A large gibbous moon hung low in the sky. It was a brilliant silver white, platinum almost… missing only a horseshoe of darkness from what otherwise would have been a full moon. It was, if I recalled correctly (and who knows just how reliable I was on this sort of thing) about eleven days after the bleak blackened void of a new moon. It had risen early that day… sun and moon in the sky together, an omen of great portent if ever there was one, and now we watched it set, sinking below the horizon at five minutes to midnight. But, in truth, it wasn’t the moon that the two of us had come out to see, nor was it the stars, glorious and bright, distant and cold. Their light was old, an ancient thing; a symbol of impermanent near eternity… if that made any sense. Which, knowing me, it didn’t. Oh well. As I said, we weren’t sitting out on this warm breezy night of summer, the anniversary of the old summer sun celebration, for stellar sights and star gazing. We were watching something else, bright vivid flashes, perfect spheres of light, there of an instant then gone. Different colors… a rainbow of them, far, far above us… beautiful. I glanced at my companion, seeing the explosions reflected in his eyes like a fireworks display of old Equestria, before the war, before the destruction. Our heavenly entertainment continued and after a short time I broke the silence of our vigil.

“So, what happens now?” I asked.

“What must happen.” My companion answered. “I cannot let go, as well you know.” He left unsaid the fact that I couldn’t let go either, kind of him to make the omission, but then, he had always been kind.

“I know.” I said sadly, not expecting any other answer. “Could we… do you think… wait until after the show finishes?” I had no illusions about how this would end, and it had been so long, so driving and consuming that (and such an important part of me that if I survived) I had no idea what I would do with myself afterward.

“Of course.” He replied. “I’m sure you would favor following this to its inevitable conclusion at high noon but that is a long time… this” he waved a hoof to the display, “should be over around the time the sun rises, what say we begin then?”

“Dawn should be perfectly fine.” I smiled. “Very dramatic, makes for an excellent story.”

“If there is anypony left to tell it.” He said quietly. He remained silent for some time. “I love you… you know.” He added and put a wing over my withers.

“I know… and… I hate you.” I replied, leaning against him and nuzzling his cheek. After all that he had done, hate was a bare minimum, an understatement of epic proportions, and yet, still I loved him. Funny the way the heart works.

“I know.” He answered calmly, accepting. “And when dawn breaks…”

“And when dawn breaks… it ends… at last.” I interrupted and finished for him. He nodded and we craned our heads a little bit more, enjoying the view and a few hours of blissful peace before one last dance. It had begun here… all of it… and here it would end. We had come full circle. I sighed and he placed his head more against mine, protectively, endearingly, affectionately. We would sit here… together… and watch the sky, blossoming with flowers of light until the rays of the morning sun scattered the darkness. And then it would all end.

Chapter 1. Equestrian Trails

“Chance governs all. Unto this wilde abyss,
The Womb of nature and perhaps her Grave,
Of neither Sea, nor Shore, nor Air, nor Fire,
But all these in thir pregnant causes mixt
Confus’dly, and thus which must ever fight,
Unless th’ Almighty Maker them ordain
His dark materials to create more Worlds,
Into this wild Abyss the warie fiend
Stood on the brink of Hell, and look’d a while,
Pondering his voyage: for no narrow frith
He had to cross.”

28th of Leaffall, 193 ALD

The ghoul bounded around the gray slate wall that rose up from either side of the narrow path, skidding across gravel but keeping to its hooves and leaping over a bare patch of scrub oak. It galloped forward, a scream of unintelligent fury escaping its cracked and broken lips. Faster and faster it went, muscles visible in patches and swathes where rotting skin ended, a half gone mane, stringy and colorless, streaming out behind it. The beast’s teeth were jagged and yellow, eyes glazed, sunken and listless but for long ago burst blood vessels and the clear glint of furious hunger. It was… almost… sad.

