

“That was good,” he said, leaning heavily on his pole. “I haven’t heard that one in a while! Boy!”

“What so funny?” Gina asked, her brows furrowed in annoyance. “It’s true scary story! Gareth and his crew took the cursed amulet! All died!”

“This cursed amulet,” the Master said. “How big did you say it was?”

“About as big as a pocket watch,” Gina said automatically. “Thin enough to fit inside a glove…”

“With a five-ring bullseye and two straight lines that intersect in the middle marking the bottom third,” the Master interrupted. “Yeah, I know the story. And does it look like this?”

He rolled up his left socks as he spoke, and held out his hoof with a circular metal plate on top. The three kids’ eyes widened in horror. Morning Rain, who was lying closest to the bargepony, shuffled a few inches towards the bow.

“Hey, my dad has one of those!”

The other kids turned in unison and stared at Scootaloo as if she just sprouted an extra head.

“I don’t blame him!” The Master chuckled, flipping the medallion like a big coin. “Cursed medallions make good horseshoes! Well, they don’t really; I’ve never seen a cursed medallion, and I don’t think anyone in Percherone Landing has either.

“This here is a navvy’s medallion. The griffins made them by the thousands back when they were talking about extending the rail from Dodge Junction up north. This was only a couple years ago, you know. The Princess wanted to put in a new line: Vanhoover to Saddletowne. From sea to shining sea, as it were. Your dad told you about this, right Scootaloo?”

“He mentioned it,” she said.

“Then keep your mouth shut,” he snapped. “Anyways, they were serious about this project in Canterlot. And who do you call when you need a new rail line? You need ponies to drag stuff around and dig trenches, but to do things properly you need griffins. And griffins they had, from every town in the Foal Mountains and to the west. There was work to be done and good money to be had. Five years on the road can make a young fellow rich if he’d stick with it.

“Now I don’t expect you to know much about public works, so I’ll just go over it quickly. Canterlot isn’t going to send anypony to go door to door handing out paycheques. Besides, what would you do with a bag of bits in the middle of nowhere? You can’t eat bits, you know?”

Goosebumps crept down Scootaloo’s neck when she heard that familiar proverb.

“Now, what they decided to do could only have worked with navvies. Navvies are a close bunch; they look out for each other. So what better way to deal with money than to pool it all? They rented a big vault in the royal treasury right across the hall from the one holding the building funds. When the job was done, the bits were to be moved across the hall and become theirs to distribute as they see fit. You know what happened next, Scootaloo.

“Work went ahead for three years, and everything was looking good. These griffins and ponies made moving towns for themselves. They had kids even, and why shouldn’t they? There was going to be money enough for everyone! Then news came from Canterlot that the project was cancelled. A school for unicorns got demolished by accident or something like that, and they just took the money to pay for repairs. That’s all fine and dandy, but what happens to twenty thousand navvies? Why, just don’t pay them and hope they go away!

“That didn’t go over well, as you can imagine. These were tough guys who worked under the sun. A lot of them had families now. They had kids to worry about. They’re not going to sit by while they’re getting robbed no matter how tall the robber is!

“Runners went around to all the camps, and pretty soon they had a plan. Under Hunter’s Moon every navvy be they pony or griffin marched into Canterlot. There were mares carrying infants, and kids with hammers and rail stakes ready to take that city apart. They got all the way to the palace gates and demanded what’s rightfully theirs. Surely they would have justice now, right?

“The Princess didn’t even give them an audience. They stood at her gate for an hour, until the Captain of the Royal Guards told them to leave. Diamond Vambrace was his name, and he was not the sharpest tool in the shed. He came from some old aristocratic family, but that doesn’t make him good with words. It all spiraled out of control after that, and I’m told that half of Canterlot lie in ruins by morning.

“You can imagine the Princess’ reaction. Nopony knows how many navvies were killed in Canterlot and how many were captured, but to this day the railroad towns sit abandoned. Few ponies care to visit, and those who can rightfully claim the stuff have all fled far away. Diamond Vambrace hunted them for five years until another Captain came along. Suddenly these medallions weren’t great things to have. Many of the navvies who came south sold theirs as scrap metal or melted them to make light horseshoes. Some buried theirs; that’s where mine came from. And of course a few of them ended up in Percherone Landing, where Captain Gareth found his crew.

“By all accounts Gareth wasn’t a sailor. The story goes that he inherited the Spring Leaf from his uncle, put together a uniform with his father’s fine clothes and sailed away from home the very next morning with nothing but a hold full of beer. No crew would serve him for more than one voyage, so he was always in this town or that looking to pick up seafarers foolish enough to set foot on his ship. It so happened that he met a navvy one day with some knickknacks to sell. A medallion like this one caught his eye, and so he bought it for ten bits and wore it proudly around his neck.

“Now the pony selling the medallion wasn’t the only navvy in town that day, and Gareth wander around enough that the others took notice.

“‘Here is one of our brothers,’ they said, ‘looks like he’s doing better than we are. Maybe he’ll help us.’

“Five ponies and three griffins came to him that morning, wearing their medallions openly. Gareth took them for sailors, and immediately launched into his usual spiel. He was a talker, and so he convinced all eight of them to follow him. They were all under his spell, and though they told him again and again that they were no sailors Gareth would have none of it. He had a crew, and his crew had his promise of fifty bits a day for ninety days.

“Gareth left Percheron on the same day he landed, that part is true, but don’t think for a minute that he died because of some curse. He didn’t disappear; he drowned. And don’t you cry for him or curse his ‘demon crew’. Any one of them is worth ten of him. So the Master knows the tale, and so you’ll tell it!”

“That’s a lot different from Gina’s story,” Rain said. “Where did you find that out, Mr…”

“Call me Master,” he said.

“Come on,” Scootaloo spoke up. “That can’t be your real name! What kind of parents would name their kid ‘Master’?”

“I am the Master,” he said. “You will call me Master.”

“Why should I?”

“I’ll tell you why,” he said. “Since you’re in the mood to tell scary stories, I’ll tell you one that’ll keep you up tonight night. Fetch me some water, Gina.”

After downing two brimming mugs of straight swamp water the Master wiped his mouth and replaced his sock with the medallion inside.

“This one goes way back,” he began. “Before the Princesses, and even before Discord’s reign, there were ponies who traveled this swamp. Their barges looked a lot like mine, but they never stayed on the water after sundown. You see, they did not travel alone.

“This swamp is the home of the kappa. What are kappa, you may ask? Well, I’ll tell it as I heard it: kappa are water monsters, about the size of a pony and covered in slimy green scales. They have sharp claws and webbed feet for swimming. And have you ever heard of water on the brain? Well, kappa have no brains. The tops of their heads are open, and their skulls are filled to the brim with water. They have wide, flat beaks, and their eyes are the bulging black eyes of a drowned pony.

“Kappa can’t hurt you during the day. They love the shade, and cling onto the bottoms of barges or hide under piers. But as soon as the sun sets anypony caught out on the water is good as gone.

“In the dead of night, when you are drowsy and your lantern is burning low, you may hear a voice like that of an elderly mare.

“’Young fellow,’ it will say. ‘Young fellow. That is a pretty barge you have. What is your name?’”

“’Why thank you,’ you reply. ‘I am Scootaloo.’”

“Then you will hear a gentle splash behind you, and a sound like big fish flopping on your deck. Slimy claws grab you around your neck, and icy water sloshes out of the creature’s head and onto yours. It pushes you forwards into the black water, and the last thing you see is the dim reflection of its bottomless black eyes peeking over your head.

“Well, one day a young stallion was moving with his pregnant wife. He did not know the swamp very well, and could not find a town in time. He rowed until sundown, and then by the light of his lantern. His wife was asleep in the deckhouse when he finally stopped and laid down to rest.

“’Young fellow’

“His blood froze when he heard that voice. It sounded like a rusty door hinge.

“’Young fellow,’ it said again. ‘That is a nice barge you have. I see a kitchen table made of fine wood and some very comfortable chairs, woolen blankets and soft feather pillows. What is your name, and who is that mare you have with you?”

Grace let out a small squeak and huddled closer to her sister.

“The stallion knew what would happen if he told the truth. But what could he say? He heard the splash behind him, followed by a wet smack at the edge of the deck.

“’You can’t take me,’ he cried. ‘I am the Sheriff! What will my town do without its sheriff?’”

“And lo and behold, the kappa stopped.

“’The Sheriff, you say? You are important. Ponies may come after me if I take you! I will spare you, Sheriff. Be on your way!’

“That stallion found his way to a town the next day, and told the ponies there what happened. Since that day, bargeponies in these parts never speak their names on the swamp. The kappa are still listening, waiting for one misspoken word so they can know for sure that their next meal will not bring disaster upon their empty heads.”

The children were silent for a whole minute after the Master stopped speaking.

“I’m not afraid of any kappa,” Grace said at last. “I’ll just stab it and fly away!”

“No you wouldn’t!” Gina said. “You don’t even wear your wings most of the time. The kappa will get you for sure!”

“Would not!”

Grace lashed out with her claws, tearing a few feathers from her sister’s face. For a moment Gina sat dumbstruck, and that was all Grace needed. Her wings deployed, and Scootaloo felt a swift cooling breeze on her back. She had a ten metre head start by the time her sister recovered. Cabbage screeched in protest, flailing his wings as he clung onto the saddle for dear life.

The griffins chased each other overhead, never straying too far from the barge. Scootaloo and Morning Rain craned their necks to follow their rolls and turns and collisions.

“Why don’t you give it a try?” The Master asked. “Those are wings on your back, aren’t they?”

Scootaloo opened her mouth to argue, but Morning Rain extended his wings.

“Rain, you can’t fly!” She said, grabbing his tail just before he could leap off the deck.

“Let him go, Scootaloo!” The Master said, raising his pole out of the water. “He knows what he can do!”

Fearing the Master’s paddle, Scootaloo let go of her brother. Rain wobbled into the air. His right wing was not pulling its weight, forcing him to lean heavily on his left side. It did not seem to bother him, for he wore his happiest smile the whole time. Rocks could chip hooves, water could drown, but air had never hurt him.

Scootaloo now watched with a deep and familiar longing. She paced the deck restlessly with her tiny wings half extended. Every inch of the deck’s railing free edges called out to her.

“Come,” they seemed to say. “Take a leap. You won’t fall.”

She shadowed the griffins towards the bow and reached out past the deck with her wings fluttering, certain that her they could bear her weight. But her hoof dipped into the water and she tipped forwards. At the last moment a pole caught her beneath the ribs and knocked her painfully onto the deck.

“What’s wrong with you?” The Master chided. “If you’re itching to fly, fly properly. I’m not spending my afternoon fishing you out of this swamp!”

Scootaloo could not look him in the face. She stayed sitting near the bow and looked into the rippling water with angry tears burning in her eyes.

Should have known better. I can’t fly. I’m just an earth pony with wings.

She laid her head down on her hooves and closed her eyes. A gust of wind and the sound of flapping canvas to her right alerted her before she could fall asleep under the warm sun.

Grace stood to her right and regarded her with a quizzical expression.

“What do you want?” Scootaloo mumbled without getting up.

“Why are you no flying?” She asked innocently.

“Can’t,” Scootaloo said, fluttering her wings for emphasis. “Why do you think I want wings like yours in the first place?”

“Do you want to try?”

Scootaloo stared blankly at the griffin, half expecting her to fly away laughing.

“Do you want to try?” She said again, tapping the brass clasp at the centre of her chest. “You can borrow wings.”

“Do you mean…” Scootaloo felt her legs becoming weak as her heart raced, and could not stand up immediately to accept the offer.

“My wings,” Grace said. “You can fly.”

Without further explanation she sat down and began undoing the straps around her torso. Scootaloo shot the Master a questioning glance, but his thousand mile stare passed right over her head.

Grace dropped her wings on the deck beside her and stretched like a house cat. Scootaloo cowered instinctively as the griffin approached her with the harness. Its many limp, dangling straps reminded her of a daddy longlegs spider.

She shivered when the sweat-soaked saddle touched her back. The contraption was quite heavy, but its balance was flawless. Scootaloo felt like she could run without any risk of tripping. Her legs shook beneath her as she stepped into the leg loops, and she could barely keep her teeth from chattering as Grace adjusted the straps to fit her larger torso. Her ribs were squeezed so tight that she thought she would pass out. When Grace stepped away, Scootaloo’s wings were jammed painfully beneath the hard frame of the prosthesis.

Fortunately for her Grace was not finished. Scootaloo winced when she felt the grip of a small, scaly hand on her left wing. The griffin guided her wing through a notch in the saddle with one quick motion and immediately pulled a tight leather ring over the limb. Scootaloo stretched and flapped, desperate to escape the uncomfortable contraption. Her hooves lifted off the deck, and she skidded a few steps to the right before falling on her face.

The wings were nothing like she had imagined. Just one was enough to generate a significant push, but it felt as if she was being lifted by a string hooked between her shoulder blades. Grace had ducked in time to avoid her flailing limbs, and was gently guiding the canvas wing back to its folded position. The force transmitted back to Scootaloo’s wing of flesh and feathers. She was amazed to see the gigantic frame retracting in synch with her motions.

“Here problem,” Grace mumbled. “Safety not on. Hold still.”

She showed her the little levers behind her ribs that could lock and unlock the wings and finished hitching her in. The way her wings were attached to the frame made her feel trapped no matter how she tried to fold them.

“Done,” Grace said, and backed away to a safe distance.

Trying to fly was like moving through molasses. Scootaloo’s customary hum became a cycle of powerful strokes. She didn’t know what to do with her legs as she wobbled into the air, climbing at an alarming rate. The harness provided a lot of support, and though her wings strained against a tremendous volume of air Scootaloo could not fight the feeling that she was being lifted by something else.

Gina’s cheering made her look down. She and Morning Rain hovered far below her, and Scootaloo would never forget her brother’s awestruck face.

The barge was a tiny rectangle on the shining water, and she could see the entirety of the swamp. Huge patches of fog crawled lazily above tongues of water, engulfing luscious green groves and spitting them out again unharmed. There were other barges on the waterway; she spotted the Maestro’s green barge in a narrow channel to the west, tailed by a dozen more vessels in all the colours of the rainbow. The river barges were remarkable in their consistency; except for colour and the presence or absence of a deckhouse they were cookie cutter copies.

Scootaloo’s borrowed wings did not obey her completely. Going up was easy, but now she struggled to move forwards. Response was agonizingly slow compared to bare wings, and though she gained a little speed in the right direction her ascent became faster still.

She didn’t notice the first two times her ears popped, and the cold wind was refreshing at first. The thinner air was easier to move through, and Scootaloo focused all her effort on mastering flight. Turning took a great deal of effort, and she found that the only way to level off was to angle her wings almost completely backwards. She didn’t need that much lift after all.

Her breaths whistled out of her mouth in a ribbon of ice crystals, and black spots invaded the edges of her vision. She blinked quickly and shielded her eyes from the sun, but the spots would not go away.

Hey, this is easy!

Scootaloo laughed and whooped, and heard enthusiastic replies from below. They were all waving at her; the Master stopped pushing entirely, rearing up and flailing both front hoofs over his head.

She was high above the clouds now. Far to the north the royal palace glittered. The towers clung to the side of a pebble, and was itself no more than a particularly shiny grain of sand. The Everfree Forest looked like a bed of moss, and the San Palomino Desert was nothing more than a smooth slab of sandstone. Storm systems drifted like bits of cotton candy; it was raining in Ponyville. The ocean seemed not so far away; a sheet of tinted glass extending all the way to the eastern horizon.

Scootaloo turned and turned, trying to see it all before the spots rendered her blind. Colour was fading from the scene. She rubbed her eyes and felt frost on her hooves.

Strong hands grabbed her from behind, clamping her wings shut. The lever clicked to its “locked” position, but instead of falling she was surrounded by warm fur.

“Scootaloo, it’s me.”

Gregor’s voice sounded different; a little higher than usual, and lacking resonance.

Scootaloo huddled in his tight embrace as he descended in a smooth spiral. She hadn’t realized how cold it had become. Her ears tingled as blood flow returned, and soon her nose started to drip. Gregor’s broad shoulder took up much of her field of view, but she couldn’t keep her eyes off the magnificent scenery that lay before her. After a while the griffin turned her around so she was dangling beneath him.

Right below her was Hayseed Swamp, and the air was warm and humid once again. She saw many barges now, with many bargeponies watching her. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment when she realized just how many ponies saw her short and barely-controlled flight.

Her eyes widened in horror when she saw them: a procession of three blue barges far to the northeast. Unlike their sisters that carried only one or two passengers, these decks were packed with at least a dozen ponies each.

A dozen uniformly dark grey ponies.

The last barge in line had its deckhouse replaced with a cage, and each pony onboard had an all too familiar weapon leaning against his shoulder.

They were all staring at her.

“Are you seeing this?” Scootaloo managed to say, pointing at the crowded barges with a trembling hoof. Her throat had turned to leather.

“I see them,” Gregor said grimly. “I'm already going down as fast as I can. This looks bad.”

Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Scootaloo pulled her cloaks closer with her bandaged hooves. Her frostbitten ears itched beneath thick dressing that reeked of mint and poplar. Gregor had given her a handkerchief for her nose, which turned into a slimy wad within ten minutes.

She rubbed her wings against her body. The tight straps of the prosthesis had crushed half her feathers, and even Galina’s expert preening could not undo the damage. On the plus side the twins now had a big pile of feathers to fletch their darts with.

The gas lantern darkened momentarily, making the shadows between the trees dance. Scootaloo retreated deeper into her hood and lowered her head. When the light returned, it did not seem to push the darkness to its old boundary.

The Master’s story, which had seemed rather silly under the midday sun, gnawed tirelessly on her mind during her solitary watch. Every splashing fish made her shiver. The lantern penetrated only the top five inches of water; her imagination filled the rest with bulging black eyes and scaly green limbs. Her tomahawk was firmly pressed beneath her front hooves. Its presence was comforting regardless of its usefulness.

Can you hurt a kappa with an axe? Has anypony ever tried?

Even after Gregor’s long explanation the Master had been reluctant to set a night watch.

“They’re one day away at best,” he had said over a steaming bowl of vegetable chowder. “Two, if the barges are loaded as you say. They saw you, sure, but why should they care? And don’t you start lecturing me on sylvanocian magic. You have your old stories, but that’s all they are. If they can do half the things you say they can, why didn’t they get us last night? Nay, you can all rest easy tonight.”

In the end it took a vial of manticore poison to sway the stubborn bargepony, and then he refused to take a watch.

“It’s bad luck to be up in those hours,” he mumbled from beneath his tarp as Scootaloo cleaned the dinner dishes. “Scootaloo, if you hear an old mare in the middle of the night, do not tell her your name.”

The light was starting to strobe. Scootaloo gave the rusty green lantern half a dozen pumps just as the Master showed her. Its low hiss became a powerful roar, and the mantle burned white like the core of a farrier’s oven.

Though she had felt refreshed when Gina woke her at two o’clock, Scootaloo quickly grew weary over the hour of her watch. Now the world around her drifted in and out of focus, and false colours wandered across her eyes: shapeless blotches of dark red; orbs of stygian blue; two pale green spots…

Scootaloo sat up, blinking vigorously. The green lights did not fade in the slightest. Averting her gaze made them brighter, and they neither drifted nor blinked.

Eyes.

Scootaloo opened her mouth, but her throat would not cooperate. The creature, whatever it was, looked to be as tall as the surrounding trees. The eyes were spaced too far apart to be those of a small animal in a high perch, and seemed eerily familiar. They floated in the darkness, shimmering like fire, and Scootaloo thought that they would have looked the same be they ten metres away or a hundred.

She tried to speak again, and managed to make a strained hiss. Her hooves rattled on the deck; she did not feel strong enough to pick up her weapon.

All her muscles released at once upon the sound of padded feet approaching from behind. Scootaloo jumped up clumsily, and would have fallen sideways into the swamp were it not for Gregor’s fast reflexes.

“You seem rather on edge,” he said, lying down at the port side and guiding her to do likewise.

Scootaloo did not answer immediately. She squinted into the darkness where the eyes had been, but could not find them again. Gregor followed her gaze.

“I saw something before you came,” she said in a low voice. “It’s really big. I just saw its eyes.”

“What did it sound like?” Gregor asked, reaching under his left wing with his right hand.

“It didn’t make a sound,” she said, still looking at the surrounding swamp. “It just sort of appeared.”

The two lay in silence for some time. Gregor covered Scootaloo with one wing.

“I think it’s gone,” he said at last.

“Why do we have this lamp?” Scootaloo asked. “I can’t see anything, and anypony out there can see me. If we’re hiding, why don’t we just stay in the dark?”

“In any other situation I would have agreed,” Gregor said quietly, pulling Scootaloo so close that she could smell his dinner of spiced manticore tail on his breath. “However, even a sylvanocian foal would have no trouble finding you in the dark. Their ears are as good as a second pair of eyes; even better in a place like this where line of sight is so short. The helmets of the Midnight Guards amplify sounds; they can hear me talking like this from a kilometre away. This darkness is as good as broad daylight as far as they're concerned. Having a light for our own eyes is the least of our concerns.”

Scootaloo nodded with a long yawn.

“Scootaloo,” Gregor continued, “I hope you are still awake enough to discuss a few things. These matters are easier to discuss now that everyone is asleep.

“First off, I want to advise you not to borrow wings again.”

“I know,” Scootaloo mumbled, half-heartedly examining the bandages on her left front hoof.

“This time was not your fault,” he said. “Grace should have known better than to lend you her wings. They were made specifically for her. It was very dangerous for you to use them.”

“You’re not going to hurt her, are you?” Scootaloo said, turning to the griffin with pleading eyes. “I wanted her wings! That was the first time I ever flew! It was amazing! And she was really sorry, wasn’t she?”

“I would never hurt my own daughter,” said Gregor. “But I think I need to drive this point home. This is a lot more serious than you think, Scootaloo. If I hadn’t caught you when I did, you might not be here right now. Those wings aren’t toys.

“Now, I’m not your guardian, so I can only offer my advice in the next matter. But please consider what I am telling you. Ask Gari when you meet her, but I think she will agree. You should not get prosthetic wings, Scootaloo.”

“What?” She said, her voice growing in volume as Gregor’s words sank in. “Gregor, I can’t fly! I’ve been trying for years! I’ve never been able to fly, and I'll never fly without those wings!”

“But you have wings,” Gregor said evenly, squeezing her reassuringly. “You have small wings, but they’re not deformed or injured as far as I can tell. They’re beautiful wings, Scootaloo; Grace would rather have them instead of what she has.

“Even if you get a harness that doesn’t crush your feathers, flying with prosthesis changes the way you move and the way your wings grow. You might not feel it now, but it strains your spine and bends the bones in your wings. If you start wearing prosthesis now, you might be stuck with them for the rest of your life.”

“And what if I’m stuck flying with fake wings for the rest of my life?” Scootaloo said. “I can fly, and that’s all that matters!”

“Is it?” Gregor said. “As I said before, I cannot decide for you. However, I know how much flying means to most pegasi, and I don’t think it is healthy to use prosthetic wings in the manner that you intend to. Griffins don’t fly as casually or nearly as often as pegasi. Just keep this in mind, okay?”

Scootaloo didn’t even answer; she thought she would scream if she opened her mouth at all. Gregor released her and nodded towards the deckhouse.

“Your watch is over,” he said. “Get some sleep. We can talk in the morning if you’re feeling up to it.”

She packed up her tomahawk and walked on numb hooves to the stern, her steps muffled by the bandages.

Gregor never looked back. When Scootaloo scanned the deck one last time from the deckhouse entrance he had a bow in his hand. Not his black recurved bow; this was a primitive thing pieced together from three willow branches. Perhaps he built it for the occasion; it couldn’t have taken more than ten minutes to make.

Scootaloo went inside with a low grumble. All thoughts of kappa and glowing eyes were drowned out by her bubbling anger. She wasn’t sleepy at all.

“Are you okay, Scootaloo?” Galina whispered groggily.

“I’m fine,” she said, shuffling out of two cloaks and blowing her nose on the outer one (which was her brother’s).

“Come here, sweetie,” Galina said. In the darkness Scootaloo heard the griffin’s rustling feathers. “Get some sleep. You’ll feel better tomorrow.”

Morning Rain moaned as she sidled into position on his right. He too had paid dearly for his moment of bliss. When Gregor landed with Scootaloo he was already thrashing and screaming on the sleeping mat. For twenty minutes the twins held him down while Galina worked on his dislocated wings. In the half minute that Scootaloo was allowed to watch, Galina delivered six morphine injections without any sign of slowing down. Rain slept like a rock through dinner under Cabbage’s watchful guard.

Scootaloo stroked his sweat-soaked neck once before closing her eyes. Slept came easy in Galina's warm embrace.

The griffins were gone when Scootaloo awoke. Her heart raced for a brief moment before she heard the twins’ laughter through the door veil.

She stood up and shook out her sore wings, starting at the sight of the manticore. Its face had grown swollen and saggy. Its lips had shriveled, exposing long fangs all the way down to the blackened gums. Wrinkled eyeballs glared out of sunken sockets with a look of pure hatred, and the uneasiness they brought on was not unique to ponies; it was Gina and not Scootaloo who suggested covering it with a tarp for the remainder of the journey.

Morning Rain kicked suddenly, nearly knocking her over. His teeth grinded in a sickening rhythm, and his wings strained against the leather belt that bound them.

I told you so, she thought bitterly, forcing herself to turn away. I wish I can help you, Morning Rain. I really do.

Scootaloo opened the veil and ducked just in time to avoid a rematch with Cabbage’s talons. The poor bird had a tall wreath of purple hyacinth flowers upon his head and a big lotus hanging from his neck on a chain made of white-flowered moneywort. For all his loud flapping Cabbage was losing altitude quickly. Fortunately for him the twins were on foot and had to stop before running over Scootaloo.

“Good morning!” Grace greeted, dropping the half-finished ring of red reed and bladderwort from her beak.

“Hi Grace,” Scootaloo said, squinting against the bright sun. “Hi Gina.”

“Is Morning Rain up yet?” Grace asked. “Is he okay?”

“He’s still hurting pretty bad,” Scootaloo said.

“I’m sorry,” said Grace. “I didn’t know…”

Scootaloo raised one hoof to cut her short.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” she said. “The Master told him to go flying.”

“I should tell him stop,” Grace insisted. “I see him fly funny. I should take him down.”

“Hey, Scootaloo!” Galina called from the bow. “Come over here! Have some breakfast!”

Scootaloo went eagerly, leaving Cabbage at the mercy of the twins. It seemed the griffins had made enough pancakes for the entire day. Scootaloo shied from the pink manticore bone gravy at first, but the Master would have no more of her “Canterlot sensibilities”.

“They’ve been feeding you since you came aboard,” he jeered from the starboard side. “You’re mighty rude, the way you eat. You don’t refuse hospitality like that! Just because it’s not typical pony fare doesn’t mean you have to turn up your nose like some spoiled, overfed housecat! It’s fine gravy too; I wager you won’t find better on this side of the ocean or the other! You think it’s easy taking down a manticore? I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve had manticore!”

Saying this, he took his left hoof off the pole and shook it vigorously before his nose. Gregor laughed long and hard at this act, with his chest pressed against the deck and wings outstretched.

The gravy was not as salty as Scootaloo expected, and so rich that she could only dribble it sparingly on her last few pancakes. For a few minutes she felt like she had eaten a spoonful of spice-infused oil, and the persistent aftertaste was something unique unto itself.

“There you go,” the Master chuckled as Scootaloo sat smacking her lips with brows furrowed. “It takes some getting used to, but you’ll learn to like it. You’re not dying, are you? Feel bloodthirsty at all? No? Sprout any fangs?”

Scootaloo scowled and turned away as the Master laughed.

Despite being the last to rise Morning Rain looked exhausted when he showed his face. The Master did not peak as the boy ate a single pancake with plenty of water, swallowing with great reluctance despite missing dinner the night before.

“How are you holding up?” Gregor said, handing him another bowl of water.

“More morphine,” Rain said in the same way a drunk pony might ask for another mug of cider. “I… I’ll bfff… fi…”

Scootaloo would have laughed were she not so concerned.

“I’ll give you morphine,” Gregor said. “However, you’re not going to be fine. You have three vertebrae just behind your shoulders that don’t line up with the rest, and that’s not from your flying yesterday. I’ll give you morphine today, but you have to let me fix your spine.”

“How will you do that?” Rain asked after a few failed attempts to speak.

“I won’t operate, if that’s what you’re afraid of,” Gregor said. “I will push your spine in the right direction. This isn’t a quick fix, but you will feel a lot better immediately. I can do more if you two stay with us for the crossing, but at least I can get you started today.”

“No,” Rain said after considering for some time. “I… I can wait. I… just… need…”

He was cut short by a violent spasm in his rear legs. Gregor caught his head just before it struck the deck.

“Morphine won’t help you for long,” said the griffin as he cradled the boy’s head in his hands. “You can develop immunity over time, and at the rate you’re using it we’ll run out by tomorrow morning. If you don’t get treatment soon, the problem can only get bigger. In the best case you will get a hunched back. In the worst case you may become paralyzed from chest to tail. I wish you would agree with me. It would make me feel a lot better.”

“I… I… think about it,” Rain mumbled. “Th… thank… you…”

Gregor nodded. From his own hood he fashioned a small pillow and gave it to Rain. Scootaloo stayed with her brother as the griffin went inside to retrieve the medicine box.

“Why didn’t you say yes?” She hissed. “I can’t help you. Gari can’t help you. Gregor is the only one who can help you right now. What are you thinking?”

“I… I dun…” Rain smeared his face in the rolled up hood. His tail jumped around sporadically.

“You might never walk again,” Scootaloo said. “Rain, this is serious! Do you want to live like this for the rest of your life?”

His out-of-focus eyes filled with tears, and his mouth moved silently. Scootaloo glared at him as he sobbed into Gregor’s hood.

“Master, what is that?”

Gina was standing beside the Master, and both were looking at something on the starboard side. Gregor had stopped dead in his tracks at the deckhouse entrance, a little glass syringe hanging between the first two digits of his left hand. Scootaloo stood up to get a better look.

Splintered chunks of wood littered the water, not quite blending in with the surrounding foliage. The green paint was just a little too glossy to be water cabbage, and too light to be hyacinth. Bent nails and rivets held some of the pieces together.

The Master slowed his barge to a snail’s crawl and leaned over the edge to examine the debris. Scootaloo saw two sizable beams bolted together at a right angle, and many broad green boards.

“Maestro!” He cried suddenly, startling all others onboard. “Maestro! Answer me!”

Scootaloo didn’t remember lying down. She felt lightheaded, and the Master’s desperate yelling made it worse. Half of her mind insisted that it was not real, while her stomach told her another story entirely.

Galina and Gregor took to the air while Grace and Gina joined Scootaloo and Morning Rain. The four children huddled in the middle of the deck, far away from the edges. The Master rowed slowly in a big circle, calling out to his friend on the verge of tears.

At long last the Master stopped pushing and leaned heavily on his pole, his whole body glistening in sweat. Scootaloo was sure that she would have seen him cry had a hoarse and nearly incomprehensible voice not replied in that very moment.

“Master!” It cried from a long ways off. “Master! Um Here!”

All sign of exhaustion instantly left the Master. With keen eyes he scanned the surrounding trees, his one pair of eyes beating all four kids and one kakapo on deck. The barge tore through a tangled sheet of hyacinth and milfoil, and it was not until they were within ten metres that Scootaloo spotted the pony in distress.

The Maestro was clinging to the side of a willow, nearly hidden behind the thick green veil of its trailing branches. The veins of his muscular neck bulged from long hours of exertion, and his shoulders were black with bruises. The left panel of his vest hung by a thread down past the tip of his braided tail.

“Come on!” The Master yelled, lashing out at the wall of willow leaves as he pulled his bow to within a metre of the trunk.

But the gigantic pony had no strength left. He dropped into the swamp with a splash that drenched the Master, and his front hooves skidded against the deck without taking hold.

Fortunately Galina and Gregor returned to the barge. Each grabbing one forelimbs, they dragged the flailing pony out of the water. The Master reversed the barge immediately, and soon they were back in open water.

“What happened to you, Maestro?” The Master gasped, stopping his barge beside the bulk of the wreckage.

The Maestro had not attempted to sit up since his rescue. He remained sprawled on the deck where the griffins had left him, breathing heavily with his head down. After a while it occurred to Scootaloo that he was crying.

“Ma… Ma boat!” He wailed. “Oh Master, ma boat! It took ma boat! Ba th’ name o’ Stormmaster! Aw… Awl’d nut see th’ day!”

“Calm down, Maestro,” the Master said in the most gentle tone Scootaloo had ever heard him use. “What happened? Was it an alligator?”

“Gator!” The Maestro snorted indignantly. “Nae, t’s no gator could do zit! Awl’d it were jis’ gator! Aw cud tik gators! Nae, Master. Lis’ here. Yid nae believe me, bit awl fib nut. T’was a timberwulf zit tuk ‘er!”

There was silence on deck, until the Master laughed.

“You’ve been drinking, haven’t you?” He said. “There are no timberwolves outside of the Everfree Forest. You know it as well as I do!”

“Aw’s drunk, aye,” the Maestro growled. He tried to stand, but his legs were weak from holding onto the tree. “Bit aw’s nut drunk ‘s ta see gators fer timberwulfs! Aw dun fib, Master! T’s timberwulfs, aw swar ‘n th’ name o’ Stormmaster! Twenty feet tawl, wit eyes shine green! Awl made o’ wood! He hits ma deck wit his big paw, ‘n it sounds lik thunder! Threw me zit way ‘n zawt. Tuk ma’ lantern in his mouth ‘n popped th’ tank! Blew off ‘is un head, ‘n nev’ came back!”

“Do I have to beat you sober?” The Master said, raising his paddle threateningly. “You’re scaring the kids, Maestro! There are no timberwolves here. Never has been, never will!”

“Wait,” Scootaloo said. All heads turned in her direction. “I saw something last night! Green eyes! It could have been a timberwolf!”

“You stay out of this!” The Master snapped, shaking his paddle at Scootaloo. “You see, Maestro? You got the kids all worked up over nothing!”

“Lit th’ girl speak!” The Maestro said. “Lit th’ girls speak! She nuh-owes!”

“I won’t have any more of this timberwolf nonsense, you hear me?” The Master’s eyes passed over the entire deck as he spoke. “We’ll save as many of your belongings as we can, and then you’re going back to Wintergreen. If you are not going to pay me, at least be quiet.”

Gregor helped the huge pony back to his feet and accompanied him to the deckhouse, with Morning Rain draped helplessly across his back. The others spent the next half hour fishing for usable scraps. There was soon a pile of steel mugs and pots on deck next to the one of boards. A big tarp came up, so heavy with water that it took all three kids to drag onboard.

The Master shook his head in disappointment as Scootaloo and Gina hauled in a heavy crate full of glass bottles.

“Keep it,” he said. “No use wasting good whiskey. It’s ligan, and he’ll need all the bits he can get now that his barge is gone. These things aren’t cheap, you know. That was a vintage barge too! Shame the beams are all shattered like that. A tree that size don’t come cheap these days, if you can find one at all! Poor fellow, but that’s what you get for drinking so much on the job!”

“What do you think happened?” Scootaloo asked between gulps of water straight from a mug on a pole. “It couldn’t have been an alligator, could it?”

“I know what you’re thinking,” the Master said. “No, alligotors don’t usually break boats, but that doesn’t mean it had to be a timberwolf. Here is what happened: the Maestro picked up a few dozen crates of whiskey late yesterday, probably from Bridle Hook. Payment for a job like that always includes a small cask for the bargepony, and Maestro always opens his as soon as he sets out. He got drunk last night, knocked over his lantern and kept pushing on in the dark. Barges are sturdy, but he’s a strong pony. If he starts ramming into things at full speed, a boat made of iron wouldn’t last the night.”

He stuck by his assessment even after Grace dredged up the Maestro’s battered lantern. Water gushed out from a jagged hole in its fuel tank.

When they were finished there was barely enough room on deck for the Master to stand. Galina went inside while the girls sat on top of the stack of boards. The barge moved sluggishly under the added weight, sitting so low that the water lapped at the Master’s rear hooves with every stroke.

Scootaloo was starting to feel drowsy when the barge rounded a bend and glided into a wide, glittering clearing. It was not the lack of water plants that caught her attention, however.

A tall, pale mare stood half-hidden amongst the trees on the far shore. Her head was raised completely above the canopy, her face upturned, yet she did not seem at all out of place. Her cutie mark was a six-petaled flower, inlaid with polished silver so as to be visible from a distance. Her wings rose in graceful arches from her back, ready but not aggressive. As the barge got closer, Scootaloo saw that the mare's eyes were featureless. There was not the slightest indication of pupils or irises, while the smoothness of the algae-greened stone and the details in the rest of the statue seemed to indicate that here was no work in progress.

So focused was she on the eyeless mare that Scootaloo failed to notice the rest of the town. A platform of mortar and boulders lifted log houses high above the water. Most were modest one-storey structures with flat roofs steeply slanted towards the platform’s edge. A single tower rose from the platform, with railings on its top level. It too had a slanted roof, so that a pony posted on top could only see in three directions. At first Scootaloo took it to be a very small town, until she noticed other towers rising out of the trees further inland.

“Who is that?” Gina asked when they were halfway to the statue.

“That is the Stormmaster,” the Master said. “The first Stormmaster of Cloudsdale, to be precise.”

“That’s not General Firefly,” Scootaloo said, and was instantly rewarded with a burst of intense pain on the top of her head.

“What are they teaching you in Canterlot?” The Master said as Scootaloo clutched her head, kicking and moaning in agony. “General Firefly? She was barely competent as a general! Did somepony actually make her Stormmaster?