A roar of fire and smoke and the creature’s front legs collapsed beneath its body, sending it toppling forward, ass over head through the scree, setting loose gravel and pebbles, coming to a stop a few feet in front of my hooves. Damn but the shotgun bucked like a son of a bitch. I walked forward, holstering my caravan shotgun and replacing it with my baseball bat. The ghoul tried to right itself but it was a tangle of limbs and foul smelling mane and tail. I resisted the urge to put a hoof over my muzzle. The zombie managed to perk its head up, glaring at me, hissing through its foul teeth. My wings clenched the bat tighter. I lifted it above my head and brought it down, once, twice, three times… just for good measure. The bastard’s legs twitched and shook in response to its bashed in skull.

“So, Limerick, looks like you owe me ten caps.” I called out, setting the bat aside so that I could pull out and open the shotgun. I placed a wingtip against the ready shell, letting the empty one eject before replacing it with a fresh one. Damn, I needed more ammunition. I had already used twenty six shells from my supply of buckshot, though I had quickly learned not to waste ammo on small things and to, if possible, use one shell per ghoul then finish them off with the bat. “You hear me, you dickless oaf?” I called up the slope, to the harder to navigate path set into the canyon wall about five yards above me.

“Course I hear you, you brainless bitch.” The large orange coated earther buck glared down at me from an outcropping that held just enough dirt for a few holly bushes to grow, bright red berries vivid amidst their dark waxy green leaves. Limerick’s massive scrap metal sword was leaned against his body, set between left shoulder and crest so that he could use his mouth and speak. Not that him speaking was a good thing, or an effective use of time… certainly a waste of mine to listen. He squinted and looked at my kill. “And that doesn’t count. The dumb fuck rolled to where he was. It has to be on its hooves to count.” He spit over the ledge and watched the wind carry the gob away.

“Bullshit,” I replied, “that’s not part of the bet.” I lit a cigarette and started pushing the ghoul’s body to the side of the path so that Bessy, our pack Brahmin, could get by.

“She is, technically, correct Lim.” Pendulum, our unicorn employer spoke from down the trail, leading his heavily laden Brahmin. A single ten millimeter pistol was held in his magic, swiveling back and forth, and ready for a new threat to emerge. The wind picked up and waved the ribbon on my sun hat. Oh… pretty dark blue ribbon fluttering in the breeze. Uh… ahem… forget I said that.

“No way! No how! That cavernous cunt didn’t meet the speximicatins… speficima” I rolled my eyes, giving the dead ghoul a final push as I listened to Limerick try and fail to speak with any hint of intelligence… and no comments about my difficulties therein, thank you very much.

“Specifications.” Pendulum clarified as he reached me and eased the two headed cow to a stop. “And unless you alter the parameters of your agreement that will continue to count.” The pale purple unicorn grimaced and looked over my latest kill, using his magic to place strands of his long, rose colored mane back under his wide brimmed hat. He was a good lucking buck, despite being a tad on the runty side. If he wasn’t my employer I might be tempted to… I coughed and tried to hide a blush. IGNORE ME! Or, my thoughts at least, yes, ignore those. They are invariably bad and more fitting for a letter to a filthy magazine like Wingboner… which I definitely didn’t have a copy of in my saddlebags. Moving on...

“Fine!” Limerick growled down at us, scratching a scar that rose up his muzzle to his short green mane. “But we’re changing the rules when we get to camp tonight!” He had to raise his voice to be heard over the wind. Dumbass. We could change the rules but I had a way to counter that as well, use the mouth trigger the way it was intended and flap my wings like a hurricane (hopefully they were strong enough now to take that) to slow up any ghouls as they reached me. Hehe… that big dumb buck would owe me a lot of caps by the time we reached the trader’s meet at the Henbrick junction of the Norfoal line, twenty or so miles north… if Pendulum’s map was to be trusted.

The earther, Limerick, had more kills than I did (twenty one to seventeen), since we had only run into a few wild animals (mutated goose bump giving creepy crawlies to be sure) and ghouls… a lot of ghouls. And, of course, the ghouls counted for the bets, as did radscorpions, though we hadn’t (thank the dead alicorns) run into any of those on these narrow passes and trails. That would be bad. Was what I was thinking making sense? Who cares? The frequency of ghouls was, to be honest, worrying to me. Though, Pendulum assured me that it was just a seasonal thing. The ghouls moved southward in large numbers during the wild winters, they went where it was warmer or holed up together in ruins and buildings. The near mindless beasts also followed the rad-winds, clouds of entropic magic and radiation, remnants of the effects of certain balefire bombs. Speaking of all things ‘rad’ related, we were lucky in that the background radiation where we were was fairly low. A ‘none and one a day’ as Limerick called it, not enough of a problem to take RadSafe to buff your resistance to the radiation but just enough that it was wise to slurp down a RadAway each evening (the packaging claimed it was orange flavor but the stuff tasted like ass to me). Thankfully, Pendulum was a cautious and well prepared stallion. He had a war era radiation detector, miraculously in decent condition, hooked to his jacket, keeping us informed of the low but steady ticks of deadly doom that weren’t too big of a problem… for the moment.

What was more worrisome than the low level radiation was the thought that the zombies were either fleeing the advance of slaver forces to the east or that The Howl was nearby. We had heard several rumors about slavers organizing like never before out Fillydelphia way but it was still a better alternative to The Howl. Just about everything, even dumbass zombies, ran from that. The Howl was an unexpected interaction between an Equestrian megaspell and a zebra balefire bomb that had collided in midair (over the sea) between targets… (which totally meant that my long ago musing was right) or so Pendulum claimed. The result was a small cyclone of terrible power that brought tornados with it, spun detritus and debris about like razors and had the strength to flay the skin and flesh from anything not wearing Steel Ranger armor. Thankfully it was clearly visible from a long way off (a thick cloud like darkness that was rent by lightning) and despite its tremendous speed , it was rather small in size, generally no more than a few miles across. It also allegedly circled the globe so it might disappear from the faded dead lands that were once Equestria for months at a time.

“Do me a favor please, Wild, scout forward and see what lies on the path ahead.” Pendulum ordered… suggested. And it took me a second to realize that he was talking to me. I’m Wild Skies by the way. Hello, nice to meet you. Have you seen my foals? Spare a drink? The name was new, chosen a few days before… and it was the only real name I had. Since, whatever or whoever I had been before getting shot in the head a month ago was a complete mystery to me. My hopes were that I was some kind of super awesome steam powered time traveling bad ass pony but no one in whom I confided that belief took it at all seriously. Also, in case you hadn’t noticed, my mind (what’s left of it) tends to wander.

“Sure thing.” I answered; hoofing over my cigarette butt and making sure all of my various pouches were secured. The unicorn accepted the cigarette with his magic and took a very prim and proper puff. “Also,” I shouted up to Limerick, dashing forward toward a jutting spit of what looked like Arkose sandstone (Pendulum liked pointing out various types of rocks and plants to me… I kind of listened… some of the time) and galloped up it, wings extended. I threw myself from the tip, pushing off with all my might and vaulted forward into the air to glide between the canyon walls. I made sure that my right wing gave Limerick a smack on the back of the head as I passed. “For your information, my cunt isn’t cavernous!” I yelled. The dumb earther was prone to the most fallacious inaccuracies. “It’s…” trying to think of a word… “cozy. Not that you’ll ever find that out personally.”

“You’re still a brainless bitch!” The buck shouted back, shaking his head as though he’d just been drenched in water, or angered by a buzzing insect.

“Sorry,” I replied, rising higher on the wind and pressing forward, west and north, “can’t figure out what you’re saying, sounds like you’ve got a humdinger of a cock stuffed in your mouth!” Limerick’s curses followed me on the breeze and were lost, nothing more than echoes of suggestions of what I could do with his sword by the time I rounded the next bend. I flapped my wings a few times to gain altitude and continued my glide.