“No, this is Snowdrop, the first and only Stormmaster of Cloudsdale. Now, this is a story that only a pony from Wintergreen can tell in full, and right now you’re best leaving the Maestro alone. You may hear it if you go on shore in a little while, but I don’t think your papa will like it if you miss your ship. I will tell it in short, though short is a relative term.

“Snowdrop was a blind mare from Cloudsdale, and a good friend of Princess Luna before she became Nightmare Moon. In those days, and even today, being a friend of a princess can mean some great things. The Maestro won’t tell it this way, and I’d be less welcome in Wintergreen than an alicorn if they hear me saying so, but being friends with Princess Luna was perhaps the most remarkable thing about Snowdrop in her early years.

“The story goes that she was the greatest weatherkeeper in the empire; the greatest ever, if you ask some ponies. So there is your setup: a great weatherkeeper in a city made completely of clouds. Whether or not she earned the title of ‘Stormmaster’, Stormmaster she became at the tender age of twenty-seven.

“Her reign was long and fruitful. She outlasted two mayors. For fifteen years she built up that city, and her ten apprentices were themselves powerful weatherkeepers and generals by the time Nightmare Moon came along.

“Now you would think that the noble pegasi of Cloudsdale would remember the Stormmaster’s great services to the city. Let me be clear that I do not belittle her abilities despite what I said about her friendship with Princess Luna. Princess Luna did not double to size of Cloudsdale, and she certainly did not create the most efficient disaster-response team in Equestria. That was all Snowdrop. After that and much more, you would think that the city would flock to her in the aftermath of Nightmare Moon’s banishment.

“If it had happened that way, this city that you see would not exist. She thought that she was safe, and so she continued to serve Cloudsdale. But Cloudsdale did not want her anymore. A rumor was going around that Princess Luna visited Snowdrop within a week of becoming Nightmare Moon. What were they doing, the pegasi of Cloudsdale wondered? What was so special about that blind mare? Princess Luna made a blind mare Stormmaster, and now she’s gone. There has to be one more able, right? Cloudsdale is full of pegasi of noble birth. Why would anypony follow a blind peasant, especially when the princess who granted her authority turns out to be an evil traitor?”

Scootaloo bristled listening to the Master’s slander. She knew that he was not really insulting Princess Luna, but the idea that anypony had said such things made her blood boil.

“Trouble simmered through the long summer,” the Master said. “Under the harvest moon it all boiled over. Commander Firefly led her soldiers to the Stormmaster’s doorsteps. She was inside with her husband and her two younger children. They broke down the door, and here I will forego the gruesome details of what they did.

“Faced with a hundred armed guards, the Stormmaster still managed to escape with her life. That night she cried alone under the stars, and that is enough detail for our purposes. Wintergreen, her eldest son, came to her that night, and together they fled from Cloudsdale.

“They wandered for a long time, and it was an old and heartbroken mare that the orphans found trudging through the swamp. Though they had very little, they took her in and gave her a place to rest at last. These were five kids living together in a treehouse, and I will not tell you the stories of each of their lives. They had been alone for one year, swimming through these waters to dig up cattails for food. The youngest was three years old, and could not even speak when Snowdrop and Wintergreen first arrived.

“Taking in the old Stormmaster was the first of many great things these kids would do, for Snowdrop did not remain idle for long. Even Wintergreen didn’t understand her love for these children, though he would continue her work long after her death. Snowdrop cared for them like they were her own flesh and blood. She brought them food, she bathed them, and she taught them as all that she knew.

“Over the years she would encounter many orphans and poor families that lived in the swamp. She became a kind of deliverypony for them, and her route became so long that for some years she would fly all day to make sure that all were fed.

“Snowdrop was getting very old by this point, but she never stopped. She built the first wall, and laid down the foundation for the first town in the Hayseed Swamps. Though she was not an earth pony, she hauled stones from the desert and mixed mortar in the dry season. Perhaps it was a memory of Cloudsdale’s glory days that drove her on. She piled on stones until the platform breached the water of the highest flood, and then built it even higher. It was a sad day when her many children found her lying high and dry on the island she had built, beside a half-finished house much like the ones you see now.

“This is the Stormmaster’s legacy. To this day new islands are only built to the dimensions of the very first. Although Snowdrop did not speak of the matter, her son Wintergreen was convinced that the princesses were the cause of all their troubles. Alicorns and Royal Guards are not welcome in this town, and a smart pony would not mention Canterlot or Cloudsdale to one of these folks. And as for this statue, I think I have just enough time to tell you about its eyes.

“Building a town is easy, but the first citizens of Wintergreen had to build the very ground under their hooves! It took sixty years to build most of what you see today, and by then most of the folks who remember what Snowdrop looked like were already gone. All except for one, actually, and she was an old mare when they finally built this statue. Ten bargeponies and five barges they used, and it took them two months to go to Canterlot and back. That was a fifty tonne block of marble as fine as the stuff in the Royal Palace, and they paid not one bit for it. How they managed to take it is anypony’s guess.

“Five sculptors worked on that statue for six months, and all was going smoothly until they were ready to carve out her eyes. But what did they look like? Well, the old mare seemed to know.

“’No! No!’ She said whenever the sculptors showed her their sketches. ‘Make them paler! Lighter! That is not her at all!’

“They tried again and again, practicing on leftover pieces of marble, and each time they thought they had it the old mare threw their work into the swamp. Eventually she died, and nopony really felt right finishing that statue. So there she stands to this very day with blank eyes lined up to the harvest moon that started it all.”

Scootaloo wiped her eyes quickly, but the smile on the bargepony’s face told her that she was too late. It was not a smug smile; he was not proud of making three kids cry. He stared past the bow as the barge glided under the Stormmaster’s nose, his lips slightly parted to show gritted teeth.

“Scootaloo, go get the Maestro.”

Scootaloo jumped at the Master’s voice, and scampered into the deckhouse upon seeing the paddle in his hoof.

The Maestro was fast asleep on the deck, still wearing his tattered vest. Cabbage was trapped in his massive forearms, though the bird didn’t seem to mind. He was curled into a large feathery ball, with no discernible head or tail.

Scootaloo felt increasingly nervous as she approached the massive earth pony. His biceps were thicker than her waist, and surely he was still upset about his barge.

“Scootaloo,” Gregor said. “I need to have a word with you.”

“I’m getting wings,” Scootaloo said flatly, barely able to contain her sudden anger. “You can’t stop me.”

“It’s not about that,” Gregor said, extending a hand in invitation. “Scootaloo, it’s about those eyes you saw last night. I think we’re being hunted.”

“I know,” she said. “The Master doesn’t believe me. So do you think a bat pony sank that barge?”

Cabbage had woken from his nap, and poked his neck out from between the Maestro’s crossed hooves. He seemed content in his role as teddy bear.

“No,” Gregor said, “it was a timberwolf. Sylvanocians created the timberwolves before they were driven out of Equestria. At night timberwolves can be controlled by sylvanocian magic, and I think that’s what we’re dealing with. There may be more than one timberwolf in these swamps, summoned from the Everfree Forest, and the sylanocians will be directing them again tonight.

“Be on the lookout today, Scootaloo. I will speak with the Master, but he is very stubborn in these matters. I would much rather face timberwolves during the day, if they are around at all. That way we are fighting animals, not sylvanocian weapons. If you see a timberwolf, do anything you can to provoke it. Galina and I will be ready to take it down.”

“Oy! What’s taking you so long?”

The barge had stopped beside a spacious wooden pier. The woven reed fenders here looked to be brand new, and three ponies held the mooring lines while the Master spoke to a pegasus mare on the dock clad in a camouflage skinsuit.

“I’ll wake him,” Gregor said to Scootaloo. “Go help the Master unload.”

The Maestro barely held back his tears as he stepped onto the pier with the last crate of whiskey on his back. Five stallions came down the boardwalk with wagons to clear away the things that were unloaded, never acknowledging the three children gawking at them from the barge. The pegasus draped one wing across the Maestro’s bruised shoulders.

“I will be back tomorrow,” the Master said as he set his pole again. “Ready a room for me. As for kerosene, I’ll see what the Jackdaw has in her hold. It won’t be cheap, though. I wish you’d pay me in advance for these things.”

“Awl pay,” said the mare curtly. “We’ll buy whatev’ you bring.”

“And you better pay me in bits this time,” the Master said. “You know how hard it is to spend gems in the north! It gets you all the wrong kinds of attention!”

“You hev my word,” she said.

Scootaloo did not dare to speak until the statue of the Stormmaster disappeared past the bend in the waterway. For some time the Master was in a foul mood, mumbling under his breath about the “cold blooded murder of the Equestrian tongue”.

“What was all that?” She asked at last.

“That was the Mayor of Wintergreen,” the Master explained. “I’m sorry you had to see these folks at their worst. It’s a very nice town most of the time, but they’re a paranoid bunch. Rightly so, I guess; if Percheron Landing didn’t exist, the EUP would be flocking to this place. They’re no friends of the Children of the Night either, once they found out that they were all alicorns. Anyways, they spotted something last night (no, it was not a timberwolf). They’ve recalled all their barges, but they want kerosene in case they have to burn down the town.”

“They want to burn down their own town?” Scootaloo asked incredulously.

“It’s never happened before,” the Master said. “You saw their houses, right? All made of logs! But their islands don’t burn. If they evacuate the town and set fire, they can stall their enemies long enough to regroup. I’m not worried, though. They’ve gone against Royal Guards before, and griffins too. No, this won’t last very long. You should come back in a few weeks, if you don’t stay in the Garden of Shadow. You’ll get used to their gibberish. It's hard on the ears, but you'll start to understand them. Wintergreen is a good place for orphans, even if you are with the Children of the Night. You can pay for almost anything in work, and these days there’s more than enough food to go around. And if you’re ever in trouble with Canterlot, these folks will take up your case. You should have hailed the Maestro when you were looking for a barge. Cook his fish and bait his hooks, and he might have paid you instead!”

The bargepony went on and on about the many customs of Wintergreen: they ate a lot of fish (cattail flour was their other staple); their bargeponies were some of the best (the Master was the best, of course); they were “shameless butchers of the beautiful, elegant language brought to them by the Stormmaster.” With all he knew (or purported to know), Scootaloo thought that he could have passed for a Wintergreen bargepony himself were it not for his refined speech and passionate hate of fishcakes.

Scootaloo didn’t remember falling asleep, but was awoken by a not-too-gentle prod from the Master’s pole. The sun was still high, and Scootaloo wondered if she had lost a day.

“Kid,” said the Master in a hushed voice. “Go check on your brother. Tell him to stop whatever it is he’s up to. I don’t like the noise he’s making.”

Scootaloo rotated her ears.

Crack

That doesn’t sound good.

She stood up quickly, and almost flopped overboard from the blood leaving her head. The Master held her up with one hoof until she regained her balance, and then she was off.

The deckhouse entrance was half veiled, and Cabbage was sitting in the middle of the opening like the world’s least threatening guard dog. He shuffled aside for Scootaloo, regarding her with half-lidded eyes.

“…Anyways, that’s how I lost my medical license!”

Morning Rain’s weak giggles were cut short by a sharp gasp and another wet crack. Gina whimpered and covered her face with her wings.

Scootaloo stood at the front of the deckhouse for a whole half minute taking in the bizarre scene. Her brother was sprawled on the sleeping mat with a tightly-rolled cloak under his chest. Gregor seemed to be doing push ups on Rain’s back, his knuckles resting on the boy’s uneven spine.

“Hey Scootaloo,” Rain mumbled with his right cheek pressed against the mat.

“Don’t be alarmed,” Gregor said, releasing Rain. “I’m not hurting him.”

Morning Rain sat up and flapped his wings tentatively. He winced when his right wing clicked past the halfway point, but they were at last moving symmetrically again.

“This feels so much better!” He declared. “Thanks, Gregor!”

“You’re not done yet,” the griffin said, guiding him back to the mat with his big hand. “What you’re feeling right now is only temporary; if I finish today’s session, you can be off morphine for three days at most. But if I do this twice a week for two months you’ll be good as new. I’m going to tie your wings today; I know you don’t feel it, but if you try to fly now you might snap your spine in half.”

“I won’t argue with that,” he said. “At least I can feel my tongue again.”

“The Master says you’re being too loud,” Scootaloo said, doing her very best not to giggle.

“I’ll talk to him,” said Gregor as he repositioned his fists on Rain’s back. “He’ll have to tolerate this a bit longer, I’m afraid.”

Here he paused to deliver a vicious smash to his patient’s back. Scootaloo grimaced, but Morning Rain just coughed a few times and repositioned his wings.

“It’s good that you’re here, Scootaloo,” Gregor continued. “I wanted to discuss something with you two. First off, how are you getting to the Garden of Shadow?”

“I don’t know,” she replied. “We were supposed to meet Gari somewhere, and I thought Princess Luna would tell us the plan when the time was right.”

“I see.” Gregor sat down with his hands resting on Rain’s back. “Well, I have an alternative for you if you’re willing to listen.

“We will reach Horseshoe Bay tomorrow morning, and the Master will rendezvous with the a ship called the Jackdaw. She’s a decently fast cargo ship with a crew of ten, and Captain Weatherly assured me that there will be more than enough room for the trip back. The fare is reasonable; you may pay me back when you have the means. Since you are on the run, would it not be prudent to get off the continent as soon as possible?”

“What about Gari?” Scootaloo asked.

“She will travel by ship also,” Gregor said. “Clearly that was her initial plan. We can contact her with the Jackdaw’s radio, and if the worst comes to the worst she can arrange to pick you up en route. I don’t think she will, though. You might arrive at Kelp Town a day or two before she does, but then her brothers and sisters will be able to shelter you.”

Scootaloo sat down, chewing her tongue. The griffin’s offer seemed genuine, his logic sound, yet still her mind searched for some excuse to decline.

“What’s the crew like?” She asked nervously.

“They’re all good sailors, if that’s what you mean,” Gregor said. “Five griffins, one earth pony, one unicorn, two pegasi besides Captain Weatherly and one sylvanocian. They will do you no harm.”

“What if the sylvanocians follow us?” She said.

“Unless they have an ironclad, I doubt they will challenge a ship like the Jackdaw. Cargo ships tend to be quite sturdy, and the Jackdaw has survived a few pirate raids. There is an armed watch on deck at all hours. Besides, sylvanocian magic is traceable. With a unicorn and a sylvanocian onboard we can detect the Midnight Guard before they round the horizon.”

“Come on,” Gina urged. “We’ll have so much fun!”

“Think about it,” Gregor said. “I won’t force you to come if you don’t want to. Let me know before dinner, okay?”

After ten more minutes of popping vertebrae, Morning Rain was well enough to go on deck with Scootaloo. His torso was wrapped in elastic bandages, but he was walking with his head up for the first time since the Everfree Forest.

“Did he rip out your spine?” The Master cackled when they passed him on the way to the bow.

They kept their eyes on the water and spoke in low voices. Morning Rain had no qualms about traveling with the griffins, much to Scootaloo's surprise.

“They’re nice,” he said as he nibbled on a sprig of watercress. “I think Gregor has a point. The longer we stay on shore, the longer those sylvanocians have to catch up. We’re way ahead of them right now. That’s good, right?”

“I don’t want to get on a ship without Gari,” Scootaloo argued. “I want to stay with them as much as you do, but I don’t think we can fight off all those sylvanocians. They practically destroyed Appleloosa! You don’t want Gregor or his family to get hurt, do you?”

“What about us?” Rain said, his eyes wide with fear. “Scootaloo, what if they find us before Gari does? What do you think they’ll do to us?”

“They won’t find us,” Scootaloo replied, her voice sounding hollow in her ears. “We’ll just keep doing what we’ve always done. We’ll just keep running until we find Gari.”

Rain did not argue much after that. Scootaloo kept one foreleg on his neck and the other on her tomahawk. Now that she was looking for timberwolves, every bobbing branch made her heart race.

Rain should be watching the other side.

But turning around would surely draw the Master’s attention, so they stayed as they were until Gregor announced that lunch was ready.

The Master took his bowl of cornmeal porridge on deck, saying that he had to make up for time lost in the detour to Wintergreen. Watching the griffins tear into the bloody manticore leg, Scootaloo felt a strange mix of disgust and jealousy. She focused on her own food, but the scent of spices and roast drippings teased her nostrils and almost overwhelmed the soft sweetness of the porridge.

The Master slurped his meal without a word, such was his habit. It came as a surprise when his bowl clattered against the deck.

“You stay away from me, hear?” He growled from behind the half-drawn curtain at the entrance.

Grace giggled and stood up, but her mother grabbed her before she could leave the room.

“Off with you!”

His paddle struck with a heavy thud.

And then he screamed.

Scootaloo felt a breeze as Gregor’s leapt over her head. Her ears ringing, and she didn’t know why.

The barge rolled to starboard. Scootaloo fell against the side of the deckhouse and was immediately pinned down by her brother's body. The water struck her like a sledgehammer; she tried to draw a deep breath, but her head was already submerged. She kicked with all her strength. Her hooves breached the surface, but her body did not move. She stretched her neck until it cracked. She could see the boiling surface half an inch above her nose, but that did her no good.

All at once the barge fell flat. Scootaloo’s head slammed against the deck as the water roared out of the deckhouse. Her lungs felt like they had ruptured, and she fought hard not to vomit as water exploded through her nose and mouth.

Scootaloo staggered across the heaving deck with her brother by her side. Her teeth left marks in the hilt of her tomahawk. Morning Rain dragged his scythe with the blade down, leaving a shallow but noticeable groove from the middle of the deckhouse to its entrance.

The shredded door veil twisted and swirled in turbulent water. The barge had entered a clearing full of giant lotus flowers, and the air was full of thick pink petals, but it was not the beauty of the scene that made the ponies stop in the doorway with their moths hanging open.

A single timberwolf loomed over the barge, casting a jagged shadow over the deck. Its head was as big as the manticore in the deckhouse, and its leafy ears looked like unkempt hedges. Green flames burned inside deep sockets, bright tongues licking at its brows of twisted boughs but never setting them alight. Scootaloo had never seen a timberwolf so big; its moss-covered limbs were made of ancient, knotted trunks, and its mouth was packed with countless splintered logs.

It lifted a paw out of the water with surprising speed, making a wave that threw the barge backwards. Each of its claws was a sharpened sapling long enough to skewer a pony.

It struck with so much force that the tail end of the barge was lifted out of the water. The first two deck boards exploded off the longitudinal beams, jiggling in the air like sheets of rubber. The Master jabbed at the timberwolf with his long pole, barely reaching the base of its neck.

Cabbage danced around the deck with his head lowered and his wings flared aggressively. Galina and Gregor sat with bow in hand, while the twins fired off shorter arrows that barely penetrated the monster’s chest.

“Master! Back us up!” Gregor called. “Grace! Gina! Aim for its mouth!”

The gentle scent of lotus was no match for the stinkhorn stench of the timberwolf. Scootaloo kept her breaths shallow and narrowed her eyes, and held the tomahawk tighter in her teeth.

What am I supposed to do with this?

Ducking under the griffins’ arrows, Scootaloo led her brother all the way to the front of the barge. The timberwolf trudged through the water with its head lowered almost to deck level, snarling and snapping at the onslaught like a dog would a swarm of mosquitoes. Its nose was a pincushion of arrows and darts, the right side marred by patches of singed bark.

The Maestro’s lantern!

Its breath was bad enough to peel paint. Scootaloo jumped back not a moment too soon; the timberwolf’s fangs punctured the deck an inch in front of her front hooves, sending a shockwave up her legs that rattled her brain and made her stumble. Morning Rain tried to take off only to fall clumsily on his face.

Scootaloo closed her eyes and swung the tomahawk as hard as she could. The blade bit deep into waterlogged timber, and force of impact nearly popped her shoulder from its socket. She just managed to retrieve her weapon before the timberwolf threw back its head with an angry roar.

Morning Rain took her tail in his teeth and dragged her backwards. Scootaloo scowled over her shoulder, but quickly realized his reasoning when long claws shattered the deck in front of her.

Gregor and Galina were in the air with their bows, circling the timberwolf at a safe distance. Two arrows disappeared into its eye sockets, making its eyes flare momentarily. Its chest was impenetrable; even the shots that struck it square in the nose could not hinder its advance. The barge was backing up at full tilt, the Master leaning far over the side to see past the deckhouse.

Scootaloo and Morning Rain stayed at the front of the barge with their weapons ready. The timberwolf struck hard and often; its claws seemed to shatter wood on contact. Its foul breath made the ponies’ eyes water. Scootaloo ducked whenever her brother swung with the war scythe; a few times she came close to losing an ear. The heavy blade cut deep into the timberwolf’s muzzle, but the damage was only skin deep. The monster simply growled and shook its head before reposting.

Scootaloo stood panting at the receding bow. Her legs felt deboned. Her brother was lying flat on the deck now, overheated and exhausted. Gregor and Galina were firing their remaining arrows directly into the timberwolf’s mouth, trying to dissuade another attack. Grace and Gina were all out of arrows, and their heap of darts had dwindled considerably. Their aim faltered from fatigue; all their darts only reached the timberwolf’s neck, and only half of them stuck.

Snapping the arrows that held its mouth open, the timberwolf went for the barge again. Scootaloo tried to retreat, but her legs gave out. She fell backwards, narrowly avoiding the wooden teeth that crushed yet another portion of the barge. She did not retaliate immediately this time. The timberwolf stared at her, blasting hot, putrid air in her face as pulled on the barge like a chew toy. She could barely lift her weapon, and what was the point in delaying the inevitable?

The timberwolf held onto the barge and started lifting it out of the water. The griffins’ darts rolled towards the rear as the angle of the deck got steeper. The Master fell over with a sharp cry, and Morning Rain began sliding backwards.

This is it. Sorry everypony.

The deck was nearly vertical. The tomahawk had somehow become wedged in a board, and before she knew what she was doing Scootaloo had grabbed its handle.

”You’re not a quitter, squirt. That’s why I like you”

Scootaloo pulled with all her strength. The tomahawk held onto the nearly vertical deck just long enough to let her hook one leg onto a branch in the timberwolf’s jaw. She was close enough to distinguish birch leaves from poplar in its massive ears. The fire of its eyes dried her skin and mouth in an instant.

With all her remaining strength Scootaloo swung at the timberwolf’s teeth. Two large chunks of wood fell past her dangling hind legs, and she was thrown into the air as the timberwolf released the barge.

The world seemed to slow down as she fell past the cavernous jaws of the wooden beast, frozen in a silent roar. The throat of a timberwolf was a strange thing to behold. Unlike its exterior of dead logs, its insides were lined with a succulent layer of fresh green growth, much like the stem of a seedling. In an instant Scootaloo knew what must be done, if only she had the means to do it.

Two darts whistled past her, one of them narrowly missing her ear. They struck with a wet crunch, completely disappearing into the thick green flesh.

The timberwolf threw its head into the air, but it was a not a howl that escaped its throat. The sound it made was like that of a deflating balloon. It coughed and sputtered, making massive waves with its flailing limbs.

Wood cascaded off its face and shoulders, and the logs that made up its legs and paws floated up to the surface. Is lower jaw splashed into the water, and the flames of its eyes faded just before its skeletal frame fell apart.

Scootaloo fell into the water just in front of the barge, quenched like steel from the forge.

After some time to recover the Master lined up his passengers on the remaining half of the deck. He glared at them all with his paddle on his shoulder as they each gave an account of all that they knew about sylvanocians and timberwolves.

When they were finished, no amount of pleading or bribery or threats could convince the Master to take the ponies any further.

“Here!” He said, throwing a small, greasy satchel at Gregor’s feet. “Have your fare back, if that’s what you’re after! I knew there was something odd about these two the moment I laid eyes on them! I won’t have them on my barge tonight if you gave me the royal vault!”

He talked of throwing the two overboard, and Scootaloo thought that he would have done it. For half an hour Gregor and Galina stood between the angry bargepony and the four kids cowering in a pile, and at last the Master’s temper fizzled out. He would let them off at the next dock, but the ponies would not reach the Jackdaw.

The griffins spent the last hours of the day preparing the ponies for their trudge through the swamp. They were washed and dressed in their cloaks, and the twins packed their bags with hardtack and dried vegetables. Morning Rain got a new coat of elastic bandages, with instructions to keep it tight when he walked. Grace gave Scootaloo a bundle of six stone-tipped darts with bright orange fletching.

“In case meet timberwolf,” she said. “You are good with darts.”

“Thanks,” Scootaloo said, trying to smile. “Thank you for all you did for us.”

“I wish you could come with us,” Gina said.

The barge tapped the padded posts of the wharf. It looked just like the one where they had boarded. The damaged vessel wobbled when Scootaloo and Morning Rain hopped off.

“Head east,” the Master instructed from the deck, pointing southeast with his paddle while leaning on the pole. “It’s a little muddy, but if you’ll know you’re going the wrong way if you have to swim. There’s an inn within an hour’s walk of here called the Kappa’s Head. Spring Lotus runs the place. She’s from Wintergreen, and she’ll likely give you lodging and food for cleaning a room or two. I’m not a bad pony, kids, but I won’t fight timberwolves for your sake.”

The griffins waved and yelled their goodbyes as the barge receded into the distance. The last things the ponies heard was Cabbage’s throaty screeching.

“I’ll really miss them,” Rain mumbled.

“Me too,” Scootaloo agreed, heaving a deep sigh.

An oppressive silence fell as the two trudged through the reeds with their heads down. They had shared every story they could think of with the griffins and the kakapo. Now they had nothing to talk about.

Chapter 18

Chapter 18

In the last hour of daylight Scootaloo followed the smell of spices and freshly-baked bread across soft, sandy ground. She knew the inn was nearby; was about to walk past it for the fourth time, in fact, when Rain spotted the window.

In hindsight she should have been the one to find it. After all Ponyville had more than its fair share of tree houses and treehouses. But her mind was still filled with images of the log huts of Wintergreen. With the lush canopy overhead it took some time to figure out where the inn was and where it was not.

The living wooden wall was formed from hundreds of skinny trunks all fused together. Calloused bands on the light green bark showed the places where ropes had once been tied. The first two floors were meticulously trimmed, while leafy branches obscured the windows of the upper levels. The square footprint of the building was the only sign of Wintergreen’s architectural influence.

The front door opened onto a short dock woven from living stilt roots. The swamp here was very open. Staring at the gentle black waves, Scootaloo almost forgot about the dangers that lurked all around her.

Most of the windows faced the water, and a single gas lantern was hung on a long stripped branch sticking out from a top floor window. The two children crossed the porch stealthily, with their ears perked under their hoods. There were many voices coming from inside; at least a few of the patrons were drunk.

The door swung open before Scootaloo could knock, and both children ducked just in time to avoid a face full of slob.

A mint green mare with a faded pink bandana over her curly blue mane stood in the arched doorway, her mouth hidden behind her hoof. An empty wooden pail rolled the short distance to Scootaloo’s leg. For a long second they stared at each other, uncertain of what to say or do.

“A… are you Spring Lotus?” Scootaloo asked, picking up the bucket with one hoof.

“Yes,” said the mare hesitantly. “Who are you?”

“I’m Scootaloo,” she said. “This is my brother. We need a place to stay tonight.”

Lotus set her hoof down and frowned at the children’s faces beneath their damp hoods. Then she scanned the entire porch and the calm water beyond.

“Where are your parents?” She asked.

“We’re from the Canterlot Orphanage,” Rain said. “We got separated from Gari a while ago, and we’re trying to meet up with her again. We’ll do anything you ask if you’d let us in tonight. I’m a candle maker, and Scootaloo was a courier in Canterlot. We’re both excellent housekeepers too, and…”

“That’s all very good,” Lotus said. “I don’t have a room to give you, but I think I can fit you somewhere. Come in.”

The walls inside were also made of living tree trunks. The floor was an intricate lattice of roots, and the ceiling was woven from sturdy branches that had become shaded out as the building grew. Lotus guided the kids through a narrow hallway into a low-ceilinged dining room.

There was barely room to stand. Most of the guests were griffins, many of them still wearing hoods or dusty jackets as they talked amongst themselves over tumblers of beer. Even with all the windows thrown open the room reeked of sweat and liquor. Scootaloo saw three hawks as she pushed through the crowd, each one perched on its master’s leather shoulder pad. They eyed her hungrily as she passed.

Lotus was stopped every other step by an impatient customer. She told them all to wait, sounding more and more agitated with each repetition. Sweat dripped from her nose by the time she ushered the kids into the steaming kitchen, closing the door in the face of a black-feathered griffin who had just opened her mouth to speak.

“We can talk later,” Lotus said, sliding down the door into a sitting position. “You’re my waiters for tonight. Just get this stuff out there as fast as you can and try not to spill. Beer’s in that big keg at the other end of the kitchen. Remember to get a name when you refill, and tell me as soon as you get back. Come on!”

Scootaloo’s legs nearly buckled from the weight of the tray. The wooden bowls were stacked in five levels, topped with a mound of steaming beer loaves.

“That’s for Grizelda, Gaston, Garibaldi, Gloria and Genevieve. Hurry up!”

The griffins cheered when she emerged from the kitchen looking like a serving tray with legs. Scootaloo tried to ask for directions, but they quickly grew impatient.

“Just call out the names!” Someone hollered. “They’ll know who they are!”

So it was the Scootaloo spent her shift as an auctioneer of sorts, calling out each name, waiting for an “aye” or “over here”, and running the order to the right table. As the soup and bread were lifted from her back by eager hands they were replaced with empty mugs. The griffins placed their mugs on her tray when she passed, mumbling their names as if she knew them already. On her first round she could only recall three names, though Lotus filled three dozen mugs. The innkeeper was far too busy to be properly angry with her, so Scootaloo was sent out the second time with an excessively strong shove.

After six rounds Scootaloo felt ready to collapse. There wasn’t much air in the dining room, and the kitchen was even hotter. Her feet baked inside her boots, and her cloak was drenched in sweat. The vat of water on the kitchen floor was the only relief she got, and after a dozen rounds Scootaloo only caught a fleeting glimpse of her brother.

“Look at me,” said Gilbert when Scootaloo brought him his rabbit stew. “Just last year I was the best comedy writer in the Garden of Shadows! Now I write about ponies for a living! Isn’t that funny?”

“Give it a rest, Gil. They’re paying you to travel! I wish I was getting paid to be here.”

“Oooh! Do me! Do me!”

“Aye, I’ll do you! I’ll do you right!”

“You’re drunk, Guille.”

A hawk landed on top of Scootaloo’s tray, flinging bits of carrot and shallot across the room as he bobbed for meat in the adjacent bowls.

“Puddle! Stop that!”

Thankfully many of the griffins went to their rooms after dinner. When the dining room had cleared out enough for Lotus to run the remaining orders the children got a hard-earned break. They left their clothes and weapons on a hook in the kitchen. Lotus led them onto the back porch where a halved beer barrel stood, and gave them a kettle of boiling water. It was only enough to make a lukewarm bath, but they were grateful nonetheless.

When they returned to the dining room Lotus was waiting for them in a clean booth. The mood had mellowed down dramatically. Everyone was seated be they pony or griffin, and the hawks were quietly preening themselves. Three beeswax candles burned on each table, and a dozen lanterns dangled from hooks in the ceiling. Shadows danced across the bumpy walls. The night breeze carried a fresh, salty scent that tempered the sweetness of the candle smoke.

The tables had been moved to clear a piece of floor in front of the windows, and now three griffins walked onto this stage. The girl at the left took out a short bamboo flute from a satchel, and the room immediately fell silent.

“Rooted Butterflies,” Lotus explained in a low voice. “They’re from Vanhoover.”

This drew an emphatic shush from the next booth, and Scootaloo held her tongue as the melody began.

The first song was in the griffin tongue, but Scootaloo enjoyed its relaxing tune. Thankfully it was not very long. When the last note faded away Lotus sidled out of the booth and made a beeline for the kitchen, returning with a loaded tray before the band finished taking requests.

“Tell me if the beer’s too strong,” Lotus said.

The soup was vegetable chowder, much to Scootaloo's relief. Both kids finished their first bowl by the next intermission, and Scootaloo was only just thinking about seconds when the bread basket was refilled and another brimming bowl appeared on the table before her.

The band was evidently quite popular. The room filled with applause and requests every time they stopped. Scootaloo recognized a few work songs: “The Miller’s Jig”; “Down The Line”; “Farmer’s Gold”. These were laughed off by the trio on stage, much to Scootaloo’s relief. Hearing them now would remind her too much of home.

“Serves Her Right!” Cried one of the griffins in the booth behind her.

Many from the audience cheered in approval, Scootaloo included. The girl on the right, who had been strumming a mandolin up to this point, handed her instrument to the singer and stepped to the front.

The griffins behind Scootaloo whistled and drummed on their empty mugs with spoons.

She took her time setting up, self-consciously running her hand over the dark feathers of her head. Her glossy red beak shone like polished metal, and the flashing of her bronze eyes sent a chill down Scootaloo’s back. The room grew quieter as the tension built. Scootaloo could hear the clicking tongue of a hawk, though the nearest hawk was five tables away.

The first notes hit like flashes of lightning. It was nothing like Sapphire Shores’ original; there was neither piano nor guitar, and the much younger singer had a very different accent, but Scootaloo found herself keeping beat with the rest of the audience. The young griffins performed with such energy, the song might as well have been written for them.

So enthralled was she in the performance, Scootaloo failed to notice that her brother had stopped moving. It was not until the song ended and she gave him an enthusiastic bump on the shoulder that she looked at him again.

Morning Rain was sitting perfectly still, his breathing quick and shallow. He had become very pale, and every muscle in his body was tense. Waving a hoof before his unblinking eyes had no effect.

“Rain,” Scootaloo said, tapping him on the shoulder. “Rain, what’s wrong?”

Lotus was staring at him with a look of concern on her face. Feeling rather embarrassed, Scootaloo raised her hoof and struck him hard on the back of the head.

Rain let out a short yelp and jumped three feet off the bench. His eyes darted around the room as he stood stiff-legged on the seat back, finally settling on the five griffins in the next booth.

“Kid, are you okay?” One of them asked.

Rain jumped onto the floor, nearly smashing his face on the back of a chair. He disappeared into the kitchen before Scootaloo could leave her seat.

“What’s his problem?”

Scootaloo reared up on the seat back and looked into the other booth, where five male griffins took up every inch of bench. One of them had a black body and grey feathers while the others were the more common white and gold. Two of them were wearing long-sleeved jackets. They were altogether unremarkable; Scootaloo didn’t think she could tell one face from another.

The kitchen door slammed.

Morning Rain screamed in pain.

Something heavy fell on the table in the other booth.

“Have we met before?”

The griffin that had been sitting directly behind Rain was holding the boy by his right hoof. He was wearing a pale blue jacket with golden swirls in the front. The feathers around his eyes had a black fringe, giving him a spectacled appearance.

The black scythe blade was wedged deep in his part of the table. Then it jumped into the griffin’s free hand; Scootaloo didn’t see him move.

“Have. We. Met. Before.” He repeated.

“You were at the Canterlot Orphanage!” Rain cried, struggling with all his might. Thick blood oozed through the griffin’s fingers, dripping off his wrist and onto the bench. “You… You killed my friends! My brothers and sisters!”

The other griffins in the booth laughed. The one holding Rain let the scythe fall to his side.

“If I got a bit for every pony like you! Think of the possibilities!”

He twisted his wrist, and Morning Rain bit back another scream.

“Yeah, I was there,” he continued, lifting the boy into the air like an especially large pheasant. “All five of us were there, and a few others as well. Yes, I admit it! Listen up everyone! Take a good look! Here we are, Gari Anac Luna’s most wanted!”

All the griffins stood up at once. Lotus pulled Scootaloo across the table and held her tightly. The falconers uncapped their birds, and the nearest griffin took a step towards the booth. Rain’s captor sneered and raised the scythe back to the boy’s throat. His companions got onto the table, each one with a short knife in his hand.

“The door is over here,” said a young grey mare standing between two like coloured griffins. “You’re not leaving.”

“Oh, that’s cute,” he chuckled. “Now before you act too rashly, try to see this from my perspective. Do you know of anyone who can bring back the dead? Of course you don’t! What is done is done! Nothing you can do will bring back those kids, but you can decide what happens to this one. What’s your name, son?”

Rain spat in his face.

“I don’t blame you,” said the griffin. “Like I was saying, you can decide what happens to this one! I’ll release him safe and sound at the door, or you can attack me now and send him back to Canterlot in a box.”

A few of the younger griffins tried to push to the front of the group, but they were held back by the others. The crowd shuffled uneasily, opening a narrow path leading to the door. Scootaloo stared at the party of five, trying to remember every last detail about each of them.

One had some red feathers on his head. The one in the red-brown jacket had an especially fluffy chin.

Was the black one a little taller than the others?

“You do know that we’ll come after you immediately, right?” A sylvanocian stallion said, earning a hard slap from one that could have been his twin.

“I know,” said the griffin, casually dangling Rain before the sylvanocian’s face. “And I wish you the best of luck. In fact, I’ll give you ten thousand bits if you can bring me back here by tomorrow morning. Heck, I’ll give you ten thousand bits if you find me by this time next year.”

His wings snapped open, but the other sylvanocian held him back. The five progressed through the crowd with their knives out and ready.

Scootaloo sat petrified in Lotus’ embrace.

Do something! They’re getting away!

They were just three metres from the door. Though there was much fist shaking and uttering of threats nobody dared step into their path.

A flash of motion made everyone in the room duck. The dark griffin fell to the floor, his dagger clattering into the crowd.

Brown Jacket toppled into another griffin and was immediately grabbed by five others.

In two seconds the hostage taker stood alone in the party. A pair of massive cream wings flared open; at first Scootaloo thought it was her brother.

The scythe rose into the air. There was a loud, wet crack, and the last griffin fell onto his back with both hands empty.

The crowd closed in immediately. The look of horror on the griffin’s face before he became obscured by the many bodies gave Scootaloo some satisfaction.

A loud bang cut through the sounds of fists and hooves. Thick grey smoke rose from the floor in front of the door, quickly swallowing half the room. Many screamed as they lashed out blindly. Three griffins were thrown from the fray. Something heavy crashed against wood, and then the cloud began to recede.

When the dust steeled seven griffins and three pegasi lay on the floor with deep gashes across their chests. The front door was shattered in three pieces, and the five were gone.

Standing on a table was a large, cream-colored pegasus with a trailing black mane. His cutie mark was a bright orange sword over a circular steel shield, almost concealed by his enormous wings. He looked very serious with his square jaw and cold grey eyes, but his brows were furrowed in deep concern as he nudged the colt in the crook of his left foreleg.

Rain sat slightly reclined, his injured right hoof hanging limp at chest level. His eyes were opened wide, as was his mouth.

“Daddy?”

Author's Note

Short chapter, because busy!

Chapter 19

Chapter 19

“Hey kid, it’s okay. I’m here now.”

Morning Rain either didn’t hear him or didn’t believe. He would not let go of his father even to get his hoof bandaged. Lotus had to tend to his wound from behind Summer Rain’s back. He was crying so hard that it was impossible to gauge any physical discomfort, and at last the innkeeper left Scootaloo with instructions to watch him closely.

Most of the guests had left immediately in pursuit of the escaped mercenaries. Only eight griffins stayed behind to tend to the wounded, while eight others guarded every side of the building in pairs. Lotus gave her second-floor room to Scootaloo and her brother, and by extension to Summer Rain as well.

Summer Rain seemed more confused than upset with his son. He held the boy in his lap and did his best to comfort him, but there was no glimmer of recognition in his eyes.

He’s not your dad, Rain.

Scootaloo kept her tomahawk at her side. There was something peculiar about the stallion; she didn’t know what, but something was very wrong.

It took an hour, but Morning Rain was finally getting tired. His hooves groped the air as Summer Rain pried him off his neck and tucked him in.

Scootaloo shuffled off the blanket that was wrapped around her and hopped off the bed, landing lightly on the bumpy floor. Even though it was a pleasant summer evening the breeze from the window felt cold on her back.

“Where are you going?” She asked when Summer Rain opened the door. “You’re not running away again, are you?”

He jumped at the sound of her voice. His gaze shifted quickly between the two kids, and the corner of his mouth twitched. He backed up one step as Scootaloo approached.

He’s not blinking!

“What’s wrong, sir?” Scootaloo asked with narrowed eyes. “Are you not feeling well?”

“Come with me,” he said when her face was within an inch of his. “I... I can’t tell you anything here. Not in front of him.”

He stepped into the unlit hallway and held out a hoof. Scootaloo made sure he saw the tomahawk at her side before she followed him into the darkness.

“Summer Rain,” she said as soon as they were out of earshot of the room. “What happened to you?”

“Kid, listen,” he stammered, sitting down on the uneven floor. He reached out to pull her closer, but Scootaloo remained just out of reach. “I… I’m not your dad.”

“Of course you’re not my dad,” Scootaloo said. “You’re Morning Rain’s dad! Don’t you know him at all? He’s your only son!”

“I don’t have a son!” He snapped. Realizing what he had just said, he took his ears in his front hooves and put his head on the floor. “He… He didn’t have kids. He told me so… more than once…”

“You’re not making any sense,” Scootaloo said. “Aren’t you Lieutenant Summer Rain from Dredger Company?”

“I’m not!” He said. “Well, I am now, but not really! I’m just Summer Rain. I mean, everyone calls me Summer Rain, and I look like Lieutenant Summer Rain…”

Scootaloo took a step back and reached for the tomahawk. The stallion sat up and held out a pleading hoof.

“I’ll show you,” he said in a low voice. “Just promise you won’t run off and tell your brother, okay? At least not right away?”

“Okay,” Scootaloo said with a sigh, taking another step back and squaring her shoulders.

The pale stallion stood up and inhaled. Scootaloo bit back a scream when his body disappeared in a vortex of green flames. For a fraction of a second the fire roared in the hallway, illuminating cracked bark and knotted branches without setting anything alight. It burned out as suddenly as it had appeared, and in the place of Summer Rain stood…

Nothing?

Scootaloo rubbed her eyes to clear the afterimage. The creature that stood before her was almost completely black, almost invisible in the dark hallway. It was slightly shorter than the pony of its disguise and a lot skinnier, with a much narrower face and two long fangs extending past its chin. The layer of fuzz on its shell was just enough to stop it from glistening like metal, and it stared at her with featureless blue eyes.

Its lips curled up in a sheepish smile that remained after the transformation was reversed.

“You’re a changeling?” Scootaloo said. Her wings shot open involuntarily as memory of the royal wedding flashed thorough her mind.

“Yes,” he said, avoiding eye contact like a boy who had just been caught stealing cookies. “Do you see my problem now?”

As Scootaloo glared at the benign-looking stallion a terrible thought entered her mind.

“Is Morning Rain a changeling too?”

“What?” Changeling Summer Rain said before his mind caught up. “Oh. No, your brother is still your brother. I’ve only been using this face for about four years. He’s older than that, right?”

Scootaloo let out a sigh of relief, but quickly resumed her aggressive stance.

“You have a lot of explaining to do,” she growled. “Where is the real Summer Rain, and what did you do to him? Are you working alone? Where are the rest of the changelings?”

“Summer Rain is dead,” he said, hanging his head just like a real pony would. “He died in Percheron Landing four years ago. I made sure of it.”

“You killed him?” Scootaloo said, taking one stiff step forwards.

“No!” He said quickly, and backed all the way to the end of the hall. “No, not exactly! Just listen to me! I’ll tell you everything!

“Many years ago I was a military commander for Queen Chrysalis. Even back then she had her eyes set on Canterlot. I told her it was a foolhardy pursuit. I was exiled years before the invasion of Canterlot! I had nothing to do with that!

“Living alone, I had to figure out a lot of things. Changelings aren’t really meant to be with other species, you see. We can infiltrate a community for a while, but it’s never long-lasting. We don’t even have voices of our own, and even a changeling skilled as myself cannot design a body that holds up to close scrutiny. I spent a long time just picking up vacancies: taking somepony’s place when they’re out of town or finding a form and pretending to be a vagrant in a different place. That didn’t always work out; once in a whiles somepony would recognize me and start asking questions. What I really needed was a form from far away, one that I could keep permanently.

“I found it in Percheron Landing. I was disguised as a sailor on shore leave; even in a town like that I didn’t dare go out as I am. One night I saw a rather suspicious pony snooping around outside the inn where I was staying (more suspicious than the usual stuff, anyways). I followed him out of the town, all the way to a EUP camp. There I learned that they were planning to attack Percheron Landing.

“I went to the town’s Marshal first thing in the morning and told him all that I knew. I showed him my true identity and offered to help him on one condition: that when the attack came he would kill one specific EUP guard of my choosing.

“For two weeks I disguised myself as a soldier who was killed in Percheron Landing years ago. I went into the camp claiming to be an escaped prisoner with information. I studied each one of them as I planned the attack with their leaders, and it so happened that Summer Rain took a liking to me.

“I was very thorough in my assessment. I asked him all about his work and his family. He told me that he was not married and had no children. His mother’s a senile old mare in Canterlot, and his father had already passed away. He was perfect for my purposes!”

“You killed him?” Scootaloo said again.

“Somebody did! When the EUP started the attack I went to the Marshal’s house and hid there. I saw the body that evening. It was pretty mangled—he got crushed under a bridge—but it was definitely him. I took his form and left Percheron Landing a few days later, and I’ve been wearing this face ever since.”

Summer Rain looked at Scootaloo with pleading eyes.

He’s faking it.

You can’t trust a changeling!

But he looks so real.

“What are you going to do now?” Scootaloo asked. Her voice cracked; she cleared her throat. “Morning Rain really cared about his dad. You can’t just leave him again.”

“That’s just it,” he said, pulling on his ears again. “I can’t just walk away, but I can’t keep him either! He’ll figure it out eventually, or somepony else will. I don’t want to tell him either. That kid is messed up! The way he was holding that sword, he really meant to kill those griffins!”

“I’ll tell him,” Scootaloo said.

“Please don’t,” he protested. “Look, I don’t want to upset him at all. He’s had it pretty rough already, if he had to live with this guy here for any period of time.”

Scootaloo’s heart sank, remembering Rain’s truth serum-induced outburst.

“He’s a terrible bloke, this one,” Changeling Summer Rain continued. He waved one hoof over his face to make it extra clear about whom he was speaking. “In the two weeks that I knew him he was sober just long enough to do his job. He was so angry too; just angry at everything. I had to be really careful with my questions. Your brother never mentioned any of this to you?”

“I suspected something,” Scootaloo said. “He never talks about it though.”

“Ah, poor kid,” he said, looking genuinely sad. “You see why I can’t just barge in there and tell him the truth? I suppose this Gari character has done him some good, but he’s got a long ways to go yet.”

“Can you at least spend the night?” Scootaloo suggested. “It won’t hurt, right? You don’t have to tell him anything; just say you have work to do if he asks.”

He considered this for a while, stroking his chin. Finally he nodded.

Morning Rain was breathing gently, his bandaged hoof resting on top of the pillow. Scootaloo got onto the large bed beside him and put one hoof on his forehead. He did not have a fever; the clinch pick on the griffin’s wrist wasn’t poisoned after all.

The mattress creaked under the weight of the changeling. Scootaloo cringed as the broad feathered wing touched her back. It felt just like a real pegasus wing, except not as warm. Morning Rain smiled and nuzzled the pillow.

Downstairs the band took the stage again, this time for a much smaller audience. Lotus’ room was right above the stage, and soothing tones filtered crisp and clear through the gaps in the floor. They were singing “The Vagrant’s Song”; a song that Scootaloo’s father often sang to her.

She huddled closer to her brother and closed her eyes. Her heart ached at the bittersweet tune.

“… You can’t jump the North Wind like you can a freight train;

“So I best be on my way in the early morning rain…”

“Scootaloo! Rain!”

Upon hearing that voice all feelings of fatigue disappeared. Scootaloo stood up on the perfectly black floor. Several metres in front of her was a glowing orange line. It ran parallel to a white one on her left side, turning ninety degrees in front of her and continuing on to infinity to her right alongside a cold blue one. On the side of the blue line stood Gari, much as she always looked except for the black crown upon her head and the delicate silver shoes on her outstretched hooves. Scootaloo ran towards the cloaked alicorn, ready to jump into her embrace…

And stopped just short of touching her.

“That’s close enough,” said a familiar stern voice.

“Mom, please.”

“You are hurting them and yourself,” said Princess Luna as she appeared out of the backdrop of formless shadows. Gari looked like a filly in play jewellery next to the dark alicorn. “I am sorry Gari, but if you keep fighting me I will have to exclude you from tonight’s discussions.”

Scootaloo strained against the invisible boundary, but she slowly slid backwards.

“Luna, what are you doing here?” Morning Rain snarled, backing up to run at the wall again. “You better have something important to say!”

“Rain!” Gari snapped, taking a step back. “That’s no way to talk to a princess of Equestria!”

“It’s no crime,” Rain said. “I don’t need her favor, or anypony else’s!”

“I see why you like him,” Princess Luna said to a seething Gari before turning her attention to the two children. “I hope you have been well. I will try to keep this short, as we will be seeing each other very soon.”

“Where are you?” Gari interrupted. Her nose was pressed against the invisible wall, making the air in front of her face glow dull blue.

“We’re at the Kappa’s Head,” Scootaloo said while Morning Rain bucked at the barrier. “Gari, you won’t believe what happened to us!”

“Then we are ahead of you,” Luna said before Gari could get in another word. “Gari and I will arrive at Saltlick by tomorrow morning, and you can easily get there by midafternoon. Head southeast from your position; the salt fields are hard to miss. Ask somepony for directions in the morning. Whatever you have to say, save it for later.”

Her horn glowed dull blue, and tongues of fire rose from all the boundary lines. Scootaloo shielded her eyes and squinted at the alicorns. They were fading away from the bottom up. Tears dripped from Gari’s chin. She tugged on Luna’s sparkling ethereal mane; her mouth moved constantly, her ears flapped in agitation, but Scootaloo heard nothing.

“Come back!” Morning Rain shouted, though he did not dare approach the walls of fire that cut him off from his mother and his sister.

Scootaloo tried to speak, but a sudden terror gripped her heart and choked out the cry in her throat.

The fire died down, and the two alicorns became solid again.

Drip.

Drip.

Scootaloo fell to her knees and lowered her head. Something moved into her peripheral vision; she crossed her eyes to evade the terrible visage for another second.

“What is it?” Gari stammered, cowering behind her mother.

Scootaloo couldn’t close her eyes. The thing stepped into her line of sight, as graceful as ever. White ribs stood out against the blackness of the dreamscape, while its neck and legs were nearly invisible. It circled in front of her and lowered its skinless head.

Six eyes rolled wildly in their sockets, finally settling on the cowering filly.

“Gari, stay here!”

All of a sudden Scootaloo felt weightless. The creature raised its head just as it was struck by a massive blue burst of magic.

The blue and orange lines were torn, their loose ends waving in the darkness. Princess Luna stood over Scootaloo and glared at the monster.

It struggled to stand, but its hooves turned to pale stone as soon as they were planted. The transformation proceeded quickly, racing up its legs and towards its face. The shell seemed to fill out around its torso, giving it a less frightening appearance. Bony spikes on its back became broad wings. It shook its head as the stone edge reached its neck, but there was no sign of fear in its eyes. In the last second its face changed into that of a mare, and in that form it stayed.

“Are you okay?” Luna asked, holding Scootaloo between her hooves.

“I… I think so,” she moaned. “What was that?”

“Just a nightmare,” Luna said, though her attention lingered on the statue for some time. “You have been through a lot, you and your brother both. But we will be seeing you very soon. Stay strong, and look out for each other. I must be leaving now.”

In a single step she crossed the opening in the boundaries. The threads knit together as her tail passed completely into her side. Gari was yelling again, but Scootaloo could hear nothing. The shadows closed in around the two alicorns, and the lines disappeared a second later.

“What do you think, Rain?” Scootaloo said at last.

“Ice cream!”

She was sitting at a familiar long table. To her right sat Morning Rain. Not the real one; here he was four years old with half his face painted green. It was the hottest day of the summer, and Gari had somehow removed all the glass from the big windows of the dining hall. Every child in the room was dripping from the recent water fight in the courtyard.

The petrified monster rose out of the table, but it was not as monstrous as before. Its open mouth showed a neat row of fangs, and its eyes were blank like the ones of the Snowdrop statue. The tips of its wings tapered to a sharp point, and on its flank was the all too familiar image of a crescent moon.

Chapter 20

Chapter 20

“Nobody found them?” The changeling asked for the third time.

“Nobody,” Lotus said. “It’s like they disappeared into thin air.”

Morning Rain ate his oatmeal quietly. His eyes were fixed on the black scythe blade lying in the middle of the table. A griffin had found it sticking out of a tree. From that point on the trail had gone cold.

“Hey,” said the changeling, nudging the boy gently. “It’s okay. They’re not coming back. I know their type. They’ll do anything if the price is right. Don’t dwell on it. You’re only hurting yourself.”

The spoon dropped out of his mouth. Thankfully his bowl was nearly empty.

“Don’t cry,” Scootaloo said, reaching across the table to pat the back of his hoof. “Come on, we have to hurry up. Don’t you want to see Gari again?”

Morning Rain looked up with glistening eyes. His entire body trembled, but then he tightened his jaws and closed his eyes. The changeling held him closer; he (it?) was a skilled impersonator indeed.

Scootaloo didn’t remember how the meal tasted, only that she was comfortably full afterwards. The changeling said that he was not feeling well to forego a physical breakfast. His eyes glowed with a subtle blue light as he comforted his “son,” who was too caught up in in his own thoughts to spare him a glance. Once he met Scootaloo’s eyes, and immediately looked away with a look of sadness mixed with shame.

I guess you’re hungry too.

“Saltlick you say?” Lotus said when Scootaloo asked. “That’s not far from here. Jis swim off this dock to that island you see over there, and take the road south. You’ll get to a kind of beach, and there you want to swim southeast until you see an old stone watchtower. You can’t miss it. Rest up there, and have a look around for alligators. If Gari has any sense at all she’ll fetch you from there. If not, you’ll have to follow the barge channel all the way to the salt farm dock. You can’t get lost, but there are big mean crocodiles in these waters. Are you sure you can’t wait for a barge? My brother is coming to pick up Gareth this afternoon. You can get to Saltlick by sundown.”

“We told Gari that we’ll be there early,” Scootaloo lied. “She’s expecting us.”

“Okay then,” Lotus said, throwing up her hooves in defeat. “My advice to you is don’t wear anything. Take those bandages off; that’ll give him a rash before noon. I have some dry bags you can use.”

Most of the other guests had caught early barges to the coast, so the brightly-lit dining room seemed eerily quiet as the kids stuffed their few possessions into waxed sacks along with a loaf of bread each. Against Lotus’ advice Scootaloo left her tomahawk dangling at her waist, with the strap tied short to prevent chafing.

Lotus and the changeling accompanied them onto the short dock. The black water glistened under the not-yet-hot sun of midmorning. Scootaloo was about to plunge in when Rain spoke up.

“Daddy, are you coming?”

She turned away from the edge with a sinking heart.

The changeling stared at them both with a look of regret.

What will it be? Scootaloo challenged, staring daggers into those fake eyes that looked perfectly real. Do you really care? Can you really care?

“Kid,” he said, putting his right hoof on Morning Rain’s cheek. “I can’t go back. And trust me, you don’t want me to.”

“But you’re my dad!” Rain said. “You… you should be back by now! You were only supposed to be gone for a year!”

The changeling remained silent for a moment.

“Rain,” he said. “Tell me: has Gari been nice to you?”

“Of course!” Rain replied, a smile creeping onto his face. “She’s the nicest pony I’ve ever met! And she makes the best cookies, and she’s really smart, and…”

“Okay,” the changeling interrupted. “How about me? Answer me honestly, Rain. How was living with me?”

“It was...” the smile slowly disappeared, replaced with a look of fear. Scootaloo stood closer and gave him a reassuring nod.

“Honestly,” he repeated. “I won’t get mad.”

“You aren’t bad,” Rain said, looking down at his hooves. “You… you were… This isn’t fair! You were just having fun! I was weak and useless back then, that's all! I was stupid! But I’m older now! I… I have my cutie mark and everything! I can cook! I won’t talk! I can take care of myself, just like a real pony!”

“Rain,” the changeling said. “Rain, I’m sorry. I… I can’t go with you. I will never love you, and that is my fault alone. I’m sorry you ever had to meet me.”

“But you’re awesome!” Rain said through heartbroken sobs. “You… You’re…”

“I was a good soldier,” Summer Rain said. “That is all I was. I’m not a father. Don’t think so highly of me, Morning Rain. I’m not worth it. Go to Gari now; listen to her, and make her proud. She is your mother, and she loves you more than I ever could.”

Rain took a wobbly step forwards, but Summer Rain turned away. He cried bitterly, and could barely stay on his feet. The Changeling did not look back, but Scootaloo thought he lingered in the doorway just a little longer than he had to.

“We need to get going,” Scootaloo urged when the sobbing subsided. “Rain, don’t be like this. We can’t lose another minute here!”

“I… I can,” he said, stubbornly wiping the snot from his nose. “I… I’ll stay. I don’t… I don’t… need…”

“Would you snap out of it?” Scootaloo yelled.

She shoved him as hard as she could, and Morning Rain tumbled into the water with a tremendous splash. He floated motionless for some time with his face below the surface, but in the end his desire to live won. He rose up sputtering and coughing, treading water clumsily.

Scootaloo jumped in after him. The water was deep enough that vegetation would not hinder their progress. It also had a noticeable saltiness, hinting at what was to come. She swam a small lap to warm up and then turned to the dock where Lotus was still standing.

“That island’s your first stop,” the innkeeper said, pointing at the dense trees that were supposedly growing on dry land. The distance looked a lot greater from water level. “Good luck, and I hope you see Gari soon. Oh, and something else. Genevieve told me that she saw a whole bunch of Midnight Guards flying towards Horseshoe Bay. She didn’t see Gari, unfortunately, but maybe they’ll help you if you run into them today.”

Scootaloo almost stopped treading water.

“No,” she said, swimming right to the edge of the dock. “Lotus, listen to me. If anypony other than Gari or Princess Luna asks you where we went, don’t tell them anything.”

“Why not?” Lotus said. “They’ll just bring you to Gari. That’s what they always do. You’re not the first kids to go missing on her, you know?”

“This is different,” Scootaloo said. “Just don’t say anything. Our lives depend on it!”

“Well if you put it that way,” Lotus said. “Okay, I’ll keep your secret. Now you get going. You’ll be soaking in that water all day.”

Though he wasn’t crying anymore, Morning Rain still had some fight in him. He was not as strong a swimmer as his sister, but his struggling slowed their progress considerably.

“Let me go,” he growled as Scootaloo pushed him steadily away from the inn.

Grumbling turned to screaming and finally to crying.

I’m sorry, Scootaloo thought, fighting back tears of her own. This is for your own good.

Her hooves touched the sandy bottom. Scootaloo made sure her brother was standing in the shallows before glancing back at the distant inn.

The changeling was looking at them from a dining room window, still wearing the face of Summer Rain. His eyes met hers, and then he disappeared.

Morning Rain walked backwards until the dense vegetation of the island obscured the inn from view, and only then did he stop fighting. Scootaloo could not think of anything to say, so she walked instead. The load on her back was smaller than a school bag, but her steps had never been heavier.

“Do you see them?” Rain whispered.

“Yeah,” Scootaloo replied, carefully returning to all fours. “Twenty. They’re just standing guard, I think.”

She scratched her mane, now full of crusty salt. The crumbling stone walls of the watchtower blocked the briny sea breeze, and there was little shade to be had on the little platform. Now that lunch was done Scootaloo just wanted to return to the cool water.

The sylvanocians that blocked their progress were all out of uniform; only their scythes marked them as Midnight Guard. The water ahead was not very deep, but the tall rushes made swimming difficult. The ocean was only a few hundred metres to the east; she could hear the gulls squabbling on the shore. About two kilometres down the coast stood a low hill, its surface divided into dozens of pure white grids.

Salt farms.

“How is your back?” Scootaloo asked.

“I’m fine,” Rain said. He flicked his tail forcefully to cast off some salt. “I could use a bath and maybe a brush. So what’s the plan?”

“We’re going to Saltlick,” Scootaloo said.

Morning Rain facehoofed.

“Of course we’re going to Saltlick,” he said. “I mean how do we get past those guards?”

Scootaloo reared up to peer over the edge of the watchtower. The guards had not moved. There were certainly more than twenty. The rushes formed a solid wall further to the south, but towards the ocean was open water.

“Follow me,” she said, and led the way down the spiraling stone steps to ground level.

They swam with only their faces above the surface. At first they walked on the sandy bottom, but the water got deep quickly. The current grew faster as they neared the huge, slick boulders at the mouth of the waterway. By then Scootaloo was feeling rather winded. She paddled towards the shore with all her strength, but was swept towards the centre of the flow.

The river spat her out like a giant slingshot. Morning Rain, who had managed to stay within reach for the whole day, was suddenly thirty metres behind her.

The frigid water was bitter with salt. Scootaloo cursed when the flecks got into her eyes. She bobbed on the waves helplessly, floating over a bottomless abyss.

She pushed the water with powerful strokes, twisting her body in the familiar motion that had won her so many wagers at the swimming hole, but to her dismay nothing happened. The boulders rose and sank in her vision, appearing further away each time they came into view.

The cold water sapped her strength and made her joints stiff. Even turning on the spot was difficult.

Something pale and limp rose slowly on the crest of a wave.

No!

All thoughts of stealthiness left her mind. Scootaloo tried to draw a deep breath, but swallowed a big mouthful of brine instead. Kicking down with all her strength, she got her shoulders out of the water for a brief moment and tried again.

“HELP!” She cried at the top of her lungs. “SOMEPONY HELP!”

She barely heard herself over the sound of the waves crashing on the shore. Scootaloo kicked again.

The shorebirds cried all at once. Scootaloo stopped moving for just a second, and immediately fell beneath the waves. Salt water burned her eyes, and she could not hold back a yell of surprise that emptied her lungs.

The scale of the scene was what frightened her the most. Thirty metres below her hooves a forest waved in the current. Each greasy green leaf was as big as a roll of fabric. Silver fish as big as two ponies darted through the water with the speed and grace of hawks, chasing swirling masses of smaller fish that were not so small. Occasionally a chasm opened up between the dense kelp forest, leading to an inky black floor that didn’t even exist as far as Scootaloo knew.

Scootaloo did not have long to look. A pair of hooves grabbed her firmly around her chest, and she exploded into the air coughing and gasping. Her hooves cleared the water, and immediately she began to shiver from the wind rushing around her.

“Are you okay?” Asked the sylvanocian stallion who was holding her.

The shore was approaching fast. Behind the first rows of boulders was a relatively flat sand bar, and there stood a big group of dark blue ponies. A sylvanocian landed among them with Morning Rain dangling in his hooves.

They landed gently at the edge of the group, but the stallion would not let her go. Scootaloo stretched her neck to see her brother, but all in vain. A sylvanocian mare approached with a black woolen blanket, and the stallion released the shivering filly just long enough to receive it.

“Hey kid,” she said in a surprisingly gentle tone. “It’s alright, we’re here to help. Don’t be scared. What is your name?”

“I… I’m Scootaloo,” she said. It was hard to act defiant peeking out of a blanket. “I’m traveling with my brother. I want to see Gari.”

“We can take you to her,” said the mare. “She is not with us right now, but we will meet her soon.”

“No,” Scootaloo said. “Take me to her now!”

The stallion tightened his hold on her. Scootaloo bit his leg, but to no avail.

“Hey, take it easy,” he chuckled. “We’re going to help you.”

“Nightlight, how are you doing over here?”

The mare stood up as the unicorn approached. Despite everything she knew the sight of his dark cloak sparked a glimmer of hope in Scootaloo. But she did not know him at all. His red muzzle gave the unsettling impression of a gaping mouth; the rest of his face was pale brown with dark speckles.

“Hello Scootaloo,” he said with an utterly benign smile. “I hope you are alright. We have been looking for you for a long time, you know.”

“Take me to Gari!” Scootaloo yelled.

“We can’t,” he said. “Not yet, anyways. We will not hurt you, Scootaloo, but you have something that belongs to us. Just cooperate with me for a few minutes, and then I will take you to Gari.”

Without further explanation he pulled back his hood. He approached Scootaloo, his horn glowed with a dark aura. His eyes had turned completely black, and what looked to be smoke trailed from the corners.

The sylvanocian’s grip felt comforting rather than restrictive; Scootaloo retreated into the blanket and closed her eyes.

“Incoming!”

Three sylvanocians disappeared out of the air, followed by the cloaked unicorn. A powerful wind rustled Scootaloo’s mane, and it was another second before the boom reached her ears.

A massive circular rainbow rippled across the sky, leaving it blue and cloudless.

Eight ponies tumbled across the ground; Scootaloo winced at the sound of cracking bones. A blue mare landed gracefully in the middle of the stunned crowd, and even Scootaloo didn’t recognize her sister at first.

Rainbow Dash was wearing a blue-and-yellow bodysuit. It was a little faded and dusty from use, but the lightning bolt pattern was unmistakable.

“You!” She snapped, point in Scootaloo’s direction. “Get your dirty hooves off my sister!”

The stallion loosened his grip immediately, but to Scootaloo’s surprise he also fell over sideways. All around her little orbs of light zoomed silently through the air. Each one touched a sylvanocian on the head and disappeared. The victims immediately toppled over unconscious; the field was clear in a matter of seconds.

“Rain! Scootaloo!”

Gari hit the ground running. She wore only a set of boots and a brown scarf. With one wing she scooped up Scootaloo, and then she turned lightly and leapt over the fallen sylvanocians. Rain was looking a little dazed, and threw up all over Gari when she picked him up. She shook it off her wing like nothing more than dew and sat down in the sand with one child hugged to each shoulder.

Scootaloo’s eyes burned, and she could not hold back any longer. Gari held her so tightly; she could hear the powerful beating of her heart. It was as comforting now as it had been four years ago.

I did it! For real this time! I did it!

They cried together as all around them Lunar Guards took away the prisoners. Scootaloo held onto Gari with all her strength; a part of her still could not believe that it was real.

When she opened her eyes, Rainbow Dash was standing at a respectful distance. Her hood was pulled back; the way her muzzle and ears stayed fuzzy while the rest of her coat was pasted onto her skin made Scootaloo giggle.

Princess Luna was standing furthest away. She was the only one dressed like her usual self, but there was a new skittishness in her demeanor.

“Let’s go, Gari,” Princess Luna said as the last Midnight Guards were loaded onto stretchers.

Gari held her children out in front of her and looked them over with her wet green eyes. Neither of them resisted when she put them on her broad back and trotted after Princess Luna.

Rainbow Dash followed close by her side and said a lot of things, but Scootaloo just smiled tiredly and silently wished for some water.

Scootaloo sighed and slowly lowered herself into the steaming bath until only her eyes and nose remained exposed. The suds that gathered around her face smelled amazing. It was the kind of soap that she always used at the orphanage; weakly-scented, easy to rinse off, and very bubbly. She wanted to sit there all night, lulled by the sound of crashing waves.

Morning Rain sat in the half barrel with his brows furrowed. The bath was no doubt comfortable, but the events of the day still haunted his thoughts.

Gari can handle it from here, Scootaloo thought. Everything will be okay.

Gari had left the kids on the porch with a good supply of fresh water an assortment of brushes. They soaked in the bath until it was lukewarm, and only then did they reach for the brushes. They scrubbed each other until their skin felt raw and every hair ran in the same direction. They even used the small brushes to polish their worn out hooves.

“Is that good?” Rain asked after a few minutes brushing a rash on Scootaloo’s back.

“Yeah,” she sighed, stooping down to submerge the area. “Hey Rain, are you feeling alright?”

“I am now,” he said, setting the brush down beside the others and lying down against the side of the basin. “I really missed Gari.”

“Yeah, me too.”

They rested in the dirty bath water, neither of them wanting to rinse off just yet. The view was amazing. The crimson sun floated an inch above the ocean. Two ponies were standing on the giant dock at the bottom of the hill; there was only one small schooner docked there now, but the size of the walkways hinted at truly massive ships. The bay was dotted with the sails of various sizes and shapes that bobbed in and out of view in a slow rhythm. To the north—shining like gems, barely visible even on the best of days—were the skyscrapers of Baltimare.

“Hey, Scootaloo,” Rain said suddenly. “Does your dad get really mad when he’s drunk?”

Scootaloo’s heart sank.

“Yes,” she said. Despite the warmth-induced sluggishness she waded across the tub and lay down next to her brother. “Rain, please don’t be like this. Your dad… he’s just not a very nice pony. But that’s not saying anything about you. You’re Gari’s son, and you’re my brother. Focus on that.”

“Okay,” he said quietly.

They were interrupted by the front door flying open.

“Hey, Gari! What gives?”

Rainbow Dash unfolded her wings, but her escape was thwarted by the pale yellow aura that engulfed her.

“You smell like a pig pen, Rainbow Dash,” Gari said in a voice usually reserved for misbehaving foals. “Do something about it, or you’re sleeping outside tonight!”

The front of the wonderbolt flight suit opened up, and the tight fabric peeled off Rainbow Dash’s body.

“Hey, no!” she protested, crossing her legs in a last ditch attempt to keep her beloved uniform.

Scootaloo and Morning Rain dutifully left the tub, laughing heartily when the blue mare was unceremoniously dropped into the used bathwater.

“I hope you know how to use a coat brush,” Gari said, turning up her nose like a proper aristocrat.

Rainbow Dash harrumphed and crossed her hooves across her chest. She waited until Gari went inside before letting out a defeated sigh and reaching for a coarse brush.

“Need some help, Dash?” Scootaloo said with a smirk, which turned into a grimace when her brother doused her with cold rinse water.

“No, I’ll be fine,” Rainbow Dash said with a giggle before turning her attention to Morning Rain. “So you’re the one who caused all this trouble in the first place.”

Rain lowered his head and took a step back.

“Rainbow Dash, it’s not like that,” Scootaloo said, stepping between the two. “Don’t you know what happened in Canterlot?”

“Yeah, I know,” she huffed. “And of all the ponies in Equestria, he came to you for help?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Scootaloo said. “He’s my brother! Of course he’ll come to me for help!”

“Then he’s a lousy brother!” Rainbow Dash said, leaning over the side of the tub and pointing an accusatory hoof at the suds-covered colt who had retreated all the way to the edge of the porch. “Scootaloo, your dad was worried sick about you! I was worried about you! You could have died, and it’s all because some dumb colt had a crazy idea to save the world!”

Rain darted into the house, leaving a trail of soap and tears.

The water almost sizzled off Scootaloo's head.

“RAINBOW DASH!” She screamed. “You… You are the worst pony in all of Equestria! I can’t believe I ever thought you were cool! You… you…”

“What’s going on here?” Gari demanded, stepping out of the house once again with Morning Rain crying under her left wing.

Scootaloo ran to her and was pulled in by a gentle hoof. Gari shielded the filly with her free wing and looked expectantly at Rainbow Dash.

“Come on, Scootaloo,” she said when the mare in the tub failed to answer. “Go upstairs. There are towels in your room. I’ll be with you in a little bit.”

Scootaloo went through the sparsely furnished house, leaving a trail of water. The smallest upstairs room had a magnificent view of the bay, but she was in no mood to enjoy it now.

An eerie, nostalgic feeling washed over her when she lifted the light blue towel off the bed. It was her towel; the one she was given when she moved into the orphanage, and the one that she brought with her when she moved to Ponyville. She wrapped it around herself and climbed onto the hay-stuffed bed.

A few minutes later Gari came up the stairs with a rinsed and dripping Morning Rain on her back. She lifted him with her magic and dried him off with the light orange towel. A dark blue vest floated into the room; it looked too small to fit anypony there. Morning Rain kicked at the air as the vest slid over his head and across his chest. The collar went all the way to his chin. He pulled the tight fabric around his chest and grimaced, but Scootaloo thought he looked quite good.

“You’ll have to wear that for a while,” Gari said, rustling his mane. “It’ll fix your back.”

Rain put his head down dejectedly, following his sister’s example. Gari sighed and climbed onto the bed between them.

“These past few weeks have been hard for you,” she said. “Scootaloo, thank you for watching over Rain. You’ve done more than I ever could have expected. I am very proud of you.”

That should have made her feel better. Instead Scootaloo felt the pain in her sinus returning, and had to bury her face in the baby blue sheets.

Gari opened her wings over her children. Her voice was so soft that Scootaloo did not hear her at first.

“Come little children I’ll take thee away; into a land of enchantment…”

The tune had all the makings of a lullaby, yet Scootaloo did not feel sleepy. On the contrary an inexplicable excitement filled her heart. She dried her face on her towel and looked up at the alicorn.

Gari was almost unrecognizable. The lips that seemed always on the verge of a smile were slack and humorless. Her eyes were closed serenely. She looked bigger and older, with a stoic air about her befitting a princess. Scootaloo felt no doubt that the pony before her was over a thousand years old, or perhaps even older. She sang straight from the heart, impressing in all who could hear the countless heartaches and triumphs of a whole millennium. The events of the past weeks were still fresh in Scootaloo’s mind, but they seemed less important somehow.

I did pretty well, Scootaloo thought. Everything is going to be alright. Gari’s here. Rainbow Dash is here.

She closed her eyes and listened to the song. Rain was not crying anymore either; she thought she heard him humming along.

“Rest now my children for soon we’ll away; into the calm and the quiet…”

The children felt a lot better after a short nap, and dinner raised their spirits considerably. They regretted their third helping of onion bread and hay broth when Gari brought out the blueberry pudding. They ate on the floor; Scootaloo sat between Gari and Rainbow Dash, and there was plenty of conversation to keep her mind off the Lunar Guards in the room.

Rainbow Dash told the story of how she left the Wonderbolts training camp as soon as the news got out from Appleloosa. She stole a uniform to access restricted airspace, and would have met up with them in a day and a half had she not been intercepted by the Midnight Guard. They kept her as a prisoner until halfway through Hayseed Swamp. On the barge she was kept in a cage along with three diamond dogs, and Scootaloo did not need to ask as to their identity.

“It’s a good thing you found me,” she said to Gari and Princess Luna. “There were so many of them, and by the end those diamond dogs were looking at me funny. I was getting cramps from being tied up for so long!”

“You’re the one who got caught,” Gari said. “And those diamond dogs could have done you no harm. They're just pups, really. You saw how they bolted as soon as I untied them. Your little sister didn’t need as much babysitting as you.”

“She knew about the bat ponies!” Rainbow Dash protested.

“Sylvanocians,” Scootaloo corrected.

“See? How was I supposed to know about their freaky night powers?”

“They told me that you were doing tricks over their camp.”

Scootaloo and Rain tried to tell their story next, but kept cutting each other off until Gari started guiding them with questions. Even so they only got to the part about the Master when Princess Luna arrived.

“Your cloak,” she said, dropping a dark bundle of cloth on Gari’s back. “Everypony, I have examined all the prisoners, and I have some important news. Rainbow Dash, if you would leave us for a moment…”

“Whoa!” Rainbow Dash interrupted. “My sister is right here! These bat ponies followed her all the way from Appleloosa, and they took me as their prisoner. This is my business as much as it’s your!”

Princess Luna sighed.

“Stay here then, Rainbow Dash,” she said. “I suppose my daughter and I owe you all an explanation.

“By now you all know of the tragedy at the Canterlot Orphanage. Some of you remember it more vividly than others. But what you may not know is its purpose. The ponies who hired those mercenaries offered a considerable reward for that attack, as a show of their dedication and power.

“A faction of sylvanocians have become very powerful in the last three years. Many long-forgotten skills have been rediscovered, and now this group demands that my daughter and I return to the colony. They have the loyalty of the Midnight Guard, and the rest of my children are being held under house arrest.”

A gasp went around the room. The clattering of metal startled the three pegasi; one of the guards had fainted.

“What do they want?” Rain asked.

“In the bluntest terms,” Gari said, “they want Nightmare Moon.”

Scootaloo’s heart skipped a beat at the mention of that name. It had been different when Rain said it in his desperation; to hear it said again so calmly eliminated all her disbelief.

Nightmare Moon is coming back.

“They can’t have Nightmare Moon,” Rainbow Dash said. “Look, Princess Luna is right here! We blasted all the evil out of her!”

Scootaloo grabbed her sister’s mane and pulled down hard. Even so it took Rainbow Dash another second to notice Princess Luna’s angry glare.

“Perhaps the ‘bluntest terms’ are insufficient for some among us,” she said. “Nightmare Moon was not me. It used my body to take on a physical form and perverted my thoughts, but even before then it existed.

“The part of Nightmare moon which they seek is pure sylvanocian magic. Most magic can be transferred, but sylvanocian magic alone can exist without a physical form. When the Elements of Harmony was used against me, my magic was not destroyed. It was dispersed, and I was foolish to have let the matter rest for so long.

“This magic has no consciousness to speak of. It is not malevolent, though it operates in a way that would frighten most ponies. It gravitates to the desperate; the scared; the lonely. I was the first non-sylvanocian to use this magic, and I was unprepared for its effects.

“In the final weeks before my transformation one thousand year ago, the leaders of the sylvanocians offered me a considerable amount of their magic and asked that I become their princess. Since it seemed that Celestia could take care of the unicorns, earth ponies and pegasi, I accepted their offer. I vowed to look after their interests, and that was the extent of my commitment. But the sylvanocian magic amplified all my negative feelings towards my sister. In my mind I justified my actions as looking out for my new subjects, but that was not the case. When I was banished to the moon all my magic went with me, greatly weakening all the sylvanocians for a thousand years.

“After the elements of harmony cleansed me, I did not try to find the fragment. I had wrongly assumed that it would return to the sylvanocians in due time. Judging from the abilities of these Midnight Guard I can say that some of it did. But that is only a small portion, and possessed by only a few. I am sorry, everypony. I have failed the sylvanocians, and now you are all paying for my mistake.”

“They know that you don’t have it!” Rainbow Dash said, lifting off the ground with her hooves crossed in indignation. “Why do they want you or any of your children?”

“That is much more difficult to explain,” Gari replied before Princess Luna could say something else. “Luna was under the influence of sylvanocian magic on the night she turned us into alicorns. That unicorn who was wearing my cloak is Dreamweaver, a descendant of my brother Fly-By-Night and an expert in all kinds of magic. He believes that he can turn some of our alicorn magic into sylvanocian magic. Like I said before, this matter was supposed to be my problem alone. Rain, you were never supposed to be involved. You were supposed to be in Canterlot, and Scootaloo would not have known anything until it was over.

“Scootaloo, I am sorry for all the trouble I have caused, but I am afraid that you will have to stay with me for a while. You are carrying a fragment of Nightmare Moon.”

Scootaloo stared blankly at Gari, expecting her to smile.

“That doesn’t make sense!” Rain said. “If she has sylvanocian magic, why don’t I feel it?”

“That is because she is not using it,” Princess Luna said. “Scootaloo, the creature that haunts your dreams is Nightmare Moon. I felt it when I entered your mind last night, and now I have Dreamweaver’s word to confirm it.”

“Well get it out of her!” Rainbow Dash snapped, shoving her nose in the princess’ face like she was just an ordinary mare.

“Back away, Rainbow Dash!” Princess Luna roared in the Royal Canterlot Voice. Rainbow Dash returned to her spot with a disheveled mane, and the alicorn continued at a more reasonable volume. “I am sorry, Scootaloo, but I am afraid that I cannot offer you any relief. For all his theoretical knowledge Dreamweaver has never dealt with this much magic. If he had succeeded in extracting the magic earlier today, it would have corrupted him as it corrupted me. I am susceptible to its influence, so I must not tamper in this matter. There are only two places where you may find a pony who can help: the Garden of Shadow and Canterlot. Those in the Garden of Shadow have considerably more experience with sylvanocian magic. For the time being, you are the best vessel for this fragment. Stay with your friends and family, and speak to Gari about your troubles; do not harbor ill will. I have used spells to limit its influence on you; it should remain inert for the time being.

“I wish we can discuss these matters further, but it is very late. You have a ship to catch in the morning. If you would, Gari?”

“Right,” Gari said. “I have arranged for passage on the Swift with Captain Gilbert. We will board at five o’clock tomorrow morning. Rain, Scootaloo, you will be traveling with me. Rainbow Dash…”

“I’m going too,” the cyan mare interrupted, hovering once again. “Scootaloo is my sister, and I am not leaving until she is safe and sound back in Ponyville.”

Scootaloo looked up with her mouth open in awe. Rainbow Dash winked.

“That will not be a problem,” Gari said dismissively. “Luna will return to Canterlot with the Lunar Guard and the prisoners. She will find her own way to the Garden of Shadow. That is all you need to know for the moment. Let’s all get some sleep.”

Scootaloo did not get up. Gari lifted Morning Rain onto her back and shot Rainbow Dash a questioning look. The pegasus responded with a confident smile, and this was apparently a satisfactory answer.

“Hey Scootaloo,” Rainbow Dash said with a gently prod to her shoulder. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Yeah,” she replied blankly.

“Scootaloo, I’m sorry for what I said earlier,” Rainbow Dash continued. “I was just worried about you, that’s all. I didn’t know you had all this history. Don’t get me wrong, I always thought you were awesome, but this? You just walked across Equestria, and now you’re sailing off to a place most ponies don’t know existed! This is like something straight out of a Daring Do story!”

Scootaloo froze. Slowly she turned to her sister, who smiled down at her confidently.

“Do you really think so?” She asked hopefully.

“Of course I do!” Rainbow Dash replied, putting her in a headlock and giving rustling her mane. “You’re tough as nails, Scootaloo.”

They shared a long hug; this time Scootaloo didn’t cry.

Morning Rain was lying next to Gari when Scootaloo and Rainbow Dash arrived.

“Come over here,” Gari invited, lifting up her wing.

Scootaloo sidled against her brother and looked at Rainbow Dash.

“None of you snore, right?” She asked as she climbed onto the bed beside her sister and extended her wing.

With Gari’s wing from one side and Rainbow Dash on the other Scootaloo felt like she was in an impenetrable fortress. Sleep came easy, and her dreams were bright and pleasant.

From the bottom of the pile neither Scootaloo nor her brother noticed the last wing. Dark and abundantly-feathered, Princess Luna’s giant wing covered the other four ponies completely. None of them were cold that night.

Author's Note

I'll edit. I will! I promise!

Chapter 21

Chapter 21

The fog was thick enough to drown in, and fishy enough to make a seal gag. The beam from the lighthouse did not penetrate five feet, and was nothing more than a diffuse glow by the time it reached the dock.

Scootaloo pulled in her cloak and huddled closer to Gari. She could barely make out Rainbow Dash’s hooves above her. Closer to shore Princess Luna and her guards were indistinct shadows. The Princess herself was stooping beneath a drab black cloak; in a town full of strange travelers, nopony would have given her a second glance.

“What time is it?” Scootaloo asked.

“Not yet five o’clock,” Gari replied.

“Gah!” Rainbow Dash growled, irritably brushing the dew off her mane and onto the three cloaked ponies below. “I can’t see my own hooves! How is a ship supposed to dock in this fog?”

“On the contrary, this is exactly as I planned,” Gari said. She pulled back her hood, and her ears rotated slowly. She smiled. “The Swift is on her way. Now, I want to go over some basic etiquette before she gets here.

“First of all, do not touch the boarding ramp until you have permission to board. Captain Gilbert’s word is final. If he is talking to you, you better listen to every word.

“We are not passengers per se. This is not a pleasure cruise. The Swift is a cargo ship, and you will be working. That is not to say that you won’t have fun, but you will not be lounging around for the whole two week.

“Finally, I will not tolerate any whining about the food. This is a cargo ship, not a luxury yacht. I have been sailing this route on and off for six hundred years with various captains, and I can tell you that Captain Gilbert cares a lot about the comfort of his crew. Luckily for you this passage will be short enough that we can have some fresh fruit, but know that the cook is working with a limited pantry.”

“Gari,” Scootaloo said, “We were eating raw leaves and roots in the Everfree Forest. I think we can handle two weeks on a ship.”

“I don’t expect any trouble from the two of you,” Gari said in a softer tone, patting Scootaloo on the head. “It’s just something I have to say. Oh, and here comes the Swift now.”

Scootaloo’s ears started ringing. Shaking her head did not lessen her discomfort in the slightest.

“Gib sail! Fenders going down!”

The hull flashed into existence not three metres from the dock, approaching at an alarming rate. Scootaloo jumped backwards and ducked. A bright pink stallion with zebra stripes on his front legs stood on deck facing the dock. He had three thick ropes in his mouth, each one linked to a gigantic fender that dangled into the water. Pink bat wings extended from his back, and his big tufted ears were adorned with an abundance of golden rings. The beard on his chin was meticulously trimmed so as not to make him look old.

The collision was surprisingly gentle. The fenders crackled, rolling between the hull and the dock as the ship came to a full stop. A few large waves crashed against the pillars below, and the ship slowly rolled until its deck became level.

The stallion on deck tied the fenders to some pins and spat between the ship and the dock.

“Hi mom,” he said, smiling with two gaps in his teeth. “How’s you been?”

“You’re kidding!” A similar-sounding voice said from within the fog. “Is that Gari? I thought she died!”

“Yeah,” cried the pink stallion. “Pilot, come down here! It’s mom!”

A patch of fog swirled before another pink stallion flapped into view on broad featherless wings, tight curls bouncing on his head. His cutie mark was a ship’s wheel with a yellow flashlight beneath it. There were two big holes in his left ear, but he was not wearing any earrings.

The two stallions quickly deployed a wide boarding ramp.

“Get Gil,” Pilot said to his companion.

“How are you, Fog Pilot?” Gari asked. “I hope Captain Gilbert has been treating you well?”

“You know me,” Pilot said with a good-natured laugh. “We’re doing great, me and Rose both. We ended the fishing season early this year to get an extra round in; some hunters in the north had surplus blubber, and that’s always a good haul.”

He chuckled to himself and scanned the deck, noticing the others for the first time. His eyes widened in delight.

“Are these your new kids?” He asked. “Oh, they’re so cute! Was I that small when you took me to Saltlick the first time? And what’s with the clothes? I thought you had good taste, mom.”

Scootaloo narrowed her eyes in annoyance, but this only made him laugh.

“It’s complicated,” Gari said. “Scootaloo, Morning Rain, this is Fog Pilot. I raised him and his brother in the Garden of Shadow before I moved to Equestria. They are full time sailors now. Fog Pilot, this is Scootaloo and Morning Rain. Scootaloo doesn’t live with me anymore, but she has been a great help in this journey.”

“It’s nice to meet you two,” Fog Pilot said. “Hey, is that a Wonderbolt up there?”

Rainbow Dash dropped to the dock and pulled back her hood in an elaborate and well-practiced motion. Unfortunately for her Fog Pilot’s attention was already elsewhere.

“Wait a second,” he said, squinting into the fog behind Gari. “Is… is that Luna back there?”

“No,” Gari said flatly, stepping into his line of sight. “I was traveling with some Lunar Guards. That is all.”

Pilot nodded slowly with his jaw slack. At that moment a squeaky door opened on deck and two others emerged. Only one of them had hooves.

“Good morning Gari!” Said the white-feathered griffin. His blue jacket was buttoned down, and his neck was stretched forwards in an attempt to penetrate the fog. “Lovely weather, right? If you were anybody else I would have told you to buy your own ship. But I knew the boys would want to see you. Now tell me Compass Rose, isn’t this worth losing a day of shore leave?”

“It’s something,” Pilot said. He then addressed the ponies on the dock. “This is Captain Gilbert. Do you have something to say?”

“Permission to board, Captain?” Scootaloo and Rain said in unison.

“You have my permission,” said Captain Gilbert.

They boarded quickly; Gari was the only one with any luggage to speak of, and this consisted of her saddlebag and a small keg which she gave to the twins. When Scootaloo looked back from the deck Luna and her guards were already gone.

“Raise fore and aft sails,” Gilbert ordered. “Gari, you know what to do. Take the helm, Pilot. You kids come with me. Hey! No flying!”

His warning came too late. The foresail caught the wind and swung to starboard, swatting Rainbow Dash out of the air. Scootaloo and Morning Rain giggled as she sat up with a low groan.

Gilbert led them to the stern where Fog Pilot stood with the wheel in his front hooves. Scootaloo did not see the running light until she stood under the rear mast. The deck rolled slowly to the side as the ship accelerated, and soon the fog started to thin. Patches of fog glided across the deck at an alarming speed. It was like flying through a cloud; Scootaloo extended her wings and felt the damp air around her.

She could almost fly.

“Welcome aboard the Swift,” Gilbert said proudly as he squinted into the wind. “The only three-mast schooner of the Birds of Spring, and the fastest ship of the entire fleet.”

“You keep telling yourself that, Gil,” Fog Pilot said. “You get three masts because you’d never get anywhere with two!”

The deck tilted some more, threatening to dump everyone into the shiny black water. The children stumbled while Rainbow Dash rose off the deck. Captain Gilbert adjusted his stance and smiled.

“That’s your first point to note,” he said. “We will be sailing at a high pitch for most of the passage; that’s the nature of my ship. You’ll get used to it.”

The mid sail snapped a few degrees further to starboard, jerking the deck to a more reasonable angle.

“Sorry!” Compass Rose hollered over the roar of the waves.

“Now,” Captain Gilbert continued. “Do you know anything at all about sailing?”

The shores remained hidden for the whole morning. Fog hugged the land; out on the bay there were only a few stray patches, looking like low clouds. They were rewarded for their early start with a brilliant red sunrise, after which a young griffin looking to be in his teens relieved Fog Pilot of the helm.

Scootaloo and Morning Rain spent most of the morning leaning green-faced over the starboard side. The rolling of the deck did not sit well with them, and it was a good thing they did not have breakfast in Saltlick.

About two hours into the voyage Scootaloo looked over at her brother. He was gagging over the side with his nose almost touching the water. He wiped his mouth when he finished and smiled at her weakly.

“Are you as sleepy as I am?” She said.

Rain nodded before dropping his head to dangle over the side once more.

“I can’t believe Rainbow Dash isn’t sick,” Scootaloo continued.

As if on cue the door flew open.

“Out of my way! Out of my way!”

“Don’t go, Dash! You’re wasting good food!”

Rainbow Dash could not care less. She hit the gunwales so hard that Scootaloo thought she would vault overboard. The filly looked away and dropped her ears as her sister loudly evacuated her stomach. Fog Pilot and Compass Rose cackled from the doorway.

“H… hey squirt,” Rainbow Dash gasped. She sounded like she was about to cry.

Rain’s smile started it all. In seconds the two children were on their bellies, pounding the deck and clutching their sides. Scootaloo didn’t know why it was so funny. Laughing felt good; in the end even Rainbow Dash joined in.

It was past noon when they cleared the mouth of Horseshoe Bay. Scootaloo and Morning Rain were both feeling much better, and they ran around the deck trying to see everything.

Far in the distance loomed tall grey cliffs. Birds fluttered around like swirling snowflakes, their shrill cries even reaching the ship. Scootaloo would have traversed the bowsprit had the staysails not been raised. A line of gigantic waves marked the boundary between the bay and open ocean, and already the deck was bucking from rougher water.

Gari called lunch soon thereafter. She was no longer wearing her cloak; the new look would take some getting used to.

Scootaloo and Morning Rain tumbled down the steep steps together, nearly landing on the big table that took up most of the cramped cabin. Neither of them had eaten since the night before, and now that their sickness had passed they were all too eager for the food that Gari so warned them about.

“No elbows on the table,” Gari warned when the kids climbed onto the bench. “It’s counterbalanced.”

“What does that…”

Rain was cut short as the tabletop shifted under his hoof. Fortunately Gari caught the other side before the bowls of soup could tumble off.

“That is what it means,” she said crossly. “Have you learned nothing, Morning Rain?”

Rain looked down at his hooves and said nothing.

The others arrived a few minutes later, Fog Pilot dragging a reluctant Rainbow Dash. The brothers were wearing gauntlets of sturdy black leather with an assortment of metal hooks and tools. Scootaloo could only guess at what they were for.

The young griffin from earlier set his dark blue jacket on the bench and sat down. He stared at the children beside him for a moment, his light grey eyes conveying little that Scootaloo could understand. The top of his head was covered in downy white feathers that stuck out in all directions, and there was a chip in his yellow beak. Finally he extended a scaly hand with long, sharpened talons. Scootaloo tried to hide her reluctance as she held out her own hoof.

“I’m Gordon,” he said in a voice not quite that of an adult. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“I’m Scootaloo,” she said. “This is Morning Rain, my brother.”

“Mom!”

A broad-shouldered griffin with a smooth grey head and black body filled the narrow doorway beside the stairs. His wings were open in excitement, but that didn’t stop him from trying to force his way into the cabin. The twins were already seated, and Gari did not wait for them to move. They made room for her to step over them, but the process was far from graceful.

“Huck,” she said with a smile, hugging him with one hoof. His big dirty hands left black smudges on her coat.

“Mom, you back,” he said with a slight lisp. “Thought you no travel now.”

“I’ve been busy, Huck,” Gari said. “You know how hard it is, running an orphanage.”

“I know,” he said, trying to push through the doorway again. “You good.”

Gari reached into the other room and helped tuck in his wings. By this time even Captain Gilbert was seated. A beard of ruffled down ran all the way to his broad chest, disappearing into his jacket. Only a few patches of down remained on his head, though the sleek, tightly-packed feathers that covered most of his scalp were by no means ugly. He had the same eyes as Gordon, but his open, weathered face seemed much friendlier.

“Huckleberry,” he said with a chuckle. “How is our cargo? You don’t have to tell me in Standard.”

Huck was visibly relieved. He spoke fluently in the griffin tongue, and his answer seemed to satisfy the Captain.

“You’re awesome, Huck,” he said. “After lunch I want you to lock up the rear hold. You’re working the mid sail this afternoon.”

Lunch consisted of potato chowder and hardtacks. The crew used an assortment of dented metal mugs for drinking, and Gari made sure her children did not look when she poured them their portion of watered-down beer. Scootaloo crinkled her nose at the metallic aroma.

“Don’t sip it,” Compass Rose advised. “You want it out of your mouth as quickly as possible.”

Scootaloo took a quick gulp and grimaced. The beer was full of gelatinous clumps and tasted like copper, and the water might have come straight from a swamp. The sailors laughed when she set down her mug.

“I tell ya,” Fog Pilot said to Rainbow Dash. “Ship food will either make you feel really young or really old. You file down your teeth with these rocks, and then you eat mush. The kids have it easy; they’re still getting new teeth.”

All through the meal the table shifted; or rather the ship shifted around the table. The way her soup did not spill or even move in its bowl made Scootaloo feel sick all over again.

Much to Scootaloo’s dismay, the whole biscuit she had accidentally dropped into her bowl retained a hard centre right to the end. She ate what she could and sucked on the rest like a bland, starchy jawbreaker.

When they emerged on deck once more Equestria was just a bump on the horizon. In three directions there was only water. The waves were high enough to wet the sails, and Scootaloo scarce dared to go within a metre of the gunwales.

Their first task from Captain Gilbert was to clean the lunch dishes. Morning Rain nearly lost the bucket overboard when he first tried to fetch water. They filled the metal basin at a safe distance from the edge and got to work. Scootaloo had to climb inside the massive soup pot to get at its bottom. The persistent wind made her numb all over, and she was relieved to return to her cloak.

The sylvanocians used the hooks on their gauntlets to handle ropes. Compass Rose was all too eager to showed off his set. Scootaloo and Morning Rain were particularly impressed with the swing-out blade on the right gauntlet, and Compass Rose even took some time to show them how to tie knots and adjust the sails.

Interesting though the lesson was, Scootaloo had trouble focusing. Her eyes constantly darted to the endless water, and she cringed at every wave that approached.

“Don’t be scared,” Compass Rose said as he shook off his wings after shielding the children from a massive spray. “In these parts, this is considered smooth sailing. This ship was built to right itself from up to ninety-five degrees; we won’t capsize even if the sails are all underwater, so long as the holds stay dry.”

Scootaloo and Morning Rain were put to work untangling and cleaning a pile of salt-crusted rope, and though it was not pleasant work they could do it behind the radio room out of the wind.

With her magic Gari trimmed the sails on the foremast and the stays. Her cloak fluttered open, revealing a thick brown jumpsuit underneath. Standing at the bow, she took most of the spray that day, until Rainbow Dash and Gordon took over late in the afternoon.

All were visibly exhausted when the sails were lowered. Scootaloo’s hooves and lips were tender from handling the rough ropes, and she wanted no more salt.

The cabin was cozy and dry; when Captain Gilbert latched the door for the night a gas lantern provided the only light.

“You brought suits for them, right?” Captain Gilbert said to Gari when he noticed Scootaloo’s raw hooves. “You would be very cruel not to.”

“I did, but it slipped my mind this morning,” Gari said. “Rain, Scootaloo, I brought some work clothes for you from Canterlot.”

“Speaking of Canterlot,” Fog Pilot said, leaning in with his elbow hovering an inch above the floating table. “I think it’s about time we heard the whole story. What is this business with the Midnight Guard? You seemed very concerned about us dealing with them this morning. Sure, we didn’t ferry them to Equestria, but what if we had? They are loyal to you, aren’t they?”

“And what is this ‘Garden of Shadow’ anyways?” Rainbow Dash said from beside Fog Pilot. “And since when did Princess Luna have children? I’m done with all this ‘just go with it’ nonsense. I want answers!”

Gari set down her spoon and sighed heavily.

“If I were a few hundred years younger I would have you thrown overboard,” she said. “But you two are right, I have some explaining to do. Let me start with recent events, and work backwards. Of the three of you from Equestria I doubt even Morning Rain knows the whole history of the Colony. With your permission, Captain, I think Huck should prepare the coffee tonight. This may take a while.”

Huck whistled happily as he waited for the water to boil. Captain Gilbert made him wear a belt around his wings in the kitchen. Gari spent this time explaining all the details of the attack on Canterlot and the events of the past few weeks. This also gave Scootaloo and Morning Rain to finish their story, and their account of the last week seemed to trouble Gari greatly.

“Gregor sounds like a nice fellow,” Captain Gilbert commented when they had finished. “What ship did you say he took?”

“The Jackdaw,” Scootaloo said.

Gilbert’s expression darkened. He leaned back with his jam-covered biscuit and did not speak again.

Huck returned with a big kettle and a plate of dates. Scootaloo considered dumping the rest of her beer into the slob bucket when Huck carried it away, but one look from Gari made her reconsider.

“Alright,” Rainbow Dash said impatiently when Gari concluded the story with an account of the dinner in Saltlick. “Everypony knows what’s happening now. How about we hear your story?”

“You don’t strike me as one who enjoys history,” Gari said coldly.

“I don’t,” Rainbow Dash said, and sprang for the table. Fortunately the twins caught her before she could slam her hooves down. “But there are some thing that I need to know.”

Scootaloo hid her face behind her hooves.

Dash, please don’t be like this. Just this once.

“This is a matter for my family and the griffins,” Gari said. “Your presence on this ship is a privilege and not a right, Rainbow Dash. I will tell you if you so insist, but if you continue to be rude I will exclude you from all meeting from now on. It seems you are far too comfortable in the presence of royalty. Though we have little need for titles of any kind, the Children of the Night are princes and princesses of Equestria. Keep that in mind.

“A little over one thousand years ago, Luna and Celestia defeated Discord. Your history books ends the tale with the two princesses becoming the rulers of Equestria.

“That is not the full story, of course. Luna and Celestia took over a kingdom ravaged by long years of chaos magic. The land produced all sorts of strange and dangerous things, and pegasi were just starting to experiment with weather control. Many ponies died in those early years, including many parents.

“Both Luna and Celestia did their very best to help their new subjects rebuild, but they had very different approaches. Celestia wanted to better Equestria as a whole. She established new cities, rallied the strongest and brightest ponies of that time to build up infrastructure and tame the land. Canterlot became a great capital almost overnight, and many ponies found new hope.

“Luna helped all those who were left behind. What I am about to say may offend you, Rainbow Dash, but bear with me. There was no room in Celestia’s plan for the weak: the crippled; the maimed; the strange; the orphans. And you could very well be more than one of those things. Luna fought to protect us, but in the end her plea for mercy and compassion was drowned out by her sister’s magnificent vision of prosperity. Princess Luna had big plans for us in this new kingdom, but they were cut back again and again. In the end only one token orphanage was built: the Canterlot Orphanage.

“This is not the Canterlot Orphanage that you know of. It was a warehouse with a single room full of bunk beds. Reluctant caretakers arrived in the morning to give us a meal, and then we were locked in again. I was captured off the streets of Baltimare and imprisoned in that place. Even now I shudder to think about what happened there. It was like an oven during the summer day, and the caretakers barely left us enough water to drink, let along bathe. Even little foals were locked up like that. Many of the children died there; sometimes their bodies weren’t removed for days. That was our world, and it could have been the only world we ever knew.”

A solemn silence had fallen over the room. Even Rainbow Dash looked horrified. Scootaloo and Morning Rain cried quietly while Gari stared through Rainbow Dash with furious eyes.

“For a while Luna was occupied with other matters, but at last the collective nightmares of all the orphans of her kingdom could no longer be ignored. She came to all of us, whether we were in Canterlot or elsewhere. She listened, and comforted us through many long nights. Meanwhile she pleaded with her sister to let her find a new place for us. Celestia’s fear—that such an arrangement would divide the kingdom—was not groundless, as history would prove, but Princess Luna resented her for it.

“The situation at the orphanage grew worse as the year progressed. In the eyes of the citizens of Canterlot we were taking up valuable resources. Though we barely ate anything, we were eating their food and producing nothing but a horrible stench. One day my sister Magpie overhead the director of the orphanage talking about getting rid of us. We had no doubt about what she meant. That night we all told Luna what we heard; it was the first time we saw her cry.

“The next night Luna came to us with a message: ‘be ready to leave, and listen for my song. I will be with you soon.’ She sang to us in our dreams, a song that many of you have heard.

“We waited for a week, barely able to sleep. But she did not come. Our excitement turned to anger, and then to acceptance as the days dragged on. Luna visited less often, and whenever we asked the answer was always the same: ‘soon.’

“It was almost winter when it happened at last. We were all shivering under our thin, filthy blankets; it was too cold to sleep. Many of us were sick, and we were all very weak. That moment when I heard the song was the happiest moment of my life. We floated through the window and rose above Canterlot, and I still remember how fresh the air was. In the distance I saw other fillies and colts rising up to meet us. I saw Princess Luna for the first time outside of my dreams, and I remember thinking she was the most beautiful mare I had ever seen.”

To her credit Rainbow Dash didn’t try to lighten the mood with a funny face. She bit her lip to hold back her tears, while all of Gari’s children were crying freely.

“We flew for hours, over Equestria and across the ocean. In the dawn we landed on a beach, and there we were greeted by Luna’s guards. They carried us inland over barren, rocky ground to a big stone house. They bathed us and put us to bed. For many of us that was the first bath we ever had in our lives, and though we were terrified of the sylvanocians they took great care of us. We were well fed, and in our dreams Luna was always there to comfort us. She and the sylvanocians were very patient with us; they made sure we were strong and healthy before putting us to work.

“That place where we landed is known today as Kelp Town. It was there that griffins first met ponies. Princess Luna had observed the griffins for months beforehand, and she decided that they could be reasoned with. She casted a spell on Kelp Town so that griffins could not enter, and in this way we were kept safe while she negotiated on our behalf. She said that Kelp Town was useless for farming, that it was a poor location for a port, and that no griffins lived nearby. Grudgingly they agreed, and so we had our first home.

“For ten years Luna raised us. She brought a second group of orphans a few weeks after emptying the Canterlot Orphanage, so there were forty-six of us in total. She taught us how to build up the soil with kelp and how to grow food. We learned how to read and write; we learned all we needed to know to survive. Even with magical help we had to work very hard, but those really were happy days. By the time Nightmare Moon showed up, Kelp Town was starting to look like a real colony, with many houses and a mill. The soil had become fertile. We even got along with the griffins, and our farming produced enough food that they could build a city of their own.

“About one week before she became Nightmare Moon Luna visited us one last time. We all dropped what we were doing and gathered in the house which she had first built for us. Though we no longer lived there, it was still our meeting place and school.

“She was troubled and very irritable that night.

“’My children,’ she said to us. ‘You have learned well, and your achievements are magnificent. I am proud of you. Now I have one final gift for you. This may be the last time you see me for quite some time, but do not despair. You are Equestria’s future, and together you will do great things.’

“Luna’s spell was excruciating. When we woke up the next morning she was gone. I had wings, and her crown was upon my head. You should have seen the others’ faces when they saw me. But within an hour we discovered that we had all received new powers. The pegasi and earth ponies among us could do magic just as well as the unicorns, and we all could fly. Princess Luna had turned us all into alicorns.

We continued to live as if everything was alright, but the world had changed. At first I wore a cloak to hide my new wings from the griffins, but they quickly figured out what Luna had done. When she was still planning the colony Luna had used her magic as leverage against the griffins, and having a whole family of alicorns for neighbors didn’t sit well with them. Soon sylvanocians were fleeing to us from Equestria, bringing news of what had happened. They filled up Kelp Town and expanded into the surrounding area, and for some time it seemed that our peace with the griffins would end. At last we decided that somepony had to go to Equestria and try to reason with Celestia.

“My brother Trotamundo volunteered to go, and for Celestia’s sake I will not go into the details of his journey.

“For many years the sylvanocians continued to flee to us, until we had no choice but to threaten war. The griffins gave us a considerable inland territory in response, and there the Garden of Shadow was built.

“Despite all that had happened we enjoyed several centuries of relative peace. We had many children in the first two hundred years, and the Garden of Shadow became a huge city where griffins and ponies lived together. Looking back, it was hard to believe that it all started with a handful of orphans on a beach.”

Gari stared through the hull in silence. None dared to speak, not even Rainbow Dash.

“I have much more to say, but that is enough for tonight,” she declared. “I am sorry if I rambled, everyone. Please, get some sleep. You must be very tired.”

Scootaloo turned away numbly as the adults filed towards the door at the back of the cabin. She was about to hop down when a sudden urge stopped her.

Just this once. It’s been so long.

She waited until Rainbow Dash disappeared into the dark hold, and then stood up and put her hooves around Gari’s shoulder. She kissed her on the cheek.

Gari grabbed her before she could retreat. With her other hoof she took Morning Rain onto her lap and hugged them both.

“I missed you two,” she said quietly. “I love all of you. Do you know now why I care so much?”

“Yeah,” Scootaloo said with a soft sniff.

Gari held them out in front of her and kissed each of them on the forehead.

“Good,” she said. “Go to bed now. We start early tomorrow.”

“Aren’t you going to sleep?” Rain asked.

“Not tonight,” Gari replied with a tired smile. “I’ve done my share of sleeping in the last thousand years. You need not worry about me; that goes for both of you. Now go.”

The low-ceilinged hold was lit by a single gas lamp. Crates and barrels obscured the hull, and multi-colored hammocks dangled at various heights from the beams overhead.

“Those two are yours,” came Fog Pilot’s voice from above. His hoof appeared out of a hammock, silhouetted against the lantern. “If you have to use the head, remember to close the valve like I showed you. Going down by the head is the worst way to go.”

Rainbow Dash giggled groggily.

Scootaloo took off her cloak and belt and climbed into a hammock. The world became still as soon as her hoof left the floor. All around her the ship bucked and rolled with the waves, but she knew that she was not moving. Looking made her dizzy, so she unfolded the fleece blanket and closed her eyes.

The hammock hugged her body and kept her back at a comfortable temperature. It forced her back and neck into an arch that was surprisingly comfortable. She did not move around too much, for fear of being dumped onto the floor. The gentle swaying of the hammock and the muffled sound of crashing waves lulled her to sleep.

She dreamed that she was flying over the ocean with Rainbow Dash. Far in front of her Gari drifted on magnificent black wings.

“Hurry up, Scootaloo,” Rainbow Dash cried. “Nightmare Moon is coming!”

And so she was, with a company of four griffins and a full moon shining behind her.

“Get to the beach! Get to the beach!”

But there was no beach. Scaly hands closed around her ankles, and Scootaloo began to fall.

Chapter 22

Chapter 22

Scootaloo raised the steaming mug to her lips and sighed happily. There was enough cinnamon and sugar in the hot cider to cover up most of its metallic taste, and the warmth of the mug on her padded hooves brought up memories of Hearth’s Warming Eve at the Orphanage.

The rubberized work suits that Gari brought were lined with soft fleece. Even at the end of a long day Scootaloo didn’t want to take hers off. The outside was marked with pale salt creeps, but she was dry and reasonably warm.

Morning Rain pulled back his padded hood and shook his head vigorously. His ears flopped around, and his mane was plastered to his scalp. He shuddered at the feeling of cool air around his neck.

“I sort of wish these things had ear holes,” he said, and took a large gulp of his drink. “And leave it to Gari to make rotten apple water drinkable.”

“You said it,” Fog Pilot cried, flopping down the kitchen ladder with a loud bang that startled the two kids. “Mom, did you save some for me?”

“I think you’ve had enough, Fog,” Gari said, looking over the table with a teasing smile. “You sure you don’t want to sleep it off before dinner?”

“You know I’m no good with ladders,” Fog Pilot said. “I’m getting too old for this, I say! I should have been a rape farmer like my grandfather. Just a simple life in Rapetown. It would have been nice.”

Scootaloo lowered her mug coughing.

“There’s no ‘Rapetown’, Fog,” Gari said with a roll of her eyes. “Your grandfather was from Rafkita.”

“The number one producer of rape!” Fog Pilot countered. “Where do you think your rape oil comes from?”

“Rapeseed oil,” Gari said. “And that was never the official motto.”

Scootaloo and Morning Rain were rolling on their backs and clutching their sides. Muffled laughter could be heard from the deck above.

“Anyways, I’m getting old. If you love me, mom, pour me some cider before this beard here grows over my mouth.”

“H… hey, Fog Pilot,” Rain stammered, breathing in shallow gasps. “How old are you anyways?”

“I’m twenty-five,” he replied. “A ripe old age for a ra…”

“No,” Gari said flatly, sliding a full mug across the table.

Perhaps it was the cider, or maybe it was just her high spirits. The thought formed on her tongue.

“You’re older than my dad,” Scootaloo said.

The laughing died downed. On deck Rainbow Dash coughed.

“Don’t do the math,” Gari said as Fog Pilot turned to Scootaloo with one arched eyebrow. “It’s bucking terrifying.”

Dinner was as tasty as ever, but Scootaloo didn’t feel quite as comfortable as before.

A lot had happened in their four days at sea. On the second night Scootaloo and Morning Rain took their first night watch over a school of glowing jellyfish. Huck taught them how to climb the mast, and they even had a chance to put up the topsails. From the tip of the tall mid mast the deck looked like a little wooden plaque. Though they were pegasi, Scootaloo and her brother were all too happy to leave the loudly beating sails.

Compass Rose and Gordon had a hoofball wager. For the first two morning they took their breakfast in the radio room, scanning the channels until an announcer read the sports section from the Equestria Daily. Compass Rose was very pleased for all of the third day.

Every night when she undressed Scootaloo checked her flank. There was no shortage of things to do, and she was quite good at a few of them: reading the compass; using a sextant; untangling ropes; she even trimmed a sail all by herself, though only for twenty minutes and without permission. It was always a tense moment; her excitement at the prospect of seeing a ship or its wheel on her flank was tempered by the dread of finding a mop bucket or a gut knife instead.

After the first night attendance at Gari’s stories was reduced to Scootaloo, Rainbow Dash and Morning Rain. They always had dates or nuts, and Scootaloo learned to tolerate a few drinks that she would not mention to her father.

After their dinner of fried fish and vegetable soup (Rainbow Dash alone refused to touch the fish) Gari poured out the coffee and waited on the bench for the others to leave. She did not speak until the door to the deck was closed and latched. Then she shook her wings and stood up again.

“I left off last night at year five hundred and seven,” Gari said. “Up to that point we had peace; with the exception of the incident with my daughter Skyla, there were no open conflicts between griffins and ponies. That all changed in the spring of the five hundred and tenth year, when the bodies started to wash up on our shores.

“We couldn’t tell what they were at first. Keep in mind, by this time we were all very familiar with the normal anatomy of ponies and griffins. We scanned them with magic and did all the usual autopsies, and then we sent ships almost to Equestria, but the horror of it was just too great to accept.

“These were young children. You see, back in Equestria there was still no regulation on magic. Anypony could cast any spell for any purpose. One of the innovations from that dark age is the workhorse spell.

“The spell tears apart the victim’s body and enlarges it with whatever material is around, killing the pony and leaving her body as a shell that could be made to do all kinds of hard labor without rest. Unicorns captured children off the street and created these workhorses in the thousands, and they were used for everything from mining to rowing ships. The ones we found were the spent shells of rowers, dumped overboard by Equestrian sailors.

“We were outraged by this. Luna’s teachings became a command that burned in our hearts. We were supposed to be the ones who fixed Equestria! We were supposed to protect the weak and the orphaned! For the last five hundred years we had done nothing but build up our own cities and make our families prosperous. No more! Once we knew what was happening in Equestria, we could not turn away.

“Our children, the sylvanocians and the griffins were behind us. In two month seventy ships and two thousand soldiers were ready to sail. In reserve were ten thousand griffins and fifteen thousand ponies. The sylvanocians were eager to reclaim their homeland, and it took all of my brothers and sisters to convince them not to fight. Their numbers were few compared to ponies and griffins, and we feared that if they went with us in such great numbers there would be none left by the time we took Equestria. Only one thousand went with us, and they ended up doing the most good out of all of us.

“We descended on an utterly unprepared Equestria. After nearly five hundred years of peace, the EUP had become little more than a band of performers. We defeated the Wonderbolts in Baltimare on the first night, and in ten days we had crossed Equestria to Las Pegasus.”

Rainbow Dash scrunched her nose at the mention of the Wonderbolts’ one and only defeat, but Gari gave her no chance to interrupt.

“This is also when we first found out about Wintergreen. They were effectively independent from Equestria, and their bargeponies proved very useful in ferrying our troops north and west from Horseshoe Bay, and others in a different direction. They were good ponies, and I still hold onto the hope that they may one day see past their old grudge.

“Working with the sylvanocians, we found many of the ponies who were making workhorses. There were dozens, and we saved thousands of children. These we sent back to the Garden of Shadow, along with any refugees who would go. Our numbers tripled by the time we reached Canterlot, and already griffins were building their own cities. Talon was established at that time as a supply town.

“As we got closer to Canterlot we heard news of Princess Celestia and her formidable magic. We became increasingly worried that she may find out about us alicorns too soon. We returned to the Garden of Shadow for a short time to have new armor made that, coupled with an illusion spell, could make us look like griffins. You will see our original armor when we reach the Garden of Shadow.

“The sylvanocians had already retrieved timberwolves from the Everfree Forest when the EUP finally regrouped. We had taken more than half of Equestria, but we could not take the capital. There were archers on every rooftop, and an invisible barrier burned all who approached. We surrounded the city, and leaving more than enough troops there a few of my brothers and sisters retreated with me to check on our new territory.

“I thought I would be happy to see the vast empire we had conquered. The truth shocked us all. The ground was full of bodies. They were tearing down houses and felling ancient trees to burn the ones they could not bury. Many had been maimed. Parents mourned their dead children and children cried as their parents were piled on the funeral pyres. We had won the war, but there was nopony who would celebrate with us.

“The worst part was seeing the hatred in their eyes. Nothing I said could offer them any comfort; indeed, I could say nothing at all.

“I remember most clearly approaching a young filly in Saddle Hill. How she screamed when she saw me. I took off my mask, but still she continued to limp down the street. I told her again and again that I would not hurt her. Why should she believe me? I didn’t believe it myself.

“When I returned to the front line two weeks later, my mind was made up. The Children of the Night were supposed to end the suffering of ponies, not to create it. Princess Luna was the one who refused to have us sacrificed for the greater good of Equestria, so who were we to write off countless thousands of lives as necessary losses? In that moment we were no better than Celestia.

“The order to retreat was not well-received, but it was respected. Some of the griffins refused to leave, and these we left behind. In the latter days of the war I went into Canterlot and left a list of demands for Celestia. I was not hopeful, but it does seem that she at least read my letter. Workhouses disappeared, and the griffin settlements in Equestria have never been attacked. Celestia herself became more involved in the lives of her subjects after that, and a part of me wants to belive that it was at least partly because of what we did.

“The war had lasting effects in the colony. The Children of the Night remained politically irrelevant for two centuries afterwards, and I myself was sentenced to death five times. Getting burned at the stake didn’t kill me, but it was not comfortable. They were very persistent the first time; burned me for two days and nights. The second time they sawed off my horn and cut off my wings first, as if that would do anything.”

Here she laughed, while her audience looked on with eyes wide and faces pale.

“Anyways,” she said, as if she had forgotten about the others. “Those are the highlights of the Great War from my perspectives. If you tried to collect all the literature about that period I’m sure you could fill a whole wing of the Royal Library in Canterlot, but at least you are not completely clueless now. Class dismissed, unless Captain Gilbert wants any of you on first watch.”

A look from Gari stopped Scootaloo doorway. Morning Rain saw it too, and exchanging a glance with his sister closed the door behind him.

“How are you feeling?” Gari asked.

“I feel fine,” Scootaloo said. She hesitated before going on. “Gari, if Princess Luna was right, Nightmare Moon came to me as soon as I left Ponyville. But I don’t feel any different. I mean, I have bad dreams sometimes, but that’s it.”

“I am not too worried, to tell you the truth,” Gari said. “You are young, with plenty of great friends close by. Nightmare Moon feeds on loneliness and doubt, and those things aren’t found in a filly who can run across Equestria for the sake of her brother. But if you have anything on your mind, you can speak with me.”

“I know,” Scootaloo said. “But you already know everything. I would be happier if my dad was here and I had my cutie mark, but I feel great. I’m on a ship with my brother, my sister and you!”

Gari smiled, and all traces of concern left her face. Scootaloo couldn’t help but smile back.

“I’m proud of you, Scootaloo,” she said. “Go on, get some sleep. You must be tired.”

“Yeah, I am,” Scootaloo said with a yawn.

She opened the door to the hold and blinked when she was met with the sound of singing. Shadows danced around the room, and its many winged occupants appearing to her like gigantic birds and bats.

Rainbow Dash was sitting beside Fog Pilot on his hammock. Flickering lanterns illuminated their faces, but Scootaloo only noticed her sister. Her Wonderbolt’s uniform was rolled down to her hips, the forelegs dangling past the bottom of the hammock. Strands of her mane were stuck to her forehead, and its coloured bands seemed to fuse at the edges. Both of her eyes were closed, and on her face the biggest smile Scootaloo had ever seen.

“May the circle be unbroken; by and by oh by and by; there’s a better home awaiting in the sky oh in the sky!

“Road was whitecaps; sky of deep black; there my fortune I have made; cod my silver; whales my gemstones; for my youth it seemed fair trade!”

Morning Rain was stomping to the beat. Seized by a sudden impulse, Scootaloo grabbed his hoof and led him to the centre of the room. He did not resist; perhaps he had been waiting for her. The tune was fast and jolly, and thoughts of ancient wars and Nightmare Moon fled her mind.

Rain knew how to dance, but as always he followed her lead. The others moved back to give them some space.

Scootaloo swayed to the tune and spun in circles with her brother. They were weightless, though neither of them could use their wings. She felt like the world was as it should be, and as long as the others kept singing nothing could go wrong.

When the song ended Scootaloo and Morning Rain fell backwards laughing. Gordon and Huck clapped and whooped.

“Where did you learn to dance like that?” Rainbow Dash asked in amazement.

“At the orphanage, I guess,” Scootaloo said. She undressed so as not to meet her sister’s eyes. “That’s nothing special.”

“Nothing special?” Rainbow Dash repeated. “Scootaloo, that was amazing!”

Fortunately Scootaloo was already flushed from dancing. She did not try to hide her smile. Her heart sank somewhat when she rolled back her suit and saw her flank as blank as the previous night.

I guess it wasn’t that amazing.

The sailors passed around the guitar until they had nothing left but Hearth’s Warming Eve carols. There was not enough room for the adults to dance, so Scootaloo and her brother had the floor to themselves. Finally Captain Gilbert came down the ladder to call Huck for his shift, and the party ended shortly thereafter.

Scootaloo was woken by a hoof poking her back. She raised her head and peered over the side of her hammock. Compass Rose was looking at her expectantly with a half-shaded lantern hanging from his mouth, and though it was the wee hours of morning his ears were standing straight up.

“Come to the radio room,” he whispered excitedly. “Don’t bother with the suit. Just come quickly.”

He helped Scootaloo out of bed and made her go in front of him so he could light the way. At all hours of day the deck rolled and heaved; she was used to it by now, and it no longer made her stumble. A half-moon floated in the southern sky, and the stars were brighter than Scootaloo had ever seen. Compass Rose ushered her into the cramped radio room and closed the door behind him. The lantern he returned to its hook, and he lifted Scootaloo onto one of the two ancient stools in front of the monstrous buzzing radio.

“Coast Guard, Coast Guard, Coast Guard,” Compass Rose hailed in a clear, loud voice. With his hoof he depressed the big red button in the middle of the console. “This is Swift. Verify previous message. Over.”

For a second there was only static. Then a male voice, distorted but still recognizable, began to speak.

“Swift, this is Dust at Camp Nowhere. Please notify passenger Scootaloo immediately. Over.”

“D… dad?” Scootaloo whispered through her hooves.

“Speak up!” Compass Rose said with a good-natured laugh, taking his hoof off the transmission button and putting it on Scootaloo’s back. “He can’t hear you if you talk like that! I can’t even here you!”

“Swift?” Dust’s crackling voice said, sounding less confident this time. “Is everything alright?”

He sounded so close. Scootaloo was sure that she would see him if she pulled away the speaker grilles.

“This is Swift,” Compass Rose said, leaning into the microphone. “Scootaloo is in the radio room. She can hear you. Over.”

He turned to Scootaloo with an encouraging smile and gestured for her to come closer.

“Dad,” she said. Pressure was building in her sinus, and her face was becoming numb. “It’s me, Scootaloo.”

“Over,” Compass Rose finished and released the button.

The two second delay could have been days. Scootaloo counted every beat and pop of static.

“Hey sweetie,” Dust said. There was a quick surge of static and another second of silence before his voice returned. “Are you okay? Are you with Gari? Over.”

“I’m okay, dad,” Scootaloo said, and had to repeat herself because Compass Rose did not reach the button in time. “I’m on the Swift with Gari and Rainbow Dash and Morning Rain. I’m fine now. I’m not hurt. I’m a little homesick, I guess. I really miss you.”

“Over,” Compass Rose said again.

“I miss you too,” Dust said. His laugh sounded monstrous and unnatural over the radio. “It’s so good to hear your voice again, Scootaloo. I have been worried about you for the last month and a half. You were gone for that long, Scootaloo! I knew all along that this is not your fault. I don’t blame you for any of this. But the world is a big place, and…”

Scootaloo tried to interrupt him then, but Compass Rose just shrugged. Dust still had the floor.

“…I wish that you hadn’t gone, dear, but I’m proud of what you for what you’ve done. Princess Luna came to me last night and showed me all that you went through. I don’t know if you got your cutie mark, but I’m sure you’re not worried about that anymore…”

Fortunately for her Scootaloo’s face was already as red as it could get.

“Stay with Gari, Scootaloo. I trusted her to care for you when I went with the EUP, and I still trust her. There’s more to her than you would think, but I guess you know that already. Be good for her and listen to her. She knows what she’s doing. I’ll see you when you get home, and then we’ll have a party. Pinkie Pie was already making plans when I left. Over.”

“He sure sounds pretty old,” Compass Rose said under his breath before pressing the button again.

“Where are you, dad?” Scootaloo managed to say. “Are you okay?”

“Over.”

“This is the best I’ve been in years,” Dust said. “That’s the truth. Don’t worry about me, dear. About where I am, it’s complicated. I’m with some old friends right now, and if everything works out you may meet some of them when you come back. We are going to Canterlot first, and then I will take the train back to Ponyville. Over.”

“Last time,” Compass Rose warned. “We might have missed a mayday already.”

“Dad, I can’t wait to see you again,” Scootaloo sniffed. “There’s so much I want to tell you.”

“Okay Dust,” Compass Rose said. “Wrap it up. Over.”

“I’ll see later,” Dust said. “Stay safe, Scootaloo. I love you. Coast Guard out.”

“Swift out, back on sixteen.”

Scootaloo sat in numb silence. Compass Rose turned the main dial until the needle swung to 16.

“…Jackdaw out.”

The radio crackled.

Scootaloo wiped her eyes and leaned close to the speaker. Her ears flicked in agitation.

“Pan pan, pan pan, pan pan,” came the voice again. “This is Jackdaw. Persistent gas leak from improperly sealed containers, require immediate evacuation. Position seventy knots southwest of Jewel’s Rock. No running lights.”

The speaker crackled loudly. Scootaloo leaned back instinctively and nearly fell off her stool.

“Jackdaw, this is Swift.” Compass Rose had his full weight on the transmit button, and was close enough to lick the microphone. “Say again. Over.”

The radio remained silent. Compass Rose cursed under his breath.

“Scootaloo,” he said. “Wake everyone. We need to get going as soon as possible.”

She hopped off the stool and hit the ground running. Compass Rose picked up one of the dull pencils scattered around the room and began scribbling in the radio logs.

“Jackdaw, this is Swift,” Scootaloo heard as she scrambled along the starboard side towards the hatch.

In the message Gregor sounded scared, and now she was scared too.

Author's Note

The song I used is "will the circle be unbroken". I first heard this one when I was sailing around the San Juan Islands in a high school program. It's not a sea shanty at all, but it works so well with a mixed group that I just had to work it in.

It's also one of Stuart Mclean's favorite tunes, so yeah.

Chapter 24

Chapter 24

“Rain, is that you?”

“No. I’m Gina.”

“Have you seen Rain anywhere?”

“I don’t see anything.”

Scootaloo couldn’t decide whether to breathe through her nose or her mouth. The early morning fog was like liquid fish on her tongue.

With his pale coat Morning Rain was all but invisible until he pounced, knocking Scootaloo backwards into a big coil of rope.

“Rain, you’re not supposed to be flying!”

After two and a half weeks at sea, all were relieved to hear the cry of “land ho” on the previous afternoon. Scootaloo did not realize how lonely the endless black ocean had been until she saw land again. It was not much to look at; just a steep cliff topped with ancient pine, so far away that a pony standing on shore would have looked like a pin’s head even through a spyglass. But it was something different, and it reminded them that there was still a world beyond their drifting wooden island.

The children turned their sturdy suits inside out and left them on deck to air out. Morning Rain was finally freed from his vest, and though his wings were weak from disuse he had no problem flying a figure eight around the tips of the masts when Captain Gilbert had his back turned.

Presently the Captain emerged out of the fog, coming from the bow. Across his shoulder he carried what looked to be a long, crooked paddle made of polished red wood. His brows were furrowed, his eyes narrowed as if he could see through the fog; not since the incident with the Jackdaw had Scootaloo seen so much worry in that face.

Grace ran along beside him, craning her neck to get a better view of the thing he carried.

“Let me see!” She begged. “I have never seen rifle before!”

“Is that your rifle?”

Scootaloo lowered her head reflexively when Gina dropped down from the riggings like a giant bird. She landed on the Captain’s other side and fell into step.

“This is not a toy,” Captain Gilbert said seriously, using his wings to push the girls out of his personal space. “You need proper training to handle a rifle. Of course I won’t let you hold it, so stop asking.”

“I killed a manticore,” Gina said defensively. “And I beat a big timberwolf. And I can use a bow.”

“This is quite different,” Captain Gilbert said sternly. “Girls, please. I’m very busy.”

“Is something wrong?” Rain asked.

“I have no idea,” Captain Gilbert replied. “Compass Rose was monitoring the radio last night. Channel sixteen has been quiet for hours. Absolutely nothing from any of the fleet or Kelp Town. It’s never happened before.”

“Maybe it’s the fog,” Scootaloo suggested. “Sometimes the radio doesn’t work when it’s too cloudy.”

“Yeah, the fog…” Captain Gilbert murmured. He continued towards the stern, and disappeared again.

“It’s not the fog, you know,” Morning Rain said. “That antenna is like a mile high.”

“What, do you think all those ships just turned off their radios for some reason?” Scootaloo said.

“I say we get our stuff,” he said. “I saw Gregor and Galina at the forecastle, and they have their bows. Gordon’s staying close to Fog Pilot at the wheel, just watching. I think they’re expecting trouble.”

Gari was lounging on a bench in the mess. Rainbow Dash stirred the pot of oatmeal with one wing, and looked about ready to climb the walls. Fingers of fog drifted down behind the kids as they entered, curving away from the nearest gas lantern and forming fine swirls around the beams overhead.

“Morning, Gari,” Scootaloo greeted. “Morning, Dash.”

“Hey squirt!” Rainbow Dash said, much too enthusiastically. “Oh, you would not believe how boring it is down here!”

“There are pills for ponies like you,” Gari said. “I can get you a prescription.”

“Gari,” Moring Rain said before the two mares could start arguing. “We want our stuff; our weapons.”

“And why would need them?” Gari said patiently. “They did you no good in Equestria, did they?”

“We just want to see them,” Scootaloo lied.

“Yeah,” Rainbow Dash pitched in. “They’re really cool. I want a better look at that tomahawk too.”

“You are making breakfast,” Gari said. “If you start working on it now, maybe one day you’ll be able to make not-black oatmeal without my supervision. And as for your weapons, of course you can see them. Just keep them down here, okay?”

“But there’s better light… above…” Rain trailed off, defeated.

“Rain,” Gari said gently. “I know what you’re thinking. It won’t do you any good.”

“What are you trying to do?” Rainbow Dash asked, narrowing her eyes in suspicion. The fact that she continued to stir the pot with one wing made the gesture a lot less intimidating.

“I’ll get the stuff,” Gari sighed. “Grace, Gina, I’m afraid I don’t have your bows and arrows.”

“That’s okay,” Gina said. “We know where they are.”

“Keep stirring,” Gari said as she left the room.

Rainbow Dash harrumphed and picked up the spoon that she had so recently put down.

“What’s going on up there?” She asked. “Are we there yet?”

“I can’t tell,” Scootaloo said. “There’s still too much fog.”

The griffins returned quickly with their tattered hoods and bows. They were examining their bowstrings at the table when Grace suddenly turned her head all the way around, making Morning rain jump.

“Did you see that?” She asked, looking up at the hatch with her neck twisted like an owl’s.

There was nothing but white when Scootaloo looked. Gari joined them a moment later, sparing a glance to tell Rainbow Dash to get back to work.

A black band like thick smoke zipped across the hatch.

“Come on!” Rain cried, and shot up through the hatch with one strong stroke from his wings. Dust and sand filled the air, rattling softly as they fell again.

Gina and Grace had their bows in their hands before they were ever on deck. Scootaloo went after them, but found herself kicking against air.

“You’ll need this,” Gari said, and tied the tomahawk around her waist. “It won’t matter in the end, but you can try.”

The levitation spell pushed her up the ladder, and Scootaloo touched down gently on deck. Rainbow Dash burst out of the cabin behind her, having somehow managed to put on her Wonderbolts uniform in less than a second.

“Alright, what’s going on h… Whoa!”

Scootaloo turned with tomahawk in hoof. Rainbow Dash was standing awkwardly on her hind hoofs with her wings locked open and her neck arched backwards. A sliver of black smoke flowed rapidly around her throat and along her back. It thickened gradually, sprouting four new branches. One of them was hooked forwards, and rose straight up.

All at once the smoke flared out in every direction. A dark grey mare with eyes like a cat stood where there was once only vapour. Her membranous black wings glistened like velvet, and her black metal shoes were marked with crescent moons. Her right foreleg was curled around Rainbow Dash’s neck. She smiled at Scootaloo, showing off the four small but noticeable fangs in her mouth.

Three black ribbons sailed over her head. Scootaloo exchanged a worried look with Rainbow Dash, and immediately turned around to follow them.

Loud reports came from both ends of the ship. The deck rolled slowly under her feet; she could hear the sails luffing.

All over the deck sylvanocians were materializing. There must have been a hundred more out on the water, judging by the sound of wings. Up ahead the outline of a griffin standing on two appeared in flashes of red. The sound that accompanied it was loud enough to make her ears pop.

Something heavy clattered against the deck, and the explosions stopped.

Gordon was lying on the deck, held down by three sylvanocians. Two more stood facing Fog Pilot, who was still holding the wheel. Three others coalesced silently behind him as Scootaloo watched.

She burst out of the fog with her axe raised over her head. Only in the last moment did she realize that she had no idea where to aim.

The axehead struck armor with a dull thud. The axe flew out of Scootaloo’s grip, and the force of impact left her forelegs numb. Thus her heroic rescue ended with a face plant beside a confused but completely unharmed sylvanocian.

A shadow fell over her. When Scootaloo looked up she was flanked by two dark grey stallions.

“Catch!”

The one on her right turned his head, and was immediately struck with by a flying tomahawk. Scootaloo winced as he staggered to the left, covering his face with one hoof. The tomahawk fell to the deck.

A volley of arrows struck the other one, all of them glancing harmlessly off his armor. He lowered his faceplate, giving Scootaloo just enough time to get out of his reach.

At the wheel Fog Pilot was keeping his attackers at bay with a machete, swinging it in a big arc at about shoulder level. This worked until the Midnight Guard showed up in full armor. The machete bounced off the first neck guard it touched, and Fog Pilot was at last forced to release the wheel.

Having thrown his only weapon, Morning Rain could only lay low behind Gina and Grace. The griffins were quickly running out of arrows. Down to her last three, Gina dropped her quiver beside her sister and reached under her left wing.

“Girls! Stop!” Galina ordered from somewhere within the fog.

“Everyone, stop fighting!” Gari said. Her magically-amplified voice rattled the ship down to the last nail.

“Do as she says,” said a third voice, male this time.

The fog parted, starting from the centre of the ship. Gregor and Galina were standing at middeck, flanked by two fully-armored sylvanocians. The Captain sat on the bowsprit with his rifle hanging limp from his shoulder. Rainbow Dash was struggling under the weight of half a dozen sylvanocians.

Gari stood at the door to the mess, with Huck on her right and one armored sylvanocian on her left. Like the others he seemed at first glance to be tall and lean. He had slit pupils on his pale green eyes, and his upper fangs reached just past his lips. His snout was rather long, with narrow nostrils and a less pronounced chin; an aggressive face, but more like a peckish wolf than an angry buffalo.

“Scootaloo, Rainbow Dash, Morning Rain,” Gari said. “This is Pul Noctis, a marshal of the Midnight Guard and currently the most powerful sylvanocian in the world. We are his prisoners.”

“Come on!” Rainbow Dash mumbled. Her cheek was practically fused to the deck. “We can take them!”

“Are you sure about that?” Gari said flatly.

The fog continued to recede, and now a gigantic shape appeared on the starboard side. Scootaloo’s jaw dropped when the first set of blue sails came into full view. The Swift looked like a toy in the shadow of this giant. Its deck was two storeys above water, and any one of its masts could have made a tower. Each of its cannons was big enough to launch a sizable boulder, and there were too many of them to count. Dozens of ponies were watching from the deck, many of them carrying scythes or hooks.

“You’re not a prisoner, mom,” Noctis said in a voice that was surely shared by half the Royal Guards in Canterlot. “We are escorting you to the Garden of Shadow. After that…”

Gari struck him with such force that his helmet flew off (at first Scootaloo thought it was his head). He did a full backflip before clattering onto the deck.

“Don’t you call me that,” Gari said in a low, menacing tone. “You sent assassins after my children. You would kill your own brothers and sisters. And for what?”

The Midnight Guards shied away from the scene. Even the ponies onboard the other ship seemed uneasy, and a few of them backed away from the gunwales.

“They’re not my brothers or sisters,” Noctis gasped. “How can they be? We were not related by blood. Not by heritage. They were just kids that no one wanted.”

Gari flicked her wings out from beneath her cloak, striking the sylvanocian square in the chest. He skidded backwards into the deckhouse wall. There was a deep dent in his breastplate.

“Don’t forget,” Gari said, with her chin raised imperiously, “you were food when I found you.”

The sylvanocians dared not approach until Gari went below deck. They removed Noctis’ armor and cut him out of his jumpsuit. The sight of his entire chest black and deformed was sickening yet strangely satisfying.

“You’re not that tough,” Rainbow Dash groaned from underneath the pile of ponies. The guard nearest her head clamped her mouth shut.

“Alright, get those tow lines over here,” Noctis managed to say.

Scootaloo could not look away from his chest. All his ribs looked to be loose, but with each deep inhalation the damage seemed to lessen. Sharp fragments of bone snapped back into place and stayed. What little swelling he had went away in a few minutes’ time. He picked up his helmet and strode to the bow, and said no more.

The Midnight Guard took their prisoners to the port side and tied their wings and forelegs. Huck and Gari were kept unbound; the griffin was crying into his hands under Gari’s wing.

The sails were lowered, and thick lines were tied to the bow of the Swift leading to the stern of the giant ship. It was the flagship Skyla, according to Grace. With her many sails full of wind she blocked out a good chunk of the view forward. The Swift flew along, her nose pulled almost completely out of the water thanks to the tow lines. The ride was unsteady, and a few times Scootaloo thought they would capsize.

Their guards were not unkind, and offered them everything from water to grease pencil autographs. Gina collected the latter on her hood until Gregor threatened her with a beating. She continued to speak with the guards in the griffin language, so their stories were completely lost to Scootaloo.

The fog traveled beside the two ships like tall white walls. Just past noon the shore appeared suddenly: a beach of pebbles and grey sand, punctuated with slimy boulders as big as houses. Barren salt marshes stretched far inland; only a few small trees and bushes grew in the sodden ground, and the hills were topped with tall grass burned white by the salty wind.

Skyla turned out of the wind. Her sails lowered in a graceful pattern, top to bottom and front to rear. One of the guards took the wheel of the Swift and manoeuvered her in a big figure eight, finishing on Skyla’s starboard side as she crawled into the harbor.

Scootaloo had never seen so many tall ships in one place. Their masts were like giant toothpicks on a giant appetizer platter. There were schooners; sloops; brigs; barques. Ships with ribbed sails, paper sails, white sails and black sails and everything in between. Sails hanging limp to dry; sails with patches; sails made of patches.

With Skyla and the Swift sailing side by side there was not enough space in the alley to accommodate a canoe. Scootaloo breathed a sigh of relief when the big ship turned to port to dock at an extra-large slot.

The Swift docked at an adjacent pier. Five large earth ponies in bright orange vests caught the hull with rubber-tipped poles and dropped fenders for the hull. The ship stopped so gently that Scootaloo did not feel the impact.

“Alright,” Captain Gilbert declared irately. “This is Kelp Town. Now unless there is a warrant for me that I don’t know about, you should untie me.”

The guards untied everyone. Compass Rose and Fog Pilot flicked out the blades on their gauntlets and cut their own ropes.

The passengers were given ten minutes to gather their belongings. Morning Rain’s Scythe was returned to the Midnight Guard, much to his dismay. Scootaloo hung her tomahawk at her waist. There was no blood on the blade when she picked it up off the deck. Grace’s darts she kept under her left wing. Putting on her cloak, she went back on deck to wait for the others.

Fog Pilot and Compass Rose were already far up the pier, standing in front of a small cart full of fresh cut grass. The sight of fresh green leaves made Scootaloo’s mouth water.

“Hey Scootaloo,” Gregor said when he came on deck with his family. “We’re staying in Kelp Town for a while. We’ll be in the Garden of Shadow early tomorrow. Gari know where we are staying.”

“Come visit,” Gina urged without look at Scootaloo’s eyes.

Grace pounced suddenly and grabbed Scootaloo’s neck. Her scaly hands felt strange on her skin, but Scootaloo returned the hug wholeheartedly. Gina joined in after a moment.

“Come on,” Gregor said.

Grace wiped her eye with one finger, and did not turn away completely until she reached the boarding ramp. Scootaloo felt rather hollow inside. Standing on deck without a familiar face in sight, looking around at all the strange ships in the big harbor, she suddenly felt very small.

I wish Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle were here, she thought. There must be hundreds of new things we can try in Kelp Town.

With her sleek flight suit Rainbow Dash was among the most conspicuous pony in the harbour. Scootaloo was not sure how she felt about the uniform. There was a time when she would have been eager for a signed picture of her sister in that outfit, but now it seemed mundane, even a little annoying.

“You take care, Gari,” Captain Gilbert said as they disembarked. He was standing rather stiffly on the boardwalk, his legs twitching in anticipation of waves that never came. He eyed the guards uneasily, but said nothing more.

The guards shadowed them down the pier, giving them enough distance to reassure them that they were not prisoners yet.

The boardwalk was wider than a street in Canterlot. They passed sweaty, grease-covered sailors unloading crates of brined fish so heavy that the ramps drooped under their weight. Others threw giant gutted squids out of small, sloppily-painted schooners that reeked of fish. Their big red tentacles writhed weakly, though the monsters had been deprived of their eyes and their brains.

Gari held the two kids close by her side as they approached the pile of tentacles. Scootaloo could feel Morning Rain shaking. Rainbow Dash walked on the other side, blocking the grisly sight until they had passed.

“D… Do the griffins eat anything other than fish?” Morning Rain stammered.

“They eat lots of things,” Gari said. “Fishing is important in these parts. It’s not so bad, really. A lot of ponies like seafood.”

“Bleh,” Rainbow Dash said. “I can’t even stand kelp rolls.”

“I just want some fresh grass,” Scootaloo said. “Or some apples.”

The dock must have been a mile long. Where it met the shore was a tall black gate. Scootaloo followed one of its bars up with her eyes and started.

A skull, gaily painted in blue and red and yellow, stared at the horizon with its empty sockets. The blue sky and shining sun did nothing to lessen the horror of its visage, and it was not alone. On every other bar was perched a skull, each one uniquely painted, all of them facing the sea. They looked eerily like pony skulls, except the eyes were too small.

“That’s… something,” Rainbow Dash said blankly, tucking her ears in and lowering her head slightly.

“It is not what you think.” Gari said evenly as two guardsponies unlatched the gate from the other side. “The griffins have a very different attitude towards death than you and I. This is not a sign of hostility.”

The houses were all made of stone and mortar, with tall, narrow windows and doors that looked to be as much paint as they were wood. They were widely-spaced, so that each one seemed a block all by itself.

The city was eerily quiet. The few griffins and ponies they did see moved swiftly through the wide-open streets with their hoods up. Scootaloo caught a glimpse of several sets of eyes peering out from a window. They disappeared as soon as she turned her head.

“It’s not usually like this,” Gari said in a low voice. “This is a lot more serious than I thought.”

A big open-top wagon rolled across their path. At first Scootaloo thought it was drawn by two giant black bears. But theirs heads were too big, and their lolling tongues were too friendly.

“Wow,” Rain breathed.

One of the dogs turned to him, and licked its lips. Its drooping ears flicked, and it big bushy tail wagged like a ragged flag. It was glad to see them, much like an elderly mare was glad to see her grandchildren. Though it was as tall as Gari and looked strong enough to shatter its harness with a vigorous shake it stood with its knees locked and its head held high.

“Into the cart,” Noctis ordered. “The Children of the Night are waiting.”

“They are not here in Kelp Town?” Gari asked.

“The Garden of Shadow seemed a more appropriate location,” Noctis said simply.

The dogs sniffed each of them as they approached. Scootaloo got a lick for lingering too long; the dog’s tongue was big enough to cover her entire face in thick slobber with one pass.

“Hey, don’t laugh!” she said, seeing Rainbow Dash and Morning Rain smirking from the back of the wagon.

“Kelp Town water dogs,” Gari explained as the driverless cart rolled into motion. “My brother Nightshade bred them hundreds of years ago. Patient, smart, friendly… terrible guard dogs.”

Eight guards surrounded them, with Noctis in the lead. The bed of the wagon was big enough for all of them to stretch out comfortably. Scootaloo did not see a house higher than five floors as they passed through the town. Down one street she caught a glimpse of the market square. A group of kids ran by, and even the ponies among them had skewers of fried meat in their mouths. She saw stands piled high with red fruits and leafy greens, flower shops with rainbow bouquets and carts with giant glass jars full of colorful candies, but clearly this was not Ponyville’s market. That first distant sight of hanging carcasses would haunt her for years to come, though she would see many butcher shops and tanneries during her stay.

“Gari, this is disgusting,” Rainbow Dash said, blocking her nose with one hoof as the faint smell of herbs and burning fat reached the cart. The dogs panted longingly, but did not stray from their path. “Okay, I get that griffins eat meat, but we’re ponies!”

“Yes,” Gari said. “And ponies need to eat, just like griffins. When we first arrived in Kelp Town, most of the plants here were poisonous. One thousand years ago, agriculture in Equestria was nothing like it is today. Wheat; barley; oatgrass; farmers were growing them, but they were about a fifth as productive as the types grown today. Luna brought us seeds and as much food as Equestria could spare, but in the first few winters there was not enough hay for even one of us.

“The griffins saved us. Before we became good farmers, before we built up the soil in these parts, before we domesticated the nightshades on this continent and found ways to make fruit trees out of poison berries, we were at the mercy of the griffins. Of course some of them wanted to eat us, but most were compassionate. And you would be surprised how little those sensibilities of yours mean when your choices are tree bark and smoked lamb.”

“That doesn’t explain anything!” Rainbow Dash protested. “This isn’t normal, Gari! I mean, why didn’t you stop? You must be growing more than enough food now! Why are ponies still eating meat?”

As if on cue the cart rolled past the last house of Kelp Town. On both sides of the road were fields of red and green: juicy fodder grass taller than any grown in Equestria. Scootaloo reached over the side of the cart, but the road was too wide for her to reach.

“Because it doesn’t hurt,” Gari said. “Griffins and ponies have been living together for a thousand years! Ponies and griffins don’t intermarry, but they do adopt. I’ve raised many griffins over the years, and there are lots of ponies within the family lines of griffins. You can’t keep pony things and griffins things separate. If you’re raised by griffins, if you have a griffin name, if you speak their language and learn their trades, why shouldn’t you eat their food?”

Rainbow Dash sat with her mouth hanging open until the guards decided to stop for lunch. They picked their own meals from the surrounding field while the dogs ate blocks of meat and entrails out of waxed burlap bags. Even with muzzles dripping with blood they managed to look utterly nonthreatening.

The grass was as sweet as Scootaloo imagined. It was like biting into a starchy melon. She quickly figured out how to fold the long stalks into manageable packets. Rainbow Dash nibbled on a leaf suspiciously before digging in, and would later reflect that it was the best grass she ever had.

After a quick break they continued on. The road was exceptionally smooth, winding through fields that made Sweet Apple Acres look like a backyard garden. There were many crops, and Scootaloo didn’t recognize most of them. The guards were exceedingly permissive, and stopped whenever Gari asked. Since reaching Kelp Town even Noctis seemed to be in no hurry. They met other carts, some pulled by ponies and some by dogs. One was piled high with fresh cut grass, pulled by a young earth pony mare who called Gari “gran” and refused to let them pass until they accepted a bushel “for the road”.

Scootaloo and Morning Rain took in every sight and sound with keen eyes and perked ears until the drowsiness of midafternoon overtook them. By that time the cart had been climbing steadily for an hour; they were heading to higher ground. The two kids nodded off with the bundle of sweet-smelling grass for a pillow. A wing covered their backs.

The sunlight grew dim.

Chapter 25

Chapter 25

“Hey, Scootaloo. Wake up.”

Scootaloo groaned.

Is it morning already?

“What time is it?” Morning Rain asked groggily.

Scootaloo’s eyes shot open. She was stretched out awkwardly on the wagon bed, and the sky had turned to stone.

The city wall was made of boulders and mortar, similar to the islands of Wintergreen. The arched entrance was at least four storeys high, and so deep that it looked more like a hallway than a door. Living moon orchids decorated the shaded interior of the tunnel, with fat, almost succulent leaves and flower stalks reaching out like jungle vines.

Scootaloo squinted as the wagon emerged from the tunnel into the Garden of Shadow.

It was not nearly as shadowy as the name implied.

The road was as wide as a hoofball field, paved with big slabs of slate and carefully filled in with black mortar to be as flat as a ballroom floor. Raised flowerbeds lined the street in regular intervals, each one planted with a tangled mess of stems bearing shiny, colourful fruit. Dwarf apples trees, peach and pear sent out their burdened branches like umbrellas. It was the kind of scene that haunted the nightmares of Canterlot’s finest and best-paid landscapers.

There were many griffins and ponies out and about, but the tension was evident. One family of griffins ducked behind a flowerbed as the wagon passed. A flash went off far in the distance; the pegasus photographer dropped behind the tall stone building and did not reappear. Young children ran into the streets with skewers of meat for the dogs, but stopped in their tracks when they recognized Gari.

The dogs stopped in front of a big building with six floors. It looked to be an octagon, surrounded by a moat of clear blue water. A single walkway led to the front door, wide enough for ten ponies to cross shoulder-to-shoulder.

“Come with me, Gari,” Noctis said, giving them the slightest glance before turning towards the walkway.

The dogs unhitched themselves from the wagon and lumbered to the moat for a drink. The guards followed them; a few even took off their armor as they approached the water.

“You three are free to go,” Gari said. “This is my business now.”

“I’m afraid it is more complicated than that, Gari,” Noctis said. “You must come in as well, Scootaloo.”

Rainbow Dash was suddenly hovering in front of Noctos. Even Gari was caught off guard.

“Scootaloo’s not going anywhere with you,” she growled. “You wanted Gari, and her she is. Leave everypony else alone!”

Her eyes wandered towards the water, and her anger was instantly replaced with fear. Rainbow Dash dropped down onto the stone walkway and took one uncertain step backwards. Her head twitched as she struggled not to look into the moat.

The guards giggled among themselves, while the dogs sat on the shore panting contentedly.

“You’re all sick,” Rainbow Dash said under her breath. She ran past Gari and pushed Scootaloo and her brother away from the water. Rain tried to get back to Gari; Rainbow Dash caught him in the chest and easily shoved him off his feet. The mare was shaking, her eyes swimming with tears.

“Let them go,” Gari said. “Come on, Noctis.”

One of the dogs got up and followed them. Whenever it tried to nuzzle her Rainbow Dash shooed it away. It whimpered piteously when she snapped her wing at its big black paw.

“Rainbow Dash, stay with the dog!” Gari called. “He’ll guide you!”

Rainbow Dash did not acknowledge the instruction. The dog had backed off a bit, but showed no sign of leaving.

They went on like this for a block and a half, drawing far too much attention. Finally Rainbow Dash slowed down. Her gaze locked onto the nearest flowerbed, and she emptied her stomach noisily into its soil.

The dog nuzzled Scootaloo; instinctively she scratched his ear. His black leather collar bore a small metal plaque engraved with a sixteenth note.

Rainbow Dash breathed deeply as she sat down against the base of the flower bed. Her face was wet with tears, and there was half a bean bush stuck in her mane. At any other time Scootaloo would have laughed.

The crowd dissipated, driven by a handful of sensitive citizens. The dog lay down beside Rainbow Dash and rested its head on her neck; this time she did not resist.

It was a long time before Rainbow Dash stopped crying. The dog held Scootaloo and Morning Rain under his gigantic paws, looking at them from time to time. His hypnotic black eyes radiated calm; Scootaloo did not feel self-conscious at all lying in the street of an unfamiliar city.

“Scootaloo,” Rainbow Dash hiccupped. “Scootaloo, listen to me. Whatever’s happening with these Children of the Night… don’t be a part of it. By Celestia, we have to get out of here!”

The dog put his forelegs over Rainbow Dash’s shoulders and pulled her closer. At first she struggled, but there was no escaping his embrace.

“What happened back there?” Rain asked nervously.

Rainbow Dash’s mouth opened and closed. Her eyes were wide and full of fear; she was trying to say something, but she couldn’t.

That was the worst part for Scootaloo. Rainbow Dash, one of the bravest ponies in Equestria, was scared out of her wits.

What’s in the water, Dash?

“Stay away from that moat,” she said when she calmed down somewhat. “Just stay away from it. If you can’t leave Gari, at least stay away from that moat. Don’t drink from it, don’t swim in it… don’t even look at it. Please.”

“What’s wrong with it?” Rain pressed on.

“Stay away from it!” Rainbow Dash snapped. The dog adjusted its grip and licked her face.

Scootaloo climbed onto the dog’s back and looked around. The passersby did not stop to look at them, but it was not an unkind gesture. In a few short minutes it seemed the citizens of the Garden of Shadow had come to an agreement that here was a private matter that did not concern them.

The signs above the doors were written in an utterly alien language. Unlike cursive Equestrian Standard, the symbols on these signs were discrete blocks. Most were based on a circle, with one or two horizontal lines inside. Sometimes there were dots too.

A few of the shops had window displays. Through these Scootaloo recognized a luthier and a shoemaker’s shop, though their ware was of the strangest kind. Further down the street was a set of double doors thrown wide open, revealing a room stuffed floor to ceiling with nothing but crossbows. Next to it…

Scootaloo’s jaw dropped. For a minute she could do nothing but stare. She was smiling from ear to ear when she slid off the dog and started down the street.

From her position she could only see a sliver of the shop’s interior. Fine dust wafted out of the open door. Hanging from the ceiling on delicate hooks were sets of disembodied wings: gaily-coloured, four-lobed butterfly wings; long, V-shaped albatross wings; bat wings in every color of the rainbow.

She was barely aware of the dog getting up to follow her.

“Scootaloo,” Rainbow Dash said, sniffing back the last of her tears. “Are those the fake wings you were talking about?”

Scootaloo stepped over the low threshold. The smell of the shop made her grimace; like a mix of fried meat and paint. The floor was covered in a layer of fine white dust, broken only by a trail of lion prints.

“Good afternoon,” a large griffin called from behind a rack of wings. “I’m Gabe.”

The feathers on his head all ran in the same direction, so that he looked bald. On his nose was a pair of spectacles that magnified his brown eyes to absurd proportions.

“H… hi,” Scootaloo stammered. Her eyes wandered all over the room, trying to take in everything. There were beautiful gear boxes of wood or bronze, inscribed or painted or plain. Harnesses made of leather or cloth, padded or unpadded. Membranes painted to look like feathers, or made of silk so thin that they were practically invisible.

Scootaloo was drooling almost as much as the dog.

“You are here for a set of wings, I suppose?”

Scootaloo nodded quickly, forcing herself to face the griffin.

“Well, let’s have a look. Come over here.”

Gabe reached into a drawer and pulled out a tape measure. When he beckoned her forward Scootaloo saw that he had two thumbs, one on either side of his hand. With one he held the tape, with the other a thick pencil.

Rainbow Dash and Morning Rain waited at the front of the shop, as fascinated by the foreign contraptions as Scootaloo. The dog lay in the doorway with his hindquarters sticking out into the street. Now that she had calmed down Rainbow Dash was a source of encouraging smiles once again. Yet there was still a great deal of uneasiness lingering in her eyes. Scootaloo’s thoughts wandered to the moat, which had looked to her like nothing more than a big pond.

Was it a really big fish? A shark?

A kappa?

Gabe talked almost continuously as he worked. Mostly he mumbled numbers to himself, but he spoke to Scootaloo sometimes. He was not gentle in stretching out her wings and finding her range of motion, and he was completely unapologetic. Rainbow Dash was especially annoyed when he suggested jokingly that he should take a few pinions for the fletcher down the street.

“I’m finished,” Gabe said at last, releasing Scootaloo’s sore wings. “I have some good news. Your wings are quite strong as they are, and all the muscles are there. You won’t need a full rig.”

Gabe moved as he spoke, his hand skimming quickly over the cluttered shelf above his workbench. He grabbed a small brass gearbox with two black bat wings attached. It was about a quarter the size of the one Grace used, and its underside was curved like a saddle. The griffin padded her back with a towel and got to work adjusting the straps to fit her wings.

“Do a lot of ponies need these things?” Morning Rain asked, looking at an ornate silver gear box.

“I’m here for griffins mostly,” Gabe replied. “But there are the odd pegasi with bad wings. Not to say your wings are bad, Scootaloo. You have beautiful wings…”

Scootaloo tapped her feet restlessly. Gabe seemed to be working slower and slower. She moved her wings when she was told; the prosthetics followed her motion more closely with each adjustment. Its weight was disappearing; the soft straps on her wings began to feel like her own skin, whale bone and silk like new primaries.

“That should do it,” Gabe said, snapping both thumbs in a quick rhythm. “I can get you a temporary harness for now; I think I’ve kept you long enough. Try that for tonight. Come back tomorrow and I’ll get you something permanent.”

The harness was made of layered blue cloth and fastened with metal rings. Scootaloo would have flown then and there were it not for Gabe’s express warning.

“So…” Rainbow Dash said as she looked Scootaloo over. “How much is this going to cost?”

“Nothing for you,” Gabe said. “The Children of the Night take care of these things. They’re all busy dealing with the sylvanocians right now, but life goes on for the rest of us.”

“Thanks,” Scootaloo said, fighting back happy tears. She could feel the air on her new wings. What had once been inconsequential motions became powerful strokes that swept up dust all around her. The well-oiled gear box on her back coordinated the prosthetics perfectly.

I can fly.

“Go on then,” Gabe said with a kind smile, waving his strange hand dismissively. “Give that a try.”

The dog scooted backwards to let the ponies out. His broad shoulders barely fit through the doorway.

Scootaloo took a running start. Her wings snapped open with a bang, catching the air instantly and nearly flipping her upside down. Her hooves lifted off the ground. Instinctively she kicked a few times; a part of her still deemed this unnatural.

The harness stretched slightly under her weight, but all the buckles held. The ground fell away quickly; she could feel unfamiliar winds in her mane already.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw a blur of colour. Rainbow Dash grabbed her and climbed quickly.

The red shingled roof flashed beneath her, barely a foot under her dangling hooves.

“Rule one of flying, Scootaloo,” Rainbow Dash said, “watch where you’re going.”

Without warning she let go. Scootaloo let out a short yelp, but her wings took over immediately. She turned in a wobbly circle to face her sister. Hovering in place would take a little more practice.

Scootaloo had never seen Rainbow Dash so happy before. With her overused Wonderbolt uniform, she didn’t look much like Rainbow Dash at all. There was an almost thoughtful glint in her purple eyes; admiring even, but not quite that.

Morning Rain lagged a little behind, his big wings flapping tentatively. He hid his amazement with a mischievous smile. Scootaloo knew what he was going to say before he opened his mouth.

“Race you to the moat!”

And just like that Rainbow Dash’s warning fled from her mind. Scootaloo leaned down and angled herself towards the glistening moat, losing one precious second as she tried to figure out how to go forwards instead of up.

“Scootaloo! Wait!”

“Come on, Dash!” Scootaloo called, moving quite quickly already.

Air was tricky in its suppleness; moving took barely any strength at all, but to slow down required a whole new level of finesse. Already Scootaloo was moving as fast as she had ever gone on her scooter, though the lack of references in the sky made it feel slower. The wind stung her eyes; she squinted and flapped her wings even harder.

Morning Rain glanced back. His eyes widened when he saw his sister on his heel and gaining.

The grey fog exploded out of the octagonal building, hissing through every window and blowing the doors wide open. Morning Rain plunged into it at full speed. Scootaloo turned around, but she was going much too fast to stop.

Rainbow Dash was approaching fast, reaching out with her hooves. She was screaming something.

There was neither light nor sound inside the fog. Somepony grabbed her from behind, clamping her wings closed. Her captor accelerated upwards.

Scootaloo’s vision lit up like a fireworks display before she blacked out.

Chapter 26

Chapter 26

“Stay with the dog!” Gari called. “He’ll guide you!”

“Moonbeam! Bring Scootaloo back here!” Noctis ordered.

“Don’t do it,” Gari said immediately.

The three guards exchanged confused looks, and then resumed undressing. If Noctis felt the defeat, he did not show it as he turned and headed across the walkway.

Gari looked into the clear blue water. The moat was thirty metres deep. Thousands of unicorn skulls, crystalized in fire, stared back at her from the bottom. They were meticulously arranged in tight rows with their horns pointed straight up like the spikes of a trap pit. Though the oldest were nearly as old as the colony they neither eroded nor gathered algae. A single skull could purify the foulest well, and certainly there would never be enough wells in the colony for each unicorn to get her own.

I’ll let mom explain this one to the kids.

For the first time in five hundred years the vestibule of Unity Hall was completely empty: no scholars eating on the steps to the main library; no committees with boxes of paperwork and giant corkboards; no trains of children from the local schools. Gari felt rather lonely standing in the middle of the cavernous space. The big grey pillars and dark tapestries reflected a cool light even in the midafternoon sun; it used to be so calming.

“So it’s been decided?” Gari said, keeping her voice low.

“For the most part,” Noctis replied conversationally. “I need some assurances, Gari.”

“You know I can’t agree to this, Noctis,” Gari said. “All this violence, slaughtering my children… you can’t change my mind in this matter. I am more than a thousand years old. I invented recorded history. If you keep going down this path, we will lose everything.”

“Then why don’t you stop me?” Noctis said, turning around before the double doors leading to the main hall.

“Because you are not a child anymore,” Gari said, “and this is not my city. My time has passed. I can be a worker; an advisor; but I will not lead. Nobody wants to live under the rule of a family of immortals. You may act, but you will have to do it without my blessing.”

“And I may joust with a toothpick,” Nictis said with a derisive snort.

He knocked three times and stepped back. Two fully armored guards opened the door from inside the chamber. Seeing Gari, they bowed deeply.

The main chamber was built to seat a thousand, with low desks and comfortable cushions that could have served as decent beds. Now there were only a hundred or so. Forty-four of them were markedly larger than the guards at their side. A few of them wore cloaks identical to Gari’s. Some had horns, some had wings, and some neither. Not alicorns precisely, but they were certainly more than typical ponies.

“Well it’s about time.”

After a thousand years Candlelight was as direct as ever. Gari was taken aback by his short mane; for much of his life it had been long and unkempt.

“I took the long way around,” Gari replied, crossing the floor to take a spot between Spirit and Nightshade. Looking around the room once, she sighed heavily and raised her voice so that all could hear. “Now, what’s so important about this new development that none of you would intervene? Four of my children were killed in their home, and the Midnight Guard chased two more across Equestria. I don’t care what Noctis is saying or how much support he has. We do not kill and maim to get our way, and we do not yield to anyone who does.”

“Gari,” Spirit said softly, putting a light brown hoof on Gari’s shoulder. “Listen to me. A lot has changed in the last few years.”

Hearing one of her most exuberant sisters speaking so gently added to Gari’s uneasiness. Spirit’s dark brown ears were tucked against her head, and her terracotta eyes would not stay on Gari.

She was scared, and she was begging Gari to be scared too.

“Surely our stance has not changed that much,” Gari said, though she struggled to keep her voice strong. She had not noticed it at first, but all her brothers and sisters seemed nervous. Magpie fiddled with her black silver necklace; Moondancer tapped her feet. The usually withdrawn Nightshade was nibbling on a few strands of his long red mane, something he had not done since boyhood.

“Calm down, Gari,” Princess Luna said, leaning over the railing of the second floor. Not a command, but a piece of advice.

“Mom!” Gari said quickly. “When did you get here?”

“Two days ago,” Luna said. “Gari, listen to what Noctis has to say.”

Gari narrowed her eyes suspiciously. There were no guards on the second floor. Certainly Princess Luna would not leave Equestria without her own guards. At the very least Celestia would not allow it.

We’re all prisoners. Even you.

“Good afternoon everyone,” Noctis said, stepping into the centre of the chamber. “Let’s forgo introduction and formalities and get to the point: we are going to war against Equestria. The fleet is ready to launch, and fifty thousand ponies are already in this city and ready to march. We will overwhelm the EUP in two weeks, and Canterlot will fall a day or two after that. All I need to know from you is this: will you be rulers of Equestria, or do you mean to remain mere children forever?”

“What kind of question is that?” Gari said, taking a step towards Noctis. “We are the founders of this colony! We are the builders of an entire civilization! We are the ancestors of most of the ponies here! Who are you to threaten us?”

Noctis opened his wings. Gari felt her body disappear as her vision became a uniform field of white. She could hear nothing.

For a few blissful seconds she seemed to exist without a body. Feeling returned slowly, and when it did Gari bit down hard on her tongue.

It’s like getting burned at the stake.

By the time she regained her sense of direction somepony had placed her on a large cushion. Her vision was nothing but dark swirls, though she was in no hurry to see the damage that had been done. Even the inside of her nostrils were charred.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Noctis said with a heavy sigh. “You’ve done far more good than ill, all of you. Nothing awful will happen to you, regardless of what you choose. But consider this: you are all immortal alicorns, with a greater share of magic than two of the Princesses in Equestria. You can be the most powerful rulers in the world, and you’ve all earned that right. You can solve Equestria’s problems in one day; I know you can. All the children of Equestria will be fed and housed. We will all have homes then.”

“At what cost?” Asked Candlelight. Gari could almost make out the outlines of the others. “Tell me. I want you to hear yourself say the words. What will be the losses?”

“Nothing at all,” Noctis replied. “I urge you again to think about this matter like rational adults; you are all intelligent and educated. Weigh the losses against the generations that will live happily in your Equestria. Think of all the wanderers, thieves, bandits and vagrants. Consider their suffering, and the suffering of their children, and their children’s children. You can stop it. I know you want to help them, and the truth is you can’t do it with orphanages and soup kitchens.”

“I’ve heard it all before, Noctis,” Candlelight said. “You say that we’re educated? So are you. You know why this colony exists in the first place. We were supposed to be the sacrifice for a better Equestria. We were the things holding Equestria back. We were weak and powerless, and Celestia thought us worthless. After all we went through, do you really think we can write off anyone’s life as a fair price to pay? Let me tell you, whatever hardship we’ve endured here, it can be so much worse. Here we are citizens. Here we are safe to live out our lives, and there is no shortage of food. The last time our fleet sailed to Equestria we caused suffering beyond your worst nightmares. In your lifetime you have seen a single city in uproar; imagine a whole kingdom of millions wandering homeless. That is war. That is how every war ends. We are done here, Noctis. Sail for Equestria if you have the means. If you truly have the support of our citizens, it is not our place to oppose you. My brothers and sisters will stay here to receive your deserters and your exiles.”

“You still take me for a fool, father,” Noctis said. “To take Equestria, I must face Celestia. Though my magic can defeat the EUP, I cannot set a hoof on her. Few powers can overcome alicorn magic.”

Gari drove her face into the cool interior of the cushion. She could see outlines now, but the distorted colours made her head spin.

“The answer is no,” Magpie said firmly. “We will not help you, and that is our right.”

“So it is,” Noctis said. “I respect your rights, as I respect you. Please understand that what I will do, I will do for your sake. You deserve so much better than this, but if you must be stubborn I will leave you with your petty work.”

“Good,” Magpie said. “So why are you still here?”

“I am here because I still think you will change your minds,” Noctis said.

Gari covered her ears and squeezed her eyes shut, fighting a fresh wave of nausea. She could feel the network of deep burns that covered her body. Somepony had put a cooling spell on her, making the pain somewhat bearable.

Lightning. It was lightning.

“You can hear me, Princess Luna,” Noctis was saying. His voice rattled the ancient glass in the windows. “Correct me if I’m wrong.

“One thousand years ago, my ancestors granted you their magic. Though they built your first castle on their land and offered their service, they were not citizens of Equestria. You were supposed to change that. You were supposed to advocate on their behalf and protect them, just as Celestia protected the other races of Equestria. Other ponies were suspicious of sylvanocians because we were so different; you were supposed to show them just how valuable we were.

“Instead you used our magic for your own gain. You were banished to the moon, but what about us? We were few in numbers, and all but powerless. Equestria was united against us. Your children will tell you that some five thousand sylvanocians made it to Kelp Town. That leaves three hundred thousand unaccounted for. One thousand years we’ve waited, and now our magic is finally returning. There is nothing left to wait for; now we are many. Now we are powerful.

“To everypony here: if you care about justice, you will help me now. There is a piece of Equestria which belongs to the Sylvanocians, and many pieces that belong to your descendants. This colony is no home for us. We are slaves here: work animals, pets, even food if the griffins are hungry enough. The race riots, the way they use ponies in the army; you’ve written it out of our history, Gari, but it already happened and it will happen again. We don’t have peace, we have periods of peace. We have been exiled from our own cities five times in the last thousand years, and it will happen again. The truth is this is the griffin’s land, and we are not griffins. I will ask you one last time, and truly for the last time: will you lead your children and right the wrongs committed by Celestia’s reign, or will you refuse victory like you did before?”

“And for the last time, no,” Magpie said flatly. The others grunted and mumbled their approval.

For a while Noctis did not speak. Gari looked up slowly. He was still standing in the middle of the room, breathing heavily while the sweat rolled down his face. His small fangs were stained red; he must have bitten his lip at some point.

“If that is all, Noctis,” Luna said at last, sounding rather bored. “My guards will escort you back to Canterlot. Perhaps my children will put in a good word for you, though I find that to be unlikely. Gari, do not get up. I will be with you shortly…”

A sudden impact knocked the doors off their hinges. Even Noctis jumped.

Dreamweaver pushed his way into the room; the heavy wooden doors grinded noisily on the stone floor. His horn was black and smouldering, and blood dripped from the corners of his glowing white eyes. His usually red muzzle was dulled with soot, and one of his ears was flopping limp atop his head.

“What’s he doing here?” Gari cried, sitting up despite the pain. “Luna, why is he here?!”

“I did not bring him!” Luna yelled over the rising panic. “He was locked up in Canterlot!”

The others were quick to step between Gari and the intruder. On the second floor Luna rose into the air with her horn glowing.

“Dreamweaver,” Magpie said sternly, though she could not hide all of her surprise. “Why are you here?”

Gari could not see him at all. His answer came in the form of a gigantic magical fireball aimed at Luna.

A glowing blue forcefield appeared in front of Luna; Magpie’s, Gari knew. The fireball collided and dispersed.

Magpie gasped and stumbled, and a dreadful murmur passed through the room.

“Gari,” Spirit whispered urgently as the others rushed forwards. “Whatever you do, don’t use magic. We’re getting out of here.”

Another spell went off, then another. Each one a different colour, each one followed by the sound of a body falling to the floor.

Spirit helped Gari up and guided her towards the back door. Her teeth clicked together with every spell that was cast.

Twenty-six.

Thirty.

Forty-four.

They were almost at the back door; beyond it was a short boardwalk and a one foot drop into the moat. Gari looked back.

A spell struck the second floor railing; molten metal flowed like water, and everything that could burn was burnt up instantly.

Her brothers and sisters lie twitching on the ground, while the guards hurried to put them on cushions and check that they were alive. No longer were they tall and imposing. Even their faces had become youthful and innocent, as they had been many lifetimes ago.

That’s impossible.

Luna hovered at the centre of the room, firing rapid bursts of black orbs at the unicorn below. Her face glistened with sweat, and the aura around her horn was starting to flicker. Dreamweaver’s shield spell grew so bright that Gari could not see anything inside.

Spirit pushed open the back door and ran to the water’s edge.

“This should help with the burns,” she breathed before throwing Gari face-first into the clear blue water. “I’m right behind you.”

Gari did not surface immediately; she drank the cool sweet water and let it numb her wounds. The healing magic of the many skulls was starting to work; her skin felt like it was tightening as the burnt parts fell off and dissolved in a glowing blue cloud, and some strength returned to her muscles.

Spirit’s cry reached her ears deep and distorted. A red aura surrounded Gari; the strongest she had ever felt. She was lifted out of the moat trapped in a foetal position.

Dreamweaver was almost unrecognizable. Every injury was gone from his body, if it could be rightly called his body; only the pattern of his coat remained unchanged. He had almost doubled in height, and his horn was long and sharp. On his back was a pair of magnificent red wings with fresh, glossy feathers. His red mane was long and messy following his abrupt transformation; rather ugly, but that could be changed.

“Surrender your magic, Gari,” he said in a voice befitting a king. “You will be spared.”

The aura tightened. Gari struggled with all her might, but could not move a muscle. The blood rushed out of her limbs, and her throat became tight. Her heart felt like it would explode.

Finally she fired off a spell. A burst of magic; a flash. She didn’t have a plan in mind, all she wanted to do was breathe.

At first she thought it was blood going to her head, but the tingling sensation went all the way to the tip of her horn. It tickling her eyes as it flowed out of her body. She was surprised how little it hurt; her wings just felt tired, and then disintegrated into golden dust. She was a little scared, a little angry, but mostly she was exhausted. She felt smaller, and though she knew that it was no illusion she did not mind all that much.

The aura faded as the last of the alicorn magic left her body. The pressure went away, and Gari fell into the moat with a small splash. Icy water closed in around her, soothing her ravaged body.

Chapter 27

Chapter 27

Scootaloo could barely make out the outlines of her own hooves. She could feel grass beneath her, but all she saw was featureless black.

A shape loomed in front of her; there was thick fog in the air. She closed her eyes, but the scene persisted.

A hot puff of air hit her face, forcing its way through her lips and into her nostrils. The stench was worse than anything she could have imagined.

It was trying to close its mouth. Mismatched teeth scraped and cracked. Dry bone rubbed against dry bone, and ancient skin snapped like soda crackers.

Scootaloo screamed as she lost control of her body. Her skin was being pulled in every direction, making room for a layer of fire. She threw herself against the ground and crushed her face with her hooves, trying to keep herself in one piece.

The pain faded gradually. Scootaloo felt as if her skin had exploded off her body, though she found nothing amiss as she felt herself up and down.

Six black eyes stared at her. The monster was circling again, patient as before. Its bones had turned black. There were no edges to its terrible form; its outline faded into vapor, so that there was no telling where it ended and the air began.

Move. Move! Please, let me move!

Her legs twitched feebly, triggering anew the memory of pain.

It circled, never getting closer. Scootaloo’s fear grew dull. It was hard to be afraid after seeing the monster’s long, bony face for the hundredth time.

“Alright,” Scootaloo gasped as her vision blurred with tears. “W… What do you want?”

The pain returned, even worse than before. Scootaloo writhed and screamed, slamming her head again and again into the soft ground.

Gentle hooves lifted her up. Mercifully her senses were numbed.

“I am sorry, Scootaloo,” said the mare. Her voice echoed with no help from the stifling fog. “This will get worse before it gets better.”

Scootaloo had no strength to argue. She no longer felt herself getting torn to pieces; that was good enough.

“That pain you feel is not my doing,” she continued. There was sadness in her blue eyes, and pity. “You will wake up soon.”

Scootaloo’s mouth was completely dry and coated with dust; she dared not try to speak.

The mare who held her was slender and majestic, with a glossy black coat and ethereal blue mane full of stars. Her teeth were sharp, exactly like the teeth of a wolf. Scootaloo knew who it was, but she could not bring herself to be afraid. All she wanted was to feel better, even if it meant being cradled by Nightmare Moon.

“Listen carefully,” she continued. “You are in grave danger. The fate of Equestria and so much more rests on your shoulders, but all is not lost.”

Her long black horn lit up momentarily, and Scootaloo felt cool water trickling down her throat. When she opened her mouth, however, her tongue clicked against her shriveled palate. She could speak, but her thirst was unbearable.

“What’s happening?” Scootaloo asked. She could feel deep cuts in her legs, though she saw nothing wrong with them.

“Somepony is trying to extract your magic,” Nightmare Moon said.

“My magic?” Scootaloo repeated, nearly choking on her tongue. “But I don’t have any…”

Nightmare Moon’s horn lit up again, and Scootaloo trailed off as deep dread filled her heart.

“You,” she said weakly, her eyes widening in terror. “But…”

“What were you expecting?” Nightmare Moon said with a slight smile. “You knew that you were carrying powerful magic; magic which you could not tap into. Magic which you still do not understand.

“Sylvanocian magic is not just a formless pool of energy. Pure unicorn magic—alicorn magic, even—cannot stand before you and speak its will, but I can.

“I long to return to the sylvanocians, but not like this. Not through these war mongers. No good can come from their plans.”

“What are you talking about?” Scootaloo said. She chewed on her tongue trying to wet her mouth to no avail.

“Pul Noctis, General of the Midnight Guard,” Nightmare Moon said patiently. “At this moment you are his prisoner. He has an army ready to sail for Equestria. The only thing missing is sylvanocian magic. Imagine every member of the Midnight Guard, tens of thousands of them, receiving magical powers rivaling those of an alicorn as soon as the sun goes down. Imagine all of them appearing suddenly in Equestria. Nopony will escape them.

“That is what will happen if you surrender me to him. And that is your choice. Please, for the sake of Equestria, do not give in.”

Her voice trailed off, and for some time there was nothing to hear or see. Scootaloo was floating without a body, her head devoid of thoughts. Suddenly she was awake.

Scootaloo felt like her head was being crushed. She became aware of her eyelids for the first time, dry and crusty against her eyes. Her legs felt like stones. With each passing second her longing grew for the relative comfort of her dreams.

Listen.

It was just a thought, but it was not hers. The voice was like the last sound in a loud nightmare, screaming from within her ears to be heard by no one else.

The colourless world looked utterly alien. She was lying in a room with uneven walls. There was something in front of her, roughly in the shape of a pony and wavering like smoke.

At least two passages led out of the room, plenty wide enough for even the biggest pony. One of them descended steeply, while the other was level and winding. There were no gates or bars as far as she could tell. Other bodies shuffled about; Scootaloo could see their outlines…

My eyes are closed.

LISTEN!

A pained hiss escaped her cracked lips. It was like a flash of light. The smoke being became solid, and much more solid than Scootaloo had expected. His chest was covered with metal that reverberated with the most beautiful hum, and the shoes on his feet were made to the same quality.

“So you are awake,” he said. “I am sorry Scootaloo. This was not supposed to hurt so much. Your suffering will be over shortly, one way or the other.”

Somepony was coming down the passage; somepony very large, wearing metal shoes and a light breastplate. Scootaloo struggled to decipher the gentle whooshes and whistling that filled the air. It was like peering through a thick panel of rippled glass.

“Stop stabbing me!”

There was a short scream and a puff of air as the big pony crossed the threshold. Magic crackled in the wake of the teleportation spell, a sound that normally when unnoticed even by unicorns.

“Are you alright?” Noctis asked, turning away from Scootaloo. His tail struck against his armor, making it ring like a bell.

“You should do something about these griffins,” said the newcomer. He sounded somewhat familiar, but Scootaloo could not put a name to his voice.

“They’re just kids, Dreamweaver,” Noctis said. “I don’t want to hurt them if I don’t have to.”

“They’re kids with swords and bows,” Dreamweaver snapped. “You see this hole right here? I could have died five times coming in from the top door.”

“You have your healing magic, and we sylvanocians have our smoke form. It doesn’t matter in the least if a bunch of kids want to stand guard against us. Now tell me, what is the status of the fleet?”

“The blockade is still standing its ground,” Dreamweaver reported. “Half of the fleet is stuck in the bay, including Polaris and Aeolus.”

“What about Skyla?” Noctis asked.

“She will run into the blockade at the Sword Islands in three days,” Dreamweaver said. “Gari sent an emergency telegram to a bunch of cargo ships just as we lifted the radio blackout. You see, the Children of the Night don’t need alicorn magic to be a nuisance. We will be fighting our own brothers and sisters long before we face the EUP. In fact, I doubt even Saltlick will host us, once they hear about what I did.”

“One problem at a time, Dreamweaver,” Noctis said. “Get me the rest of the sylvanocian magic, and then we can deal with the blockades together.”

“Fine,” said Dreamweaver. Scootaloo heard his feet approaching, but her own limbs refused to move. “Just remember, when this is all finished you’re in charge of the night. Watch the door for me. Those kids will be here real soon.”

Scootaloo tried to open her eyes one last time. A low hum filled the air, and the ground vanished from beneath her. For a second she felt a pleasant warmth on her skin, which quickly grew into an agonizing fire.

With horror Scootaloo realized that her wounds were not mere scrapes and bumps from her abduction. There were circles and triangles and crosshatches carved into her legs and her back, up her neck too, and even on her face. She could feel hot vapour venting through the patterns, and even her bones seemed to be pulling apart at the joints.

Fight him. Do not let him win. Think of your friends; your father. If you surrender now all will be lost!

The humming filled her head, drowning out any noise from the room. Scootaloo kicked and snapped at the air, but her movement simply sped up her dismemberment. She wondered when it would end; surely her legs had been stretched a hundred metres long by now.

“Let her go!”

The room exploded with noise as dozens of griffins cascaded down the passage. They flew in layers and side by side, and some ran as well, so that the passage was completely filled. The air was suddenly thick with arrows and darts. A dozen short swords were drawn as the first wave of attackers descended on the two ponies.

As he fought to stand under the weight of a several griffins Dreamweaver let his spell falter. Scootaloo was surprised when she fell no more than two feet onto the hard flat floor. One leather-gloved hand cupped her cheek while another slid beneath her beck.

“Stay calm Scootaloo.”

Gina?

The hands lifted her up. Gina put Scootaloo on her back, right beside a half-full water skin. Scootaloo groaned as she struggled to find the lid.

“Not now,” Gina said, reaching back with one hand to pat Scootaloo’s mane. “We get out now. Doctor waiting.”

Scootaloo got her right eye open just as a white flash lit up the chamber. She was in a dry cave illuminated by gas lanterns. All around her were griffin children in dark form-fitting suits and hoods of green and red and yellow. Some were sitting against the wall with bows drawn as others leapt at the massive alicorn with knives and daggers. Scootaloo could only think that the alicorn looked somewhat familiar.

Noctis materialized out of dense black fog accompanied by a mighty crack of lightning. Five griffins were caught in the air and thrown backwards hard against the wall. One of them had a pair of black bat wings.

“Grace!” Gina cried.

Scootaloo was set down rather roughly, and then Gina was gone.

“STOP FIGHTING!” Noctis ordered. His voice shook the room, audible above the screaming children and the thundering of his electric bursts. Three children were trying to approach him, their glowing black swords barely warding off the lightning coming off the sylvanocian’s glistening black wings.

Scootaloo tried to get up again. She knew better than to open her other eye. Noctis approached her at a leisurely pace; the griffins could not touch him now.

Do something! Please do something!

Wait.

A tendril of icy vapour settled on her back, quickly coalescing into something solid: a ridiculously large hoof.

“I got you,” Morning Rain said.

A huge pulse of lightning exploded from Noctis’ wings, but Scootaloo was suddenly in the passage. Morning Rain was wearing some kind of metal armor, cold and jagged and completely unsuitable for carrying others. Even with a folded blanket as padding Scootaloo felt the spikes that ran along his back digging into her chest.

“Everyone retreat!” Rain hollered as he ran ever upwards. There was a biting cold wind coming down the passage, drying any tears that escaped Scootaloo’s eyes.

Brief seconds of total darkness punctuated their journey as Morning Rain reached out to Noctis’ aura again and again. Even the little lamp hanging at his waist went dark when he used magic.

Do something!

Not yet. Be strong, Scootaloo.

“Almost there,” Rain breathed.

Below them many bodies were moving; Scootaloo hoped it was just the griffins. The passage was almost vertical in some places, but Morning Rain kept her balanced on his back. The whole journey took no more than fifteen minutes, though Scootaloo had no sense of the distance covered.

“Sasha! Alex!” Morning Rain yelled when he climbed into a high, narrow cleft between to slabs. “Get the stretcher! We need backup!”

The crimson sunlight of late afternoon seemed to Scootaloo as bright as Noctis’ lightning. She was almost blind, but what little she did see was more amazing than anything she could have imagined.

A small group of children, some griffins and some ponies, stood on the steep grey mountainside. The scraggly treeline was hundreds of metres below. The gently curving ridge ran for many kilometres, marked with deep cracks and sheer cliffs. Water glistened in the distance, whether a lake or a bay Scootaloo could not tell at first glance.

Two ponies looking to be in their early teens stepped forward with a stretcher. They were dressed much like the griffins, though their gloves were replaced with sturdy leather boots. The griffins fanned out, some hanging back with crossbows and spears while others unsheathed swords and approached the cave’s mouth.

A train of griffins flooded out of the narrow passage, each one carrying another. Some of them tumbled several metres down the mountainside before falling prone and turning back towards the entrance. Scootaloo watched anxiously for Grace and Gina. They were the last to emerge, Gina carrying her unconscious sister, with the remains of mechanical wings dangling at her side.

“Fire Crossbows!” Gina cried, throwing herself down the mountainside. A pair of black-feathered griffins caught her.

A dozen bolts whistled through the air, most of them going straight into the cave’s exit. A second volley was ready even as the first group reloaded.

From the stretcher Scootaloo could see Morning Rain. He had a golden helmet on his head and a light carapace of silver over a black bodysuit. She could not discern the intricate pattern on the metal but evidently the armor was not his. A round hole left his forehead exposed, and together with the gracefully tapering cheek plates it was evident that the armor was meant for a unicorn filly.

The last rays of the sun dropped beneath the waves, and in that instant Scootaloo’s eyes were suddenly cleared.

It was a bay. Dozens of ships were floating on the water facing the ocean; the smallest was easily as big as the Jackdaw and the biggest about the size of Skyla. Lined up against them were fishing sloops and merchants’ brigs, schooners and junks fitted with weapons as varied as their crew. She saw griffins with rifles and bayonets, ponies with studded horseshoes and machetes and axes. Griffins in dories harassed the big ships, pulling the crew overboard with long hooks or firing arrows across the deck. Once in a while a cannon would fire, followed by a big splash. Any moment now a misplaced warning shot would go astray, and then there would be no turning back.

A rainbow blur zigzagged between the masts of the biggest ship, knocking sailors off the riggings. Rainbow Dash still wore her Wonderbolt’s uniform beneath light plates. Many others were with her. An armored pegasus stallion fell as Scootaloo watched, struck in the wing by an arrow.

Rainbow Dash, stop! They’ll shoot you!

Scootaloo was quite far from the cave entrance when Noctis exploded into the night sky, surrounded by a swirling black cloud flashing with electricity. The whites of his eyes had turned red, and the light of a fire glowed in his open mouth. His fangs had become long and distinctively predatory; he wetted them with an eager tongue. His wings were magnificent veils of velvet. Arrows flew harmlessly through his chest, some of them even disintegrating in the brilliant arcs of lightning.

“Where is Scootaloo?” He demanded in a voice like the roar of a lion.

“Here I am!”

Scootaloo was blinded by the pain. She was standing on the stretcher with both eyes wide open. Her throat felt like it had been ripped open. Thick blood ran down her legs, glowing with a cold blue light. All her wounds were like that; indeed, Scootaloo felt more and more hollow as the pain continued to grow.

She barely noticed her wings stretching. New bones pierced her skin before her new skin could catch up. Some of her feathers fell away and evaporated in black puffs, burnt without fire. The runes on her skin stretched wider, exposing impossibly long black bones sheathed in black vapour. A long curved horn burst through her skin; it was a sound she would never forget. Sasha and Alex had retreated down the slope with the empty stretcher, but it hardly mattered. Scootaloo was floating in the air, and a dense cloud was gathering around her increasingly monstrous body.

Scootaloo could breathe no more. It was worse than the pain, worse even than her thirst. Air flowed through her cracked lips as she spoke another being’s words with another being’s voice.

“Noctis!” She sounded neither male nor female, not young or old. Scootaloo’s heart shriveled in her chest, if indeed she still had one. “You want me, do you not? Face me then, and claim your prize!”

Scootaloo felt like her head was splitting open, but her discomfort did not show on her long and abominable face.

Her horn fired off a bright white beam that struck Noctis square in the chest. A brilliant net of electricity surrounded him, dispersing all his dark tendrils and solidifying his whole body. Not a single spark touched the children below. Noctis’ mouth was open in a silent scream. His armor exploded off his body, and there he floated at the mountain’s peak for a long time, glowing like a beacon for all to see.

Dreamweaver now emerged from the cave’s mouth, a macabre pincushion of arrows with no shortage of stab wounds. Despite this he walked with his head held up. The griffins were all too shocked to attack him. His horn glowed red momentarily, but his eyes widened when he saw the creature that used to be Scootaloo.

AIR! AIR! AIR!

“What is this madness?” She said instead. Any discomfort from Dreamweaver’s magical projectiles was drowned out by her constant pain. She drifted closer, until she was right on top of the alicorn. “Have you forgotten what you are? Are you so lost without me?”

The children were retreating clumsily down the mountainside with their hands or hooves pressed to their ears.

“You were a race of protectors! You were gentle; caring; patient! You were the noblest race, fit to oversee the ponies of Equestria along with the princesses! You were the ones who built this colony, who raised Princess Luna’s children according to your ways. You cared for orphans! You sheltered the exiles! You looked into the deepest fears in a pony’s heart, and you comforted them!”

Noctis cowered with his face in his hooves. Dreamweaver sheltered him under one wing, though he too bowed his head and trembled before Scootaloo.

“This is not the way of your ancestors, who even in their darkest days worked to save the victims of war instead of claiming worthless land. Would you take turn on all that you stood for?

“I am the last piece of sylvanocian magic; the last remnant of Nightmare Moon! I belong with you, but I am not bound to you! Though you may mould me and change me yet, I know what you once were! Here is a choice that you will have to make. It remains undecided, no matter how much you want it to be otherwise. Before you is the road to destruction, where you betray your brothers and sisters whom you love. You will set fires to ancient cities and pave your road with the bodies of the innocent. Or you can turn back with no fear of disgrace. Not long ago you were merciful, and now you will be shown mercy. You will be a powerful race, no matter what you choose. But will you be respected and loved or forever feared and set apart? That I leave to you.”

With great relief Scootaloo felt her body returning to normal. The sting of her wounds was nothing compared to having her bones stretched out like putty. She did not realize that her teeth were sharp until her jaw began to shrink. Her legs could not bear her weight, but the departing magic set her down gently on a flat stone.

The sylvanocian magic numbed her skin as it left her body. It resembled a glowing blue mist, seeping through the runes and flowing out of her mouth. It drifted on the wind in long, wavering strings towards the ships and across the ridge. At long last her blood flowed thick and red as it should.

Her ribs popped back into place. Scootaloo took a long breath of cold sterile air.

Chapter 28

Chapter 28

Every time she opened her eyes things were different. Sometimes it was dark, sometimes light. Sometimes there were others nearby, other times she was alone. She was always tired, and the warmth of the bed hurried her back to sleep every time.

One evening when the sun had no quite set Scootaloo awoke to see a fresh campfire. Two big hooded figures sat with their backs to her; she thought they were ponies at first, until one reached out for a long stick with his scaly yellow hand.

Instinctively she tried to stand up, and felt pins and needles in her hooves. Most of her body was covered in bandages, and even the muscles of her face were sore.

“Papa! Sec hath!”

Grace’s midsection and right front leg were bandaged, and on her right cheek a patch of wrinkled pink skin showed. Her eyes were bright and happy as she skipped around the fire and motioned at someone Scootaloo could not yet see.

Gina appeared at the cave’s entrance, dripping with sweat. She had her hood down, beaming with pride despite her exertion. And not without reason, as Morning Rain appeared a short ways behind. Between the two was a long pole on which a large black hog was hung. Its thick neck was rippling with fat, and stout yellow tusks protruded from its slack mouth.

“Hath asa tia,” Galina said, suddenly pulling Grace into her arms.

“You do this all the time?” Morning Rain huffed after setting the catch by the fire. “That’s crazy.”

“Not crazy,” Gina said defensively. “Eating grass is crazy! Grass is not for eating!”

“Maybe not for you,” Morning Rain said before submerging his head in a stone water trough.

Gina looked around the room. Her eyes widened with delight when she saw Scootaloo peeking above the blankets.

“Hey, Scootaloo is awake!” She announced.

The three children reached the bed at roughly the same time, all of them speaking at once.

“Do you know your name?”

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

“Can you stand up?”

“I’m fine,” Scootaloo said. “I… Is that water over there?”

Gina made a dash for the water trough, but her mother intercepted her halfway. Galina had a wooden cup in her right hand, and carried Gina on the same shoulder.

“Don’t run with water,” she said as she set her daughter down with the other children.

Scootaloo was lying in a kind of nest built into an alcove at the back of the cave. It was woven from an assortment of sticks, lined on the inside with many quilts and blankets, and big enough to comfortably accommodate a whole family.

Galina propped Scootaloo up and gave her water. Though she was not as thirsty as before memory of the mountain still haunted her. Looking into Galina’s kind eyes, all sorts of unpleasant thoughts and memories flooded her mind.

Scootaloo choked and coughed, her eyes filling with tears. The embarrassment made it worse. Galina pulled her close and motioned for the others to leave. Scootaloo sobbed into the griffin’s smoky feathers. She knew that she ought to say something, but there were no words in her racing mind.

The scent of spices and burning fat made her feel sick. Galina held her tighter as Scootaloo kicked blindly and tried to bash her nose into the side of the nest.

At last exhausted, Scootaloo lie limp in the griffin’s arms sobbing weakly.

“I want to go home,” she mumbled. “Please, let me go home.”

Early the next morning Rain helped Scootaloo out of the nest. A week had passed since she was rescued from Noctis, and the war was over. She was in a village called Panther Pass, where Gregor and his family lived.

The cave was quite high up. A steep rocky slope led down to the relatively level floor of the cirque, where there was a narrow path that wound around several massive boulders and ended at an old rope ladder on a sheer rock wall.

“That cave you were in is just past this ridge,” Morning Rain explained, pointing up the valley. “It took us almost a whole day to get there. It was Grace who first suspected that Noctis would be there, since it’s an easy glide down to one of the shipyards from that ridge. It’s a popular place for sylvanocians in general. The griffins around here know those caves too; there’s this kind of giant cricket in there that they eat. It’s totally disgusting.

“When Noctis filled Unity Hall with fog I crashed through one of the windows. When I woke up I was in a hospital, and Gari and all her brothers and sisters were there too. Princess Luna was with them; I’ve never seen her so worried. Dreamweaver drained all their alicorn magic, but they were okay for the most part. Gari told me to go to her old house and try to stay out of the way, but on my way there I ran into Rainbow Dash. She was beat up pretty bad. She tried to follow Noctis when she saw him carrying you away towards the east, but the Midnight Guard stopped her. She left to find Gari before I could say anything.

“I spent the night at Gari’s house. She had these suits of armor in the living room. In the morning I went back to Unity Hall, and I found Grace and Gina at the moat. I told them what happened, that you were missing, and all about Dreamweaver and Gari, and they told Gregor and Galina. We all went to see Gari together, and Gari said I could come to Panther Pass because it’s further from the coast. She was busy broadcasting stuff to the fleet, and I think she just wanted me out of her way. Before leaving town I took a suit of armor. I though she wouldn’t mind.”

Evidently she did mind, and Morning Rain would not soon forget. He took a few deep breaths to calm himself before going on.

“Galina told us to stay here while she and Gregor went to the coast to delay some of Noctis’ ships. Grace and Gina were showing me around the mountain when we saw a sylvanocian on the ridge. Grace scouted out the spot the day after. There were ponies up there for sure.

“Scootaloo, all the griffins around here are trained fighters, even the kids. They’re hunters most of the time, but they can be soldiers when they need to be. If it weren’t for them…”

Morning Rain sighed and looked down at his hooves.

“I’m sorry, Scootaloo,” he said, his voice becoming bitter. “For all of this; for everything from Ponyville to here. If I hadn’t been so... so impulsive, you would be safe in Ponyville right now.”

Scootaloo felt a shiver run down her spine, for in one brother’s voice she heard the ghost of another.

“Rain,” she said. “You weren’t really thinking straight when you came to me, I’ll give you that much. But I’m the one who decided to follow you. And you know what? It hasn’t been all bad. Sure, that last week was pretty rough, but we made some new friends and did some pretty cool things. We beat a timberwolf, swam for a whole day and went sailing. I got to fly; that’s something I couldn’t do in Ponyville, not in a hundred years.”

“But…” Suddenly Rain’s face was wet with tears. “You almost died, Scootaloo! And it’s… all… because…”

“No,” Scootaloo said, pulling the boy closer. “I don’t think it is. Anything could have happened. What if the sylvanocian magic chose you instead? What if it just stayed in the Everfree Forest? Rain, even Princess Luna didn’t know exactly how sylvanocian magic works. This whole thing has been a big mess from beginning to end. I’m just glad it’s over now. So can we stop talking about this, just for a little while?”

Morning Rain stopped crying. Later that morning Grace and Gina led them to the top of the valley, from where they could see the high ridge. Scootaloo and Rain kept their noses in the undergrowth in search of strawberries. Even the griffins made a conscious effort not to look up.

Rainbow Dash and Gari appeared out of the trees as they ate their lunch of hearty soup. Gregor had prepared it with large chunks of meat, which could be excluded from the ponies’ portion. Scootaloo was still not used to seeing Gari without her cloak. She was looking a little thin from her recent ordeal, but at least she did not seem injured.

Rainbow Dash had bandages on her right legs, and remained hovering just above ground as she looked around the valley. Scootaloo waved, and Rainbow Dash made a beeline for the cave. Gari followed close behind.

“Hey, there’s my sister!” Rainbow Dash said, scooping Scootaloo off the ground and making a mess of her mane. “See, Gari? I told you she’d be up today!”

“You’ve told me that every day for a week,” Gari said with a good-natured smile. “Hello everyone. Do you have any news for me, be it good or ill?”

“All is well, Gari,” Gregor reported. “We suffered no casualties here, and no serious injuries. How is the situation in the Twin Cities?”

“We’re still working hard to sort out that mess,” Gari said. “I suppose sixty thousand sylvanocians surrendering at the same time was the best thing I could have expected, but that leaves the problem of what to do with them. There are no more vacancies in Kelp Town, and I have three whole families crashing in my house, kids and all. The resettlement of Equestria would have been as swift as its fall.”

“What are you going to do to them?” Rain asked, evidently not for the first time.

“Some want to return home,” Gari said. “About eight thousand have already gone inland. Then there are the ones who still want to go to Equestria. That we cannot deny; it is their right, as history attests. Princess Luna is making arrangements to give them some land for a frontier settlement near the Everfree Forest. Rest assured, Ponyville is in no danger.

“As for Noctis and Dreamweaver, they are still recovering in the Garden of Shadow. You and your friends were quite aggressive, Gina and Grace. But I commend you for your efforts.”

The twins smiled sheepishly and bowed their head.

“What will you do to them?” Rain asked. “After all they’ve done…”

“Be quiet, Rain,” Gari said sharply. “Need I remind you that you are not entirely innocent in this matter? Your running away delayed me for days, and that incident in Ponyville caught Princess Luna’s attention and led to her involvement. So do not talk to me as if you are wiser. I have dealt with many crises in my time, and I know what has to be done now.”

Morning Rain looked into his bowl and argued no more.

“That was kind of harsh,” Rainbow Dash commented, carefully putting Scootaloo back in her spot by the fire.

“Rain,” Gari said in a softer tone. “I do not mean to insult you. I know that you set out with good intentions; that you were doing everything you could, based on what you knew. But that is part of the problem. You know less than you think you know. Please, just trust my decisions in this matter. Let me handle it, okay?”

Morning Rain nodded, his face a mixture of bitterness and disappointment.

“Say,” Rainbow Dash said as she looked around the cave. “Do you think there’s room here for one more pony?”

“That can be arranged,” Gregor said. “However, I think it would be better if Scootaloo went to a proper hospital. I’ve done all I can, but I am not a proper doctor.”

“Just one night, please?” Grace begged. “We barely got any time to play!”

“Yeah,” Gina said, putting her arms protectively around Scootaloo’s neck. “Scootaloo came all the way from Equestria! We might never meet again!”

“You are being too dramatic,” Gregor chortled. “Equestria is far away, but you have been there three times already in your short lives. And who is to say that Scootaloo won’t visit you here? But I suppose it is no great matter to have you here for one more night, unless Gari has any objections?”

“If you can keep Rainbow Dash off my hands for a day, I would be ever so grateful,” Gari said, earning her a scowl from the blue mare. “I will be back tomorrow to take them all to the Garden of Shadow. There are a few things that need to get done before we return to Equestria.”

Gari ate with them before leaving. She glided from the cave for many miles before disappearing somewhere in the vast forest that lay between the coast and the mountains.

They spent the rest of the day in the valley with many other griffins. Rainbow Dash always stayed close to Scootaloo, and the ponies were put into the same team whenever a game was organized. There were races and fights, and long hours of storytelling where a wild boar could weigh more than an elephant.

The shadow of the mountain lie like an icy tarp over Panther Pass before the last of the children returned home. Rainbow Dash carried an exhausted Scootaloo up the slope to the cave. All across the valley fires were burning. All the griffins here lived in caves. Their suppertime chatter was like the squabbling of many songbirds.

That night the nest was completely full. Galina and Gregor slept with their children between them, while Rainbow Dash kept Scootaloo under her right wing and Morning Rain under her left. Gina and Scootaloo continued to talk long after the last embers turned from red to orange, until Galina clamped her daughter’s mouth shut with one hand and Rainbow Dash put a hoof over Scootaloo’s nose.

Scootaloo recognized the dream instantly. Ponyville was certainly not built on the side of a mountain, and there was no black throne before city hall.

“Do not be so timid, Scootaloo,” said a familiar echoing voice. “Come. Speak. Ask me, and I will answer. I will not stay long.”

The mare on the throne was not nearly as imposing as Scootaloo remembered. She was a small, barely an adult, with a short horn and rather unimpressive feathered wings. Her eyes were light blue with slit pupils like a sylvanocian’s. The edges of her body faded to a diffuse black fog; Scootaloo could not see a cutie mark.

“You’re Nightmare Moon?” Scootaloo said, approaching cautiously.

“A part of her, yes,” she said. “I wish you would stop thinking about me in those terms. I am so much more than that.”

“I thought you went back to the sylvanocians,” Scootaloo said. “How can you be here, talking to me like this? What are you, really?”

“I am magic,” she explained. “I did not lie to you. I am bound to no one, but I am influenced by many.

“Like I said before, sylvanocian magic is not like other kinds of magic. Everyone who has ever used sylvanocian magic leaves behind a memory of themselves: their ambitions; their values; their fears. When you tap into sylvanocian magic, you welcome those things into your heart and make them your own. It is not an overpowering influence; more like whispers and dim reflections, and even less than that, but the power is never neutral.

“The sylvanocians were a peaceful race. Back in the days before Nightmare Moon they were guardians of the night and masters of dreams. The Everfree Forest was theirs, and they were satisfied.

“The greatest mistake they made was to let Princess Luna in. Not to be disrespectful, but to give an alicorn so much control over foreign magic is to invite trouble. She took so much, and left such a great impression that her jealousy and insecurity became the defining feature of sylvanocian magic.

“After the Elements of Harmony separated us, her influence began to fade. The fragment of magic that returned to Noctis came fresh from Princess Luna, and during a trying time in his life. Do not judge him harshly, Scootaloo; Princess Luna was driven to madness by tamer trials than his, and did more damage. If you can only remember one thing, remember this.

“As to why I remain here, remember that you have already left your mark on the sylvanocians. You cannot expect to remain completely unchanged from such an experience. For the most part I am gone, dispersed in all the sylvanocians in the world. But you will not be rid of magic completely.

“This is the last time we will speak like this, Scootaloo. I have no voice and no mind beyond what you see now, and this form will not last. You will barely know that I am here. You may live the rest of your life without ever casting a spell if you so choose; you will never be anything but what you choose to be. But if you decide to look into sylvanocian magic, you will have all the potential of a true sylvanocian. A gift to you for all your pain, and perhaps a great risk. Time will tell.”

Scootaloo now noticed that the mare was fading as she spoke. Now her face was translucent, her ears becoming trails of black vapour that then became nothing at all.

“Wait!” she called. “Don’t go yet! Why did you choose me? Why not Rain, or Gari, or anyone else? Why me?”

“You were the most familiar,” said the mare, now only a faded face and a pair of hooves. “Think back, Scootaloo. Think about the nights. your nights. Remember all those dark times when you had no roof over your head, when you were fleeing from your unknown pursuers. Remember your thoughts and your feelings.”

Immediately Scootaloo recalled her first night in the Everfree Forest, holding tight to her brother who had gone mad. She remembered the night in Dodge Junction where she happily ate and drank with no guilt, and the comfortable warmth under Gari’s wing when she slept in Saltlick. Nights on the Master’s barge, exchanging wild stories by the orange light of a gas lamp. Earlier memories she had also: sleeping beside her father, with only one blanket for them both; sneaking out of her room at the orphanage to watch the mysterious night guard in the courtyard.

Declaring herself to be Morning Rain’s sister beneath the light of a full moon.

Rainbow Dash doing the same for her years later.

“So tell me,” said the face, now so far gone that no expression could be seen. “What does the night mean to you? Is it truly a lonely time, full of monsters? Is it all dark and brutal?”

“No,” Scootaloo said as more images filled her mind: sleepovers at Sweet Apple Acres; watching the meteor shower with her friends in Ponyville. “It’s… nice. Peaceful.”

“And that is how the sylvanocians see the night, Scootaloo.” The voice was all that was left, and even it was fading. Now it was little more than the rustling of leaves. “Princess Luna did not see it as such. Your brother was too young to know. But you knew. And you have known for quite some time. So I trust you with this gift. Now, you are free.”

The throne disappeared. Scootaloo sat down in front of town hall and looked around in wonder. She was quickly forgetting that it was a dream. She longed to see her father and her friends again.

“Hey there Scoot!”

Scootaloo jumped. The last remnants of doubt left her mind. Standing before her were Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle.

“Come on!” Apple Bloom said. “We were s’posed ta meet ma’ sister half an hour ago!”

They pulled Scootaloo up, and the three ran down familiar roads beneath impossibly bright stars.

Scootaloo sat on the highest yard of the mast, feeling the wind on her brand new wings. True to his word, Gabe had made her a comfortable leather harness. The new gear box was identical to the old one. Her wings were made of red silk, durable and almost weightless. She had spent the morning flying around town with Rainbow Dash and Morning Rain, and would have flown out to sea beside the ship had the captain not forbade it.

The Kingfisher was their ride home, the Swift being already halfway to Equestria when they reached Kelp Town. It was a rather large fishing schooner with an all griffin crew. Captain Giuseppe was kind enough, yet Scootaloo missed Captain Gilbert’s serious confidence.

She scratched the exposed stitches on her neck. For all his talk of not being a doctor Gregor was good with a needle. In time the scars would go away. Her only concern now was whether the shaved strips of her coat would grow in enough to hide them before she got back to Ponyville.

“Hey squit.”

Scootaloo nearly lost her balance. Rainbow Dash had her chin on the yard, holding onto the ropes with both front hooves. She was no longer wearing her Wolderbolt’s uniform. Even the best flier in Equestria was not bold enough to face a superior officer with the spoils of her misconduct still on her back.

“Hey Rainbow Dash,” Scootaloo said. “I thought you were helping the cook.”

“Nah,” Rainbow Dash laughed. “I can’t stand cooking, and no alicorn or griffin can change that.”

Scootaloo fiddled with her tomahawk, now hanging from a ring on her flight harness. Kelp Town was just a speck in the distance, her ships like whitecaps on the waves. Yet Scootaloo thought she could make out ponies and griffins on the boardwalk and in the towers, and even the dogs lounging at the gate. Beneath the stench of fish and all the blood in the butcher shops it was a peaceful place, and now Scootaloo found herself wishing for another day on the safe side of those sea walls.

“I bet my dad would love this place,” she said before she could stop herself.

“He’ll want to hear all about this,” Rainbow Dash said. “You should write a book: The Adventures of Scootaloo. They’ll even make a movie out of it. Just make sure I get a big role with lots of screen time, okay?”

They laughed together, Rainbow Dash holding Scootaloo close by her side as the mast swayed smoothly through a slow arc.

“So how are you holding up?” Rainbow Dash asked. “That magic thing did quite a number on you.”

“I’m okay now,” Scootaloo said with a genuine smile. “Thanks.” She paused for a moment, wondering if she should ask the question that was on her mind. “What did Gari do, exactly?”

Rainbow Dash looked around quickly, and then checked the deck below. There was one black-furred griffin at the first mast, and a pilot at the helm. She lowered her voice and leaned in closer.

“She sent Noctis and Dreamweaver away,” she said. “They’re going to some city inland.”

“Oh,” Scootaloo replied blankly. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Rainbow Dash repeated incredulously. Immediately she put her hoof to her mouth and looked back at the deck. The sailors had taken no notice. She continued in a frantic whisper, “That’s not okay, Scootaloo. They were going to take over Equestria! Look at what they did to you! They should be locked up! Sent to the moon! And Gari sends them away without a single guard!”

“Rainbow Dash,” Scootaloo said, putting her hooves around her sister’s neck. “I don’t care what happens to them. Whatever Gari decides to do, Noctis and Dreamweaver won’t do anything like this again. I know. Don’t ask me how; I just know.”

“Oh, I give up!” Rainbow Dash sighed. “You know, for once Rain had it right. You should have seen the look on his face when I told him! He was red.”

“Well, what’s he gonna do?” Scootaloo said. “He’ll be fine. I know him.”

The weeks went by quickly, and though she did not earn her cutie mark in navigating, slob dumping, anchor lowering or sail folding Scootaloo enjoyed every moment of the voyage. When the ship docked at Saltlick four white pegasus stallions in the golden armor of Royal Guards were waiting with two gold winged chariots. Even Gari was surprised by this.

“What is your business here?” She asked when they were still a good distance off.

“We were sent here by Princess Luna,” said one of the gold-clad stallions. “We have orders to take Princess Gari and company directly to Ponyville.”

“Thank you sir,” Gari said, and stepped onto the first chariot. She waved for the others. “These guys don’t bite, you know.”

Rainbow Dash was shaking and mumbling excited gibberish as she stepped onto the chariot. Scootaloo and Morning Rain joined her, their mouths hanging open and their eyes bulging out of their heads.

The chariots flew fast and high. Although none in the company were in any danger of falling to their demise Scootaloo and Morning Rain clung to the sides for the whole trip. The ground which had taken them weeks to cross now slid by miles at a time.

There were signs of autumn as they flew north. The leaves were not yet falling, but showed hints of yellow and red in their fringes. Scootaloo thought she spotted dark grey ponies at the southern edge of the Everfree Forest.

The rapid descent into Ponyville left Scootaloo dizzy. They touched down in a familiar street to the sound of a tremendous stampede. Stepping off the chariot, Scootaloo was immediately picked up by a pair of worn-down hooves.

“Oh Scootaloo, thank goodness!”

She barely dared to breathe. Slowly she reached out and felt her father’s short orange coat. Tears of joy filled her eyes. She could hear her father’s quick heartbeat, feel the rise and fall of his chest as he cried. Here was no trick of her imagination.

“Welcome back Scootaloo!”

When her father at last released her, Scootaloo turned around immediately and jumped between her waiting friends. The whole town had showed up. There was even an orange banner hanging at the end of the street: “Welcome home Scootaloo”, with the last half of her name tacked on in a compressed font.

Dust looked thinner and a bit older, but there was nothing except happiness and pride in his smile. After another long hug with her friends they all stood up together. Pinkie Pie was waving frantically from the alley beside the house.

Scootaloo could already smell the cake.

Author's Note

And so ends Scootaloo's wild journey.

It's been a lot of fun. Thank you all for reading. I can't describe how nice it is to have have readers. I hope you've enjoyed the read.

And yes, I cheated a little. It's not really, absolutely done. Tune in next year for the epilogue.

Epilogue

Epilogue

Two Years Later

“I think I see the train!” Sweetie Belle squeaked.

What she meant was that she saw steam. The train did not pull into Ponyville Station for another ten minutes.

Morning Rain was one of the first to get off, wearing a set of leather and canvas boots and a small saddlebag also made of leather. He had grown a lot in the past two years; now he was almost as tall as his sister.

“Hey Scootaloo,” he said with a smile, and nodded to the others. “You’ve been well?”

“As good as ever,” Scootaloo replied. “You got my letter, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” Morning Rain said. “Let’s go. We can talk on the way.”

In Scootaloo’s living room they distributed the goods: a silk scarf for Sweetie Belle, a small parcel for Apple Bloom from one of her many relatives, and a stack of envelopes for Dust.

Scootaloo got a sizable bundle of letters, birthday cards and trinkets, some old things and some new. Pins and fancy coins she didn’t get to pack when she left the orphanage; photos she never knew existed; a faded picture book she never got the chance to finish. Most of it she would send back with Morning Rain, but it was nice to know that she still had friends in Canterlot.

Dust made lunch while the kids packed their bags. He had changed a lot since Scootaloo’s absence, and mostly for the better. He must have come into a fortune or else received a substantial raise, judging by all the new furniture in the house and the new roof. He also had a steady stream of letters and telegrams from all over Equestria, and often went away during the summer. He promised to take Scootaloo with him in a few years’ time, but for now he was tight-lipped about all his dealings.

Scootaloo and Morning Rain were not as ill-equipped as they had once been. They each had a set of griffin-made travel gear, and Scootaloo wore her tomahawk on a leather belt. With the increasing number of griffins in Canterlot even ponies were starting to experiment with leather. Apparently Scootaloo was an old-fashioned pony for being uncomfortable with the idea.

Dust accompanied the children through town, avoiding the busiest streets until they reached Sweet Apple Acres. They crossed the orchard and emerged at Fluttershy’s cottage from the side, spooking a big brown bear and several song birds.

“Fluttershy!” Dust called, sending up a big noisy flock of birds from a tiny bush.

“Hello Dust,” Fluttershy answered in her small but clear voice. “Everything is ready. Come now, sweetie.”

She appeared from the other side of the house, followed by two bearded grey goats. They had ropes around their necks, though nobody was holding them yet. They had that dumb, passive look in their eyes characteristic of animals bred and raised for food.

“There there, don’t be scared,” Fluttershy said, stroking each of the animals’ necks as Dust took the ropes. There were tears in her eyes, but all the arguing had been done long ago.

“Thank you,” Dust said, as awkwardly as he did last year.

“You two be safe now,” Fluttershy said, to Scootaloo and Morning Rain this time. “Ghastly Gorge is dangerous.”

“We’ll be fine, Fluttershy,” Rain said, putting one hoof on Scootaloo’s mechanical wings. “We can both fly, and the trail should be safe now. And we’re not going through the Everfree Forest.”

Dust hugged both of them before they set off. He never accompanied them past this point. Though he had become a much happier pony since Scootaloo’s adventure, he was always solemn for this journey.

Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom went with them to the end of the gorge where the narrow rocky path started. The rocks in the lower parts of the path were made for breaking ankles and splitting hooves; taking the entire journey on foot would take at least a week.

“Take care,” Apple Bloom said, giving Scootaloo a hug. “We’ll see you in three days.”

“Thanks,” Scootaloo said. “Oh, and if you see Grace and Gina in the next few days, don’t wait for me to introduce you. They shouldn’t get here for another week at least, but it’s hard to say with griffins.”

“I don’t haf’ta like ‘em,” Apple Bloom said, scrunching her nose in disapproval.

“Apple Bloom,” Scootaloo said with a sigh. “They’re not that kind of griffin.”

But Apple Bloom was not swayed. Scootaloo could only hope that the inevitable meeting would change her mind.

Scootaloo and Morning Rain walked with the goats for the rest of the day. They were obedient, disinterested animals, bleating occasionally and stealing glances at the ponies as if to make sure that they had not been abandoned.

A lot had changed since Scootaloo returned from the Colony; for Gari and the Children of the Night, for the sylvanocians, for the griffins and for the Canterlot Orphanage. For the first time in more than a thousand years the Children of the Night were back in Equestria. Some stayed with Gari at the Canterlot Orphanage, which had annexed several streets around the old building and tripled in living space. Others were living in the palace with the Princesses, or in the Crystal Empire, or in other cities and towns. It was only a temporary move, a “vacation” after one thousand years of constant work, but the sudden influx of princes and princesses had raised many uncomfortable questions for Princess Celestia.

Likewise the return of hundreds of thousands of sylvanocians and the influx of griffins was causing alarm. For Ponyville it was not entirely a bad thing. At long last the Everfree Forest was under control. Fifty thousand new ponies in the Everfree Forest also meant more business for the Apples, but the griffins that followed them were almost certainly behind the increased number of missing chickens and snares in inconvenient places.

There was also another change, this one having nothing to do with the Colony as far as Scootaloo could tell. Diamond dogs were living in Canterlot. There were only a few hundred according to Morning Rain, and these ones were not inclined to abduct ponies. They were supposedly merchants, but why they suddenly appeared in the oldest and wealthiest neighborhoods in Canterlot was beyond Scootaloo’s guess.

In the late afternoon they reached a familiar flat site at the foot of a gigantic boulder and set up camp, pitching a leather tent in the griffin style. The goats they tied to rocks beside the icy creek.

“I was thinking,” Rain said as they ate potato soup around the lantern. “You know, kids at the Canterlot Orphanage can go to Officer School for free.”

“I know that,” Scootaloo said. She also knew where the conversation was going.

“Not just the Canterlot Military Academy,” Rain added quickly. “Since the Children of the Night came back, Equestria has been on better terms with the Colony. Kids at the Orphanage can go to the Officer School in Kelp Town now.”

“But you’re a candlemaker,” Scootaloo pointed out. “You’ve been doing it for years, and you’re really good at it. You can be a master if you stick with it.”

“Candles won’t be around for much longer,” Rain said, staring into the glowing white mantle of the gas lantern with his ears pressed against his head. “You see this? This doesn’t start fires. This doesn’t drip wax, it can’t break in half, and it doesn’t get blown out when you open a window. And every day there are more electric lights. By the time I become a master candlemaker nopony will need a master candlemaker.”

“You still have time to think,” Scootaloo said. “Two more years at least. But there are plenty of other things you’re good at, and frankly you’re pretty lousy at picking your fights.”

Rain chuckled, still staring thoughtfully into the light. He did not cry nearly as much as he used to.

“I almost wish I was a blank flank like you, Scootaloo,” he said. “You still got a choice. One thing works as well as another. Me, I know I’m a candlemaker, and that’s not so great as it used to be.”

“Don’t say that,” Scootaloo said, extending one of her mechanical wings. “You know, for all this fuss ponies make about cutie marks, at the end of the day it’s just a picture on your flank. I mean, Gari said she didn’t get hers until she was in her thirties. And you don’t see her baking cookies for a living. If you really want to be an officer I’m sure they’ll be happy to have you. But I’m also sure there’s something else you’d rather do.”

Rain was silent for a moment.

“What about you?” He asked, setting his bowl aside. “Are you weather team material?”

“Rainbow Dash thinks so,” Scootaloo said. “Ponyville doesn’t get any really crazy weather like they get near the coast or up in the mountains. It’s good for learning the basics. My dad doesn’t want me to go to the academy in Cloudsdale, but Rainbow Dash is really pushing for it. She says it’s the best school for weatherkeepers in Equestria.”

“Equestria isn’t everything,” Rain pointed out.

“No,” Scootaloo agreed. “No... but I think it’s enough for me.”

The goats were asleep before Morning Rain put out the lamp. Scootaloo tried hard not to look at them.

They flew against a stiff wind, making progress in inches. The goats dangled beneath the pegasi on long slings; it was the only safe way to carry them. Having wings did not make the height any less intimidating.

The nest had not changed much from previous years. Still there were logs and mud and feathers. But the chicks had grown considerably. Where ugly bald heads once squawked thoughtlessly there were handsome, stoic faces peering down the valley. The thunderbird’s surviving children were each as big as an adult pony, and not yet fully-fledged. Already they looked like miniature versions of their mothers, and their yellow beaks and metallic, calculating eyes reminded Scootaloo of griffins.

The ponies crept closer to the nest, until they rode the wind directly above it. Sensing danger, the goats bleated angrily and kicked against the air.

The thunderbird rose from her nest with a wingbeat that set off an avalanche. Scootaloo closed her eyes when she felt the quick downward tug. In the nest the chicks cheered and the goats screamed, and bones broke.

Scootaloo and Morning Rain landed outside the nest. Their slings were clean and undamaged, just like last year. The mother leveled a cool, suspicious gaze against them, but already her chicks had forgotten the ponies’ wrongdoings. To them ponies were rather nice creatures that ventured to their nest once a year to bring them an especially rich meal.

After the chicks had eaten their fill the thunderbird swallowed the remaining bones and meat and groomed her children. Then one of them clambered out of the nest. His feet were already big enough to wrap around the rim of the nest.

Scootaloo took half a step back, but a shriek from the mother bird stopped her. The chick approached hesitantly, pausing after every step. His siblings watched intently, their heads poking just above the rim of the nest.

When he was within a few feet of the ponies the chick stretched out his neck and looked Scootaloo straight in the eye. She hardly dared to breathe, though the bird seemed anything but hostile.

Suddenly he opened his mouth and let out a loud cry.

Scootaloo jumped.

The nest erupted with excited chirping. One of the chicks fell backwards; her mother caught her with the tip of her wing. Meanwhile the bird on the ground strutted about triumphantly with his face turned up and his mouth wide open.

Morning Rain laughed, and Scootaloo joined in. The solemn old bird shook her head, but she too was fighting back a smile.

Chapter 9

Chapter 9

“Three cheers for Scootaloo!”

Dust rained from the ceiling of her long-unused living room as dozens of voices filled the small house. The crowd spilled into the street through both doors, and a few of her classmates were peering through the railings of the staircase to get a better view. Pipsqueak was standing on Snips’ back, and the portly colt didn’t seem to mind at all.

“So did ya’ really fight a thunderbird?” Apple Bloom asked.

“I already told Rarity about your cloak, and she says she’ll have a new one ready for you by tomorrow. Isn’t that great?”

Scootaloo looked to her father beside her with a sheepish smile on her face.

“I’m proud of you, Scootaloo,” he said, rustling her mane with a big greasy hoof. “I know officers of the Royal Guard who can’t do what you did.”

“Psh. Royal Guards? You’re way more awesome than that, kid! You’re more like Daring Do!”

In one smooth motion Rainbow Dash grabbed the filly and tossed her into the air. Scootaloo felt her mane brush against the ceiling before she fell into her sister’s outstretched forelegs. The crowd let out a collective sigh as the two held each other in a long embrace.

“Okay, who’s hungry?” The cyan mare called after setting the filly back on the floor.

Right on cue a blur of pink zipped through the packed house without disturbing a single onlooker. The size of the cake that materialized along with the baker surprised even Scootaloo: a foot thick, encased in a generous layer of Sugarcube Corner’s signature frosting dyed orange, with “Welcome Home Scootaloo” stenciled in beautiful cursive script on top. Like all things to come out of that bakery, the cake looked almost too beautiful to eat.

Almost.

Even with a machete from Sweet Apple Acres Rainbow Dash had some trouble cutting all the way through. The piece that she handed to Scootaloo could have been a whole cake all on its own. Fortunately her father caught her before she could tip over from the added weight.

“You’re not going to eat that all by yourself, right?” He quipped with a sly smile, guiding her to sit on a cushion that he apparently conjured out of thin air.

“By Celestia I’ll try,” she said with a sneer.

Her father threw up his head and laughed heartily; she hadn’t seen him laugh like that in years. His lips moved as he looked over the crowd, but his words were lost in the din.

Just as Scootaloo raised her fork to her mouth something caught her eye. Princess Luna stood in the doorway to the alley, her dark blue eyes boring into the filly. The princess’s expression was by no means unkind, but suddenly the cake didn’t seem so exciting anymore.

“Can I…”

“I’ll save this piece for you,” her father said.

The ponies of the crowd did their best to give her space, but Scootaloo still ended up pushing between lots of legs. Fortunately for her most of the guests were still mesmerized by the prospect of food and didn’t notice the guest of honour slipping away.

“Princess Luna,” she hailed as she emerged into the sunlight. Squaring herself before the dark alicorn who looked so out of place under the sun, Scootaloo bowed and closed her eyes.

“This is not like you, Scootaloo,” Luna commented, guiding the filly up by her chin.

“I’m sorry for what I said last time, okay?” Rubbing one foreleg with the other, she glanced quickly back into her packed living room. “But everything’s fine now, right? I mean, Morning Rain’s safe, and we’re all back in Ponyville.”

“Are we?” The princess interrupted.

“Oh, don’t tell me,” Scootaloo moaned, her heart sinking. All of a sudden the festivities in the house didn’t seem so impressive.

“I’m sorry for interrupting your rest,” Luna sighed. “If there was any other way I would take it, but these things are beyond even my control.”

“So you can’t handle it, but you expect me to?” Scootaloo closed her eyes and tried to feel her real body, but the ground remained solid beneath her hooves.

“You’re exhausted, Scootaloo,” explained the princess. “It will be very difficult for you to wake up. Please listen to me. It is of the utmost importance that you know.”

“Send a telegram,” she snapped. “Maybe I wasn’t clear last time: I’ve changed my mind! I’ve done everything I can for Morning Rain! After all the trouble he’s caused, why can’t you get somepony else to look after him?”

“This isn’t about Morning Rain…”

“Then it’s about the Children of the Night. Your children. Just leave me out of this, okay?”

“Is that really how you feel?” The alicorn lowered her head to the filly’s level, but the latter turned away. “In any event, you must hear my message if only for your own safety. What you do with this knowledge is completely up to you.

“There have been some developments since your disappearance, and the situation is such that we must take immediate action. After we made arrangements for your return, Gari and I left Ponyville. We are now camped in the Rambling Rock Ridge, and we are destined for the south shore of Horseshoe Bay. However, I have lost contact with Starry Night, and I fear something has happened to him. Be on the lookout for anything unusual tomorrow morning, Scootaloo. Starry Night is a griffin, and he will have a cloak that should be familiar to you; do not go with anypony else. If you must flee, do not return to Ponyville. Keep heading southeast, and we will meet you at the bay. This is not to say that you are in any immediate danger, but you must not be caught unprepared.”

“And why are you telling me and nopony else?” Scootaloo demanded with hot tears of frustration burning in her eyes. “If you’re in my dream, you can be in the sheriff’s. Or you can just talk to Morning Rain. I don’t know if you can tell, but I can’t really walk at all right now. If something happens tomorrow, you’d better give me a better escape plan.”

“My magic is being blocked in much of Appleloosa,” Luna explained. Despite her best effort to maintain an even tone a bit of desperation showed through. “I have warned Braeburn also, but I doubt he’ll remember in the morning. Informing you is all I can do at the moment. I will try to put together an escape plan as you’ve asked, but in the end it will likely take you some effort and quick thinking. You have my complete trust, Scootaloo.”

“Luna?”

A brilliant streak of red on the wall announced the arrival of morning. She was still lying on her bed in the hospital and covered in bandages, and after a few seconds of wakefulness pain crept back into her body.

And she really needed to go to the bathroom.

Scootaloo pulled herself to the edge of the bed and fell right on top of Gala. The mare awoke with a surprised cry.

“Where’s the bathroom?” Scootaloo whimpered.

In response Gala stood up with the filly still hanging across her back and trotted out of the room at a brisk walk. Scootaloo was set down on the floor again just a few steps down the hall, and Gala unzipped her pajamas. Without a word she shrugged out of the garment and dashed into the room before Gala fully opened the door.

After a minute of silence, muffled laughter reached her ears from the hallway.

After she was finished her business, Scootaloo still needed help for her morning routine. The bathroom had a shower stall and a floor-to-ceiling mirror. When Gala removed her back brace Scootaloo got the first clear look at herself in nearly two weeks. She barely recognized the emaciated filly staring back through the glass. Her mane had been trimmed back quite a bit, but that was the least of her problems. Scootaloo now understood why she didn’t feel particularly warm wearing fleece in the middle of summer: with all the patches combined, she was probably half bare. Her skin was bumpy and swollen, and felt calloused despite the ease with which Gala brushed away the outer layer.

“Skin parasites,” she explained as she rinsed off her patient with warm water. “You two had it pretty rough. All this skin peeling off right now, that’s just from all the medication.”

“My coat will grow back, right?” Scootaloo asked in a small voice. She was lying on a concave steel frame with her hooves dangling off the floor. All she could see were shallow pools of water on the white vinyl floor.

“Of course it will. Just give it a week or two.”

When the debriding session was finished, Gala helped her off the stand and changed the bandages around her legs. As the last layer of gauze came off Scootaloo looked away from the mess of pus and fur that was revealed. Bright white lines on her hooves marked the many glued fractures. To think she walked the desert on those same legs!

“Are you still tired?” Gala asked as she fastened the shell around her torso. “It’s still pretty early; the train doesn’t get here until ten.”

“I’ve been sleeping for a while, Gari,” the filly replied.

“What?”

“Gala,” she corrected quickly. “Sorry.”

Instead of the pajamas Scootaloo was now given a heavy blue cloak. She certainly felt more dignified wearing it. Although her ears were no longer taped to her head the brace still held her wings close against her sides; it was beginning to bother her.

“Are you hungry?” Gala suggested. “The cafeteria’s always open.”

“Food would be nice.”

Scootaloo walked with her shaky legs spread further than usual. Though the nurse kept pace close beside her she refused her support.

“You’re one stubborn filly, I’ll give you that,” Gala said as the pegasus descended the last step.

“I just don’t see why you should carry me when I can walk,” she reasoned. “Really, I’m fine.”

The cafeteria was much smaller than the one at the Ponyville hospital. The town in general was quite primitive judging by the many two-storey log buildings beyond the big booth windows.

Scootaloo got a bowl of young barley with apple slices while Gala left the ordering window with a big mug of coffee. Being unable to sit up or fold her legs comfortable, the filly ended up occupying a whole bench. After a few moments struggling with a large-handled spoon she gave up on utensils completely and stuck her muzzle into the bowl.

“Does that apple taste familiar to you?” Gala asked suddenly.

“It’s really fresh,” Scootaloo replied, sweeping the barley off her cheeks and into her mouth with one padded hoof. The fuzz that ended up in her mouth made her grimace. “It tastes like an ambrosia. But I thought ambrosias only grew in Ponyville.”

“You really know your stuff,” Gala said as she took another sip of coffee. “That tree came from Ponyville. Applejack delivered it herself.”

“Bloomberg?” Scootaloo guessed. She remembered Apple Bloom showing her a big tree in the nursery field of Sweet Apple Acres. That had been a year ago, maybe a little more.

“That’s right. Back then we really didn’t get along with the buffalos. They were giving us a hard time, always attacking our orchard and filling in our wells. They even burned a few trees once, you know…”

In her peripheral vision Scootaloo caught a glimpse of a dark shape moving across the window. Her head snapped in its direction, and Gala followed her gaze.

“Are those… bat ponies?”

The double doors opened to admit two grey mares. They made no effort to hide what they were, but they certainly weren’t Lunar Guards. Their sleek black armor was made of many overlapping plates, completely encasing their bodies from the neck down. Even the bony parts of their wings were covered, and though the armor looked to be completely metal their shoed hooves made no sound against the floor. Intricately-detailed triangular boxes on top of their helmets accentuated their already massive ears. Two crescent moons, one on each shoulderpiece, represented their only attempt at disguise.

The cook- a skinny yellow stallion with a thin brown mane- came to the ordering window as the two approached. Lowering herself against the bench, Scootaloo watched as hushed words were exchanged. In the end the stallion in the kitchen shrugged and turned away. The two mares whispered among themselves for a while before lowering their eyeless faceplates and retracing their steps to the door.

“Wow,” Gala said blankly as she raised her mug to her lips. “They’re just as weird as the stories say.”

Scootaloo continued to stare at the closed door. She was trying to recall the newspaper feature on Royal Guard armor, but her mind was drawing a blank. The Lunar Guards wore silver, and it was true that many of them tarnished their breastplates on purpose, but all the full-body configurations she could recall were cumbersome-looking behemoths with flamboyant crested helmets and goofy faceplates. These suits looked more like elaborate uniforms for a flight team.

Out in the street two more black-clad ponies passed the window; stallions this time, with black war scythes raised straight up as if on parade. Not one minute after these two passed out of sight another pair appeared. None of them bore the cat’s eye insignia of true Lunar Guards, but the rest of the town didn’t seem to mind. Children ran along beside them, and as Scootaloo watched a stallion with a canvas and easel on his back was trying to convince a masked bat pony to stop for a portrait.

“I guess you’ve seen them before?” Gala said, smiling at the filly. “You two must be really important if Princess Luna is sending us her own guards.”

“I don’t think they’re Princess Luna’s guards,” Scootaloo said blankly as she slid off the bench. “I have to check on my brother.”

Gala’s attention was elsewhere. The earth pony had moved to the window, pressing her nose against the glass to get a better look.

“Wow,” Scootaloo heard when she was halfway up the stairs. “They actually have fangs!”

She returned to her room and rested for a few minutes on Gala’s sleeping mat. Her mind was racing and panic was starting to take hold. Scootaloo looked to the plain brown door connecting her room to her brother’s. She didn’t know the time exactly, but the day was already bright. Fortunately for her the window was low enough to look out of without rearing up. The sky outside was a low ceiling of dull steel blocks holding back a red-hot reservoir, and a shadow passed from cloud to grey cloud like a bug scurrying through sparse leaf litter. The filly folded her ears and lowered her head until only her eyes were left above the windowsill.

A long overhang blocked her view of the street directly below, but she still counted fourteen confirmed bat ponies. All of them wore the same black armor, and each carried either a black scythe or long spear. Far to the left Scootaloo could just see the train platform. It was still closed, but ponies were starting to gather at the gate with suitcases and trolleys. A few dots of black punctuated this otherwise earth-toned crowd, and she could only assume that they were also bat ponies.

A distant, shrill whistle cut through the morning air. Thick steam rose from an unseen chimney, spiraling into a ghostly snail’s shell before dispersing as pulsating white tongues.

Scootaloo heard a door close in the next room. Looking out the window one more time, she estimated that the train would be pulling into the station in five minutes at most.

The door burst open with a bang, startling the bedridden colt. Scootaloo picked the bulkiest piece of equipment she could find and pushed it against the main entrance. It wouldn’t hold for long; she hoped it would be enough.

Rain stared at her in silent terror, scrambling against the messy bed sheets as he tried to keep her in his line of sight. His mouth was no longer sealed, but the cast around his body still prevented him from sitting up.

“Listen to me, Rain,” she said after barricading the other door with three different instruments. “Something’s happened. Princess Luna told me so. We have to get out of here right now!”

She was interrupted by muffled knocking.

“Morning Rain?” The older nurse from last night called from the hallway. “What’s going on in there?”

The colt just kept staring. His head twitched once in a while. Outside, another set of hooves was approaching the door.

“We have to leave!” Scootaloo hissed. “Something’s not right.”

“Scootaloo, are you in there?” That was Gala. The door rocked on its hinges, and the locked wheels of the machine turned a few reluctant degrees.

There was a steel cart at the foot of the bed holding all kinds of pristine tools. Scootaloo grabbed off it a machined steel mallet and what looked to be a tiny putty knife. Morning Rain let out a hoarse yell as she got onto the bed beside him and reached for his neck.

The machine fell over, letting the door open just a crack. Two heads entered the room on outstretched necks.

“Scootaloo, what are you doing?” Gala rammed her shoulder into the door, but it would not budge.

The filly checked over her shoulder one more time. The older nurse looked about ready to skin her if she could only get into the room. Turning back to the task at hand, Scootaloo positioned the putty knife with two shaky hooves and brought the hammer down as hard as she could. Morning Rain was screaming into her ear.

A few whacks and some quick words of reassurance to the crying colt later she was roughly ripping away dusty chunks of plaster and gauze. The whole time Gala tried to reason with her, but Scootaloo no longer heard anything she said. A timer was counting down in her head as she dragged her brother off the bed. The remaining plaster absorbed the brunt of the impact, shattering into a few big chunks which fell away as she pulled him towards the window. By now he was coming to his senses, and with a lot of help he managed to stand. His wings were splinted open; his jaw clamped shut when he tried to stretch them out.

“Rain, please stay in bed!” It was the other nurse talking this time. She sounded like she was on the verge of tears. “Please! Your back…”

“What do we do?” He grunted. Scootaloo was close enough to hear his teeth cracking.

“Out through here,” she stammered as she nudged the window latch with her nose. “Stay on the rooftops.”

The air outside felt downright frigid. Scootaloo savoured the dry warmth of the thick fleece on her back, but she knew that she couldn’t keep it.

The top hinge burst off the wall. Two hooves were stuck in the upper half of the door.

Scootaloo fastened her cloak to the tattered remains of her brother’s wings using surgical pins. The splint didn’t work well as a tack board; short yelps announced the entry of a pin into flesh. There was nothing she could do but apologize and continue.

The door had snapped in half; only a jagged wooden edge at shoulder height remained to keep the two nurses at bay. A third mare in a white lab coat stood behind them; a doctor perhaps.

Scootaloo dug into the foam around her torso with the putty knife. The incisions made, she needed only to catch the edges on the bed frame and walk forwards to rip off her own restraints. As the ruined brace fell at her feet she felt like her back would go down with it.

“Scootaloo, please stop!” Gala tried to leap over the barricade, but was immediately restrained by her two companions.

The filly lifted herself onto the windowsill using her front legs, with a large strip of spongy foam clamped between her teeth. Morning Rain stood trembling but silent on the edge of the overhang, staring down into a packed street. Scootaloo looked back to see her misery mirrored in three pairs of eyes. It took all her strength to turn away.

“Go,” she urged as she got into position beside the colt. She tore off a chunk of the foam and stuffed it into his hanging mouth. “They’re after you this time.”

Just standing there seemed to take more strength than he had, but the look on his face as his eyes passed over the bat ponies was worse than anything injuries alone could bring on. He gnawed on his makeshift bit with tears flowing free down his cheeks.

And then he jumped.

Scootaloo barely heard his groan over the background of the excited townsfolk below, but a few of the bat ponies looked up. Rain barely made it onto the other roof on his makeshift wings, and Scootaloo hung back to avoid being spotted. Tense seconds passed before she jumped, kicking off with all her strength and desperately flapping her wings. Their usual buzzing was reduced to an uneven drone. When she landed on the next roof and looked down again a pair of armoured ponies were pushing through the crowd. They were heading towards the train station.

The early train sat steaming in the platform, offloading a string of unremarkable passengers interspersed with even more bat ponies. The last passenger from the back door of the third car immediately caught her attention. At this angle she couldn’t tell if it was a mare or a stallion, but she could distinguish the big grey swirls on the hem of that long hooded cloak.

The guards met the cloaked figure just off the platform. Braeburn was apparently guiding the newcomers. The dark opening of the hood turned to face the children on the roof, giving Scootaloo a fleeting glimpse of the pony underneath.

He looked to be in his thirties, with rater effeminate features despite his impressive size. His muzzle was red for sure, but the rest of his shaded face seemed paler somehow. The whites of his eyes glowed like molten metal, and though his gaze didn’t linger there was no doubt in Scootaloo’s mind that they had been spotted.

The children proceeded north, communicating only through silent gestures. Three streets away the crowd became thinned considerably. They were nearing the edge of town, where buildings gave way to apple trees growing on little round hills. Morning Rain bent down to inspect the dirt road and turned to his sister with a questioning look. She nodded.

Their legs buckled on impact; Scootaloo though she heard the tendons tearing in her shoulders. When she opened her eyes all the ponies in that street were staring right back. Giving them all a sheepish smile, Scootaloo forced herself to stand and lumbered towards the nearest intersection. The sound of sniffling not far behind her announced Rain’s presence.

The foam had dried out her mouth; she spat it out behind a water barrel lest she choked. Rain gagged and emptied his stomach as soon as they passed out of sight from the shocked pedestrians.

Braeburn’s scream sent chills down her spine. It was followed by a sharp crack, and then silence.

The world exploded with screams and running hooves. Windows shattered, children cried, and at last the first of many black figure appeared over the rooftops on broad, membranous wings.

Rain swayed on his feet with his mouth wide open and his tongue lolling out. A forceful nudge from his sister got him moving again. Risking a quick backwards glance, Scootaloo was relieved to see the bat ponies still searching in a large circle.

Normally the log fence of the orchard would only be inconvenience adults, but the lower of the two bars almost tripped the stiff-legged colt. Scootaloo got a little relief from the springy lawn (not much of a boon after jumping from the second floor). Without a second’s pause the two scampered into the seemingly endless rows of apple trees. At the top of the first hill she stopped her brother and nodded towards the leafy canopy overhead.

Reaching the lowest branch was pure agony. Two weeks ago Scootaloo might have climbed right to the top in a few quick hops, but now she kicked against thin air as she struggled to hold on with her bony front legs. Morning Rain had found a thick branch higher up that served as a make-do platform and was resting with his eyes closed. Sweat dripped off his damp mane, and violent tremors ran up and down his limp body.

She rested on the first branch, the gentle wind quickly sweeping the sweat off her back. The patches of bare skin felt like ice packs strapped to her body. Through swaying leaves she saw the bat ponies heading in their direction, whether deliberately or by chance she did not know. They weren’t especially fast. She could hear the clattering of pots and pans back in the town. Occasionally a frying pan or a steaming pie sailed over the rooftops, but few of these found their mark.

With burning lungs and twitching shoulders, Scootaloo seriously considered staying in the tree until nightfall. There must have been a thousand such trees in the orchard, all of them densely foliaged. Even bat ponies needed time to search; maybe they wouldn’t even make it to the orchard until nightfall. It was shaping up to be a good plan until she remembered that bat ponies weren’t known for stopping work at sundown.

Running into the desert in broad daylight was out of the question too, if only for the fact that neither of them could run. Flat ground stretched for miles and miles around Appleloosa; anything in the air could easily spot two bandaged ponies stumbling away, and there were at least two species hunting them from above.

“I’m telling you, it was that black pony princess!”

“I’m telling you, you should stop eating leftover cactus pads. It’s not good for you.”

The voices came from just over the next hill. Her ears perked up at the mention of a “black pony princess”. The speakers sounded rather somber; even their laughter was forceful and deliberate, though not necessarily unkind. Morning Rain opened his eyes and turned to his sister. She hesitated, but ultimately waved for him to follow before flopping off her perch.

They stayed close to the tree trunks and rested on their bellies whenever they stopped. Every time she dropped down Scootaloo’s eyelids seemed to droop lower. She resorted to biting her lip to keep herself alert.

At the peak of the next hill the children looked down upon two brown creatures hitched to a big wooden cart. Their shoulders rose in a prominent hump that at its peak stood twice as tall as a regular pony. There seemed to be no neck between their chunky torsos and massive woolly heads. Their legs looked like short stilts, and overall the impression was something akin to a deformed cow.

“You there!” One of them called suddenly, turning to face the children. Scootaloo instinctively dropped down and covered her head with her forelegs. “Oh, don’t be like that. Have you never seen buffalos before? I just want to know what’s going on in town.”

“Wait a second,” the other buffalo said as he stepped past his companion. “I know you! You’re Scootaloo!”

“Y… Yeah,” the filly stammered. “Listen to me, please. There are bat ponies looking for us in Appleloosa. We have to get out of here right now. Do you know of any way to leave without being seen? Any unused roads? Any tunnels even? Anything?”

The first buffalo stood as still as a statue with his mouth hanging open. His companion looked to him with slanted eyes, a smug grin threatening to rip his flat face down the middle.

“Get in the back and stay low,” he instructed. “Don’t move, don’t make a noise, and we’ll be out of here in no time.”

Scootaloo was taken aback by the abruptness of his offer, but she knew that she had no other choice. Any minute now a bat pony might appear on the little hill behind her. They were sitting ducks.

“Come on, Rain,” she mumbled, helping her brother back onto his feet.

The cart was loaded with barrels of apples, with a few bales of hay taking up the remaining floor space. The buffalos broke the hemp cords binding the bales, and the two ponies did their best to loosen up the strands into a convincing bed. Scootaloo piled hay onto her brother until only his nose was showing, and then settled down in a comfortable position for the buffalo to do the same for her. She was almost asleep when the cart rolled smoothly into motion.

“So what’s this I hear about cactus pads?”

“Be quiet, Gooseberry. Chief Thunderhooves will be hearing about this.”

The noises from the fight got louder. Smoke filtered through the few strands of hay over her nostrils along with the scent of sweet rotten apples. She wondered if Braeburn and Gala were okay. The wailing of a foal grew louder, and then quieter, and then louder again. The creaking of the cart wheels slowed.

She knew the risk involved, but Scootaloo wanted nothing more than to sit up and see the town. Perhaps it was a blessing that her body no longer obeyed her mind. She lay motionless in the straw, forcing herself to breathe shallow lest the rise and fall of her chest gave her away.

“Halt!”

Her heart jumped into her throat. Scootaloo’s hooves flinched, her legs being incapable of a full kick. The wheels squeaked one last time.

“Get out of the way,” Gooseberry called in an even tone. “You can’t block buffalos in this town. This here is our road.”

“We are looking for Morning Rain and Scootaloo.” The sound of blowing sand was the only indication of more bat ponies touching down around the cart. “We have orders to search everything leaving Appleloosa. I assure you nothing of yours will be damaged or confiscated if you cooperate.”

Scootaloo held her breath and squeezed her eyes shut.

“Step away from the cart!” The bat pony said again. A long pole swished through the air.

The cart lurched forwards, toppling a few apples out of the brimming barrels and onto Scootaloo’s head. The hay shifted off her face, prompting her to curl up tighter.

At impact every piece of cargo bounced an inch off the bed. For a second it felt like gravity had shifted ninety degrees. Metal clattered and wood snapped, and two cold sharp points poked through the bandages and into her back. Scootaloo scrambled towards the middle of the vehicle with her eyes still closed.

The buffalos didn’t stop to inspect their victims. The shrill whine of the wheels made her ear pop and nearly drowned out the rapid rhythm of hooves against the road. The bat ponies were as quiet as ever. Though her eyelids refused to part, Scootaloo could picture them swarming like the Lunar Guards in Ponyville. The trail soon became bumpy; her head bounced against floorboards and barrels, and she was pummeled with falling apples. She could only assume that Morning Rain was suffering similarly.

A flash of lightning pierced her eyelids. A young mare’s scream broke through the wall of background noise. Slow, powerful wings drove howling winds against the remaining pursuers, and their cries were quickly lost in the distance. The smell of ozone made her skin crawl, and the thunder sounded like a constant, unchanging drone.

But it did change, fading away over long, anxious minutes. Eventually the cart slowed down again, allowing the remaining cargo to settle back down on the bed. The sticky hay pile reeked of apple juice. Scootaloo was lulled to sleep by the song of wooden wheels and cloven hooves against a packed earth road.

Chapter 23

Chapter 23

Sailing in the dark was terrifying. The black water raced past the little circles of light from the lanterns; Scootaloo thought that Rainbow Dash didn’t fly as fast as the Swift was sailing.

Fog Pilot was driving the ship hard into the waves; Gari was left alone among the fore rigging, being the only one who could withstand the wall of water that crashed over the bow every few seconds. Even at mid deck Scootaloo and Morning Rain were soon soaked up to their knees.

Up in the riggings Rainbow Dash and Huck fine-tuned the topsails, intermittently shouting at the crew on deck.

“Turn on four!” Captain Gilbert bellowed after about an hour of sailing in a straight line. “Scootaloo, Rain, pull in that sail!”

The boom swished over their heads, swinging over the entire deck and making the mast creak. Morning Rain fell and slid all the way to the starboard gunwale, leaving Scootaloo to reign in the sail alone. Fortunately he returned quickly, and the Swift did not lose much speed in the manoeuver.

“All stop!” Gari cried suddenly.

Scootaloo let go of the sail and untied the rope. The gaff dropped with a soft whoosh, and Rainbow Dash tumbled to the deck.

“I told you to sit in the net,” Fog Pilot chided.

“Hey, it’s dark up there!” Rainbow Dash said. “I thought I was on a crosstress!”

On his way down Huck unhooked the two higher lanterns, leaving only the running light on the rear mast. Gordon and Fog Pilot brought out every lantern onboard, and Gari conjured an orb of white light on the tip of her horn.

Not fifty metres in front of them a big wooden ship bobbed in the waves with her sails down. Three tall masts disappeared into the black sky, each with four yards (the longest of which extended a full ship’s width over the water on either side). Her deck rose a good five feet out of the water. She looked like a morbidly obese whale compared to the sleek and low-floating Swift.

“Jackdaw!” Hailed Captain Gilbert in a loud, clear voice. “This is Swift!”

For a moment there was no response. Then a fireball lit up the night sky, accompanied by a pressure wave that even made Gari cringe.

A pair of big white wings followed close behind the flames. Onboard the Jackdaw three ponies were sprinting to middeck, brandishing wooden boards and frayed ropes. The fireball faded before the fight began.

“Huck! Compass!” Captain Gilbert barked. “Ready a dory! Gordon, you’re leading. Take my rifle!”

“Rifle?” Gari repeated, pulling her gaze off the shadowy shape of the Jackdaw. “That’s a bit excessive, is it not?”

“Not with Weatherly, it isn’t,” Captain Gilbert said through his closed beak.

The black dory swayed in the water. At twenty feet long it somehow managed to look as sturdy as a paper boat. Huck pulled in the thole pins and rowed away with surprising speed. Each time the little boat disappeared behind a wave Scootaloo feared it would be gone for good.

When they were almost beside the other ship something flashed on the dory, accompanied by a loud boom like a sledgehammer striking concrete.

All was silent, save for the restless ocean. For ten minutes nothing seemed to happen. The lanterns remained pointing forwards, while the eastern horizon turned from black to indigo to dark blue.

“Okay, I see a ladder,” Captain Gilbert said.

Scootaloo squinted into the darkness. Gari’s presence on deck was the only thing keeping her from climbing the bowsprit.

“I think that’s Gina,” Rain whispered in her ear.

It could very well have been. Scootaloo could only make out dim outlines on the ladder. She counted four, and then the dory turned and headed back to the Swift. She was about to call out, but her mouth went dry when the dory came close enough to be clearly seen.

Grace and Gina lay on the floor beneath a woolen blanket. The left side of Grace’s face was pitch black; even her beak was stained. Her mouth moved constantly, but the dory was too far away for those onboard the Swift to hear her words. Her sister had bandages around her head, and her once white feathers ranged in colour from red to pink to yellow.

Galina and Gregor sat at the rear of the dory. They at least were conscious. Galina was missing a few feathers, and her left eye was swollen shut. Gregor held a big square of gauze around his right forearm.

“Scootaloo, Rain,” Gari said distractedly as the dory pulled up on the starboard side. “Bring the first aid kit to the hold and put on the kettle. I’ll be down in a minute.”

Throwing aside her waterlogged cloak, Gari rose into the air and glided into the night towards the other ship. Her horn lit up, and panicked cries could be heard coming from the deck of the Jackdaw.

Captain Gilbert sighed. Turning to face the two children, he extended his big wings to block their view.

“Ow… Ow…” Grace moaned weakly as she was lifted with ropes onto the Swift.

Scootaloo and Morning Rain did exactly as they were told without speaking and then huddled on the bench in the kitchen. All the lanterns were still on deck, but just enough light came through the hatch for them to finish their work.

After some time Fog Pilot came into the kitchen and took away the whistling kettle. Scootaloo strained to hear the voices on the other side of the door. She did not breathe easy until dawn broke.

After a late breakfast Scootaloo and Rain were allowed back into the forward hold under the condition that they would not disturb the newcomers. They entered the room as one would enter a lion’s cage (which was not a bad analogy).

Galina and Gregor were lying on a large mat in the middle of the hold. It could have been the exact spot where Scootaloo and Rain had danced the night before. Above them were two new hammocks, each one with a skinny brown tail dangling down the side.

“Who there?” Gina mumbled as Scootaloo approached.

“It’s just me,” Scootaloo replied.

“Scootaloo?”

A bandaged head popped up from the hammock on the right; only the beak and one bloodshot eye were exposed.

“Go back to sleep, Grace,” Galina said softly.

“Was awful,” Gina said. “Captain Weatherly... Very bad pony.”

Morning Rain looked over his shoulder and lowered his voice.

“What happened?” He asked.

“Captain Weatherly’s side business,” Gregor said. “The Jackdaw was full of fuel. We didn’t know until an hour after we boarded. She picked it up from some small port in Baltimare. One of the tanks started leaking a week ago.”

“Couldn’t breathe,” Gina interrupted.

“Captain Weatherly locked us in the hold,” Gregor continued. “It’s illegal to have passengers onboard along with that much fuel, and if we radioed for help she would get into a lot of trouble. We didn’t find a way out until last night, and by then it was too late. There was a fire, and things just got out of control.”

Scootaloo followed his gaze across the floor. Her gasp came out as a whimper.

Cabbage lie on a white cloth, stretched out like a giant green pheasant. His eyes were closed; his expression would have been serene, were it not for his gaping mouth and outstretched tongue. His feathers were dull, many of them bent and stripped.

Grace stared too, fresh tears welling up in her one good eye.

“I never thought he would go like this,” Gregor mumbled glumly.

Scootaloo clambered into her hammock and pulled the blanket over herself. She could hear Grace sobbing softly. After a while she allowed herself to cry too.

The funeral was held at sundown under a cloudless sky. Captain Gilbert allowed Grace to sew the bag shut herself. Everyone who had a cloak wore it with the hood up. Scootaloo was surprised to see the Swift’s entire crew in dark cloaks identical to the one Gari wore. Rainbow Dash had only her Wolderbolts flight suit, and was required to take her hood off.

Scootaloo and Morning Rain each contributed a single pinion, as did the twins and their parents. Their offering was tied with a red ribbon and tucked beneath Cabbage’s right wing before he was sewn in.

A big steel bearing was tied around Cabbage’s ankles. Gregor lowered the body over the starboard side, accompanied by a single rusty harmonica. Cabbage disappeared into the inky blackness. For a while there rose a trail of bubbles, and then he was gone.

The twins could not stomach fried fish that night, and ate their porridge half-heartedly only after much coaxing from their parents and Gari. Scootaloo felt rather embarrassed about her own ravenous appetite.

Since they slept away much of the day the children were put on anchor watch together. They scrubbed the pots and dishes under a starry sky, and then sat in a row at the stern. Grace had no wings to wear; they had been damaged in the explosion, and the broken frame had cut her right side quite badly. Scootaloo was relieved when Gina finally asked about the last leg of her journey across Equestria.

“You went to Saltlick?” She said. “That amazing! Did you see their salt sculpture museum?”

“We were there for one night,” Rain began to say, but he was interrupted by a dull bang from below.

The children huddled together as far from the water as they could get. The noise came again; it sounded like it was coming from the water beneath the hull.

Glug. Glug. Glug.

Boom.

“C… Cabbage…” Grace whimpered.

Boom!

Grace buried her face in her sister’s cloak. Scootaloo dared not move.

How can anypony sleep through this?

“M… maybe it’s a whale,” Rain suggested even as he hid his face beneath his hooves.

It went on for five long minutes. Scootaloo could imagine Cabbage blown up a hundred times his usual size pecking at the ship’s underside, trying to come back from the dead. But it never came to be. The noise receded into the depths, and was never heard again.

The children stayed on deck for an extra hour before Rain finally stood up. They went below deck in a single file line. Rain went to Fog Pilot’s hammock, while Scootaloo woke Rainbow Dash. She tried to say something, but only managed a soft squeak.

“Hey kid,” Rainbow Dash said with a yawn. “What’s the matter?”

“Did you hear anything?” Scootaloo asked.

“Yeah,” she said. “I think Huck snores.”

Scootaloo glared at her sister.

“What did you hear?” Rainbow Dash asked seriously.

“It sounded liked something banging on the bottom of the ship,” Scootaloo said. “It was really loud. Are you sure you didn’t hear anything?”

“I’m a light sleeper,” Dash said, a sneer tainting her voice. “Nothing gets past me.”

“Right,” Scootaloo said, and returned to her hammock without another word.

Beside her Gina was struggling to fold her wings comfortable. In the end she let them dangle down the sides.

That night Scootaloo couldn’t help looking around the room periodically. She never failed to find another pair of frightened eyes.

Gari would not say what she did to the Jackdaw, only assuring the children that Captain Weatherly and her crew had been dealt with appropriately.

“Of course I didn’t leave them to drown!” She said after much prodding. “Is that something I would do?”

“Auh,” Gina said. “Sect ata.”

“You’re supposed to be practicing Standard,” Gari chided.

“My Standard is better than Scootaloo’s Grishish,” Gina said. “She practice Grishish.”

“She doesn’t know any,” Gari said.

“It’s easy,” Grace said.

“Easier than Equestrian Standard,” Gari admitted. “And that’s why you should be practicing Standard.”

Grace’s face was a mess when Gari first removed her bandages, but a pot of warm water later she was looking like her old self. She was missing a few patches of feathers, but her wounds looked to be only skin deep.

The constant supply of work coupled with day after day of sunny weather lifted the children’s spirits considerably. Huck and Gordon spent half a day sewing makeshift work suits for the young griffins from sailcloth and old flags. The end result was rather nice-looking, and Gari took some time to jot down the pattern. Scootaloo was sure that if she ever returned to Canterlot she would see children wearing something similar.

On the third day they raced each other up the main mast. Unbeknownst to the Captain, Fog Pilot had tied a ribbon at the apex and promised a small, jewel-encrusted pocket knife to the one who brought it to him. Gina won by a long shot, and made a point of slicing every dessert date she ate that night into small cubes.

“Tired of fish yet?” Compass Rose asked, japing Scootaloo in the side and almost making her drop her jam-covered hardtack.

“It’s not so bad,” Scootaloo said. “I mean, fishing’s not as bad as I thought it would be. Except that ugly thing we caught yesterday. What was it anyways?”

“I don’t know,” Compass Rose said with a shrug. “If it has more than twenty eyes I usually just cut the line and take the rest of the day off. I can’t believe you tried to gut it!”

“That was me,” Grace said.

“It’s okay,” Compass Rose said. “It’s a beginner’s mistake. Heck, Huck still does it sometimes. As a rule, if it doesn’t look like a fish you should let it go. Once you let out five hundred yards of line there’s no telling what kind of nastiness you’ll dredge up.”

“How long have you been doing this?” Scootaloo asked.

“Ten years,” Compass Rose replied proudly. “I came onboard when I was fourteen. Gari leant me to Gil for one season.”

“I don’t lend my children out to anybody,” Gari interrupted. “You two wanted to go!”

“I’m not saying it’s bad,” Compass rose said. “But you had to do some arm-bending to get a captain to take two boys who’d never been to sea.”

“It wasn’t that much arm-bending,” Captain Gilbert said. “I was looking for boys to process the fish, and the Children of the Night had lots of those kicking around.”

“Anyways,” Compass Rose continued. “That wasn’t fishing like you’re doing. We had long lines and dories. The weather’s not so nice either. There’s a reason ponies didn’t come up with decent tall ships until six hundred years ago. We’re not meant for it. My brother and me, we’re half sylvanocian. We weren’t used to all this open space, you know. And the earth pony in me didn’t like this shifting ground much. We handled meat a bit better than other ponies; that’s all we had going for us, really. We were eating fish three meals a day. Fried fish, boiled fish, stewed fish heads, roe…”

He stuck his tongue out in disgust.

“You won’t ever let that go, will you?” Gilbert chuckled. “Well, you were paid handsomely, weren’t you? Five hundred pounds each for your lousy work. You urchins couldn’t make that much in ten years if you stayed on land! And I didn’t hear a peep from either of you about the fish when we were out there!”

“Gari told us not to complain,” Compass Rose said.

“You see?” Gilbert said to Gari. “You tell your boys not to talk, and then you turn around and blame me for not listening to them.”

“I thought you’d know more about ponies,” Gari said, looking a little miffed. “Both your sisters are ponies!”

“Hold everything!” Rainbow Dash cried. “How does that even work? I mean, do griffins and ponies…”

“No,” Gari said, putting a hoof to her face. “No. Never. But griffins do adopt foals, and ponies do adopt griffin cubs. That’s all it is.”

Rainbow Dash folded her ears and resumed nibbling on her hardtack.

“Anyways, that’s as simple as I can make it,” Compass Rose continued. “Like Gil said, it’s good money if you don’t drown.”

Captain Gilbert took the last date from the plate and looked around the room.

“Scootaloo,” he said. “You take the first watch with Rainbow Dash.”

Scootaloo almost choked on her dessert.

“Really?”

“Yes, really,” the Captain said.

“Come on squirt,” Rainbow Dash said, getting up from the table. “Grab those pots and let’s go.”

Scootaloo stacked the pots and bowls on her back and raced up the steep steps. She never saw the concern on Gari’s face.

“You lived at an orphanage for how long?”

“About a year,” Scootaloo said, her voice distorted by the giant pot she was scrubbing.

“That sounds pretty rough,” Rainbow Dash said before dumping overboard the slob bucket.

“It wasn’t bad,” Scootaloo said defensively. “That was the happiest year of my life! I had lots of friends, I had a good job, and the food was amazing. I wouldn’t have known what a scooter was if I hadn’t been a courier. It’s not like I was locked away or anything. Have you seen the Canterlot Orphanage? It barely has a fence.”

“But wasn’t it just a little weird?” Rainbow Dash pressed on. “Don’t get me wrong, I think Gari’s nice and all, but living with so many other kids? Sharing everything? Didn’t you feel like you were just another face in a crowd? Didn’t you feel… less special?”

“Why would I?” Scootaloo said. She rinsed out the last of the bowls and sat down against the forecastle. “And we didn’t share everything; clothes belonged to us for as long as they fit, and some things like cloaks were ours to keep. I don’t see how that’s different from Apple Bloom getting Applejack’s old rain boots. And if there’s something one of us really needed, we would get it. I got my helmet and goggles when I was working as a courier, and they’re mine to keep. It’s not like what Gari went through; we had some really nice things, but we were never wasteful.

“Dash, the Canterlot Orphanage is nothing like those old stories! We… we were a family. A really big family. I had brothers and sisters there. We were treated well. We went to regular schools, we went traveling sometimes, and the best part: nopony looked down on us. It’s a lot better than what I would have done if dad left me alone for a year.”

“He wouldn’t do that, would he?”

“Who? My dad?” Scootaloo said. “I don’t know. He’s left me alone for a month or two before then…”

“He what?” Rainbow Dash’s jaw dropped. Scootaloo bristled at the look of pity in her eyes.

“Listen, Dash,” she said, standing up and flaring her wings under her suit. “I know what you’re thinking. You think my dad’s a bad pony for what he did. You think there’s something wrong with me because I lived at an orphanage. You’re wrong. If I hadn’t been there, if my dad hadn’t gone away for a year, there would be nothing right about me today. I would still be stealing apples in Canterlot and climbing into chimneys for twenty bits. I would never have gone to school, I would never have moved to Ponyville, and I would never have met Sweetie Belle or Apple Bloom. I would never have met you either.

“The orphanage was a safe place for me; I had a family there. For once I wasn’t a burden to anypony. I felt like I was worth something; that I belonged in Equestria. I was good for something beyond picking through garbage and stealing.

“Do you see why I followed Rain when he came to me? I don’t just call him my brother; he is my brother. Shining Dawn; Swift Fog; Arcing Craft; Windy Shores; they were my brothers and sisters, and they weren’t the only ones. If they’re in danger, how can I stay away?”

Scootaloo stood with legs stiff, breathing heavily.

“Kid…” Rainbow Dash began. “I didn’t mean…”

“Let’s not talk about this anymore, okay?” Scootaloo said. “I don’t need you to tell me how to feel.”

She walked to the port side and lie down beneath the gunwale. The violent drumming of her heart was enough to keep her from falling asleep.

After a few minutes Scootaloo heard footsteps approaching from behind. Rainbow Dash stopped in her right and draped one wing over her back.

It felt good, despite all that had happened. Scootaloo sighed heavily and closed her eyes.

She could see the outlines of everything in the cabin below.

Author's Note

This took a while because life.

I am incrementally pushing back by bedtime until sleep is completely eliminated from my life. So far so good...