Pendulum had been suspicious at first when I hadn’t immediately demonstrated any flying ability and Limerick of course had been down right insulting. But, I was able to convince them that gliding was quieter, less likely to be heard, and that since I wasn’t constantly flapping it would make me less likely to be seen by those below. I would just be a white coated shadow (with armor) with a black mane and dazzling blue eyes (what?) against the ever present clouds. It… seemed to mollify my boss, which was good since gliding was about all that I could do. My wings were definitely not yet up to snuff, and wearing that armor, carrying gear, and being stuck with a clunking metal collar full of explosives around my neck were not making me any lighter… not that I was heavy mind you. Don’t know why you would think that but you better stop right now, thinking those thoughts is a quick and easy way to hurt a mare’s feelings, you know.

The collar? Yeah… not my best moment. I’d spent all of the little money I had on drinking and run up one hell of a bar tab a week or so back. The proprietor (yush, I can remember awesome words) had put the collar on me and given an ultomato… uh… what’s the word I’m looking for there? Anyway, I either came up with the money or she sold me to slavers. I came up with the money, after perilous and exciting adventure… which lasted all of one day… and had the collar deactivated. Only, it had taken damage and couldn’t be removed. Coincidentally, Apple Brandy, the unicorn bitch who’d put the collar on me… yeah… she’d disappeared. And, before you ask, I had no idea what happened to her. So… back on topic?

Gliding may not have been flying but it was still glorious, wondrous, like sex… only I was having it. It felt like ages since that unicorn buck in New Appleloosa, and memories of that night were returning in bits and pieces through the booze and drug fueled haze of the stupor I’d put myself into. Sorry… distracted. Yes, now where were we? I was gliding forward. There wasn’t much to see. The Crags rose up around me, stunted trees and shrubs breaking up the monote… moton… monoty… monotony (not a word to Limerick) of the gray and red rocks. The Crags were a series of low mountains and cliffs that crept off the north eastern side of Shattered Hoof Ridge for dozens of miles. Pendulum had this pegged as the best possible route toward Manehattan. Too far to the east and we’d run up against those slaver scum and the largest herds of the ghoul migration. Too far to the west and we’d hit even more zombies, the ‘surviving’ prisoners of an old Ministry of Morale work camp and the growing group of raiders and bandits that was forming to force the ghouls out of the area so that they could take over the facility for themselves. So, we traveled almost due north, through The Crags.

The three of us… and Bessy, our mindlessly blank and utterly vacant but rather stalwart pack animal, had left the town of New Appleloosa five days ago, on the 23rd of Leaffall as Pendulum later told me. Knowing helped with my journal writing. The first day we’d followed the north road, weaving in between the remains of long abandoned sky chariots and doing our best not to step on the bones of the thousands of ponies, scattered like old white birch branches amidst the dust, that littered the lanes and wayside. That night we’d stopped a little ways off the road on a spur of the western border of what Limerick called ‘Hell-seethe Swamp’ and near (though not close enough to see) the ruins of the towns of Coltington and Mareboro. I snorted when I heard them. Apparently, even before the war, ponies couldn’t name anything for shit. Also, my quick detour early in the afternoon to search for my missing pack of cigarettes on the hillside where I’d woken up proved fruitless… and Pendulum thought I was a little mad. Limerick just said I was wasting time… and that I was a bitch.

The second day we’d gotten back onto the road and reached the Hoof Springs Bridge, or, what was left of it leastways. It had originally, according to Pendulum, been a small wooden bridge before Equestria industrialized, but had been rebuilt into an impressive structure during the interim between the beginning of rising tensions with the Caesar and the outbreak of the war proper. Now it was gargantuan slabs of stone and metal, twisted and burned, collapsed onto the river (which was mostly dry this time of year) except for what was left of an arch on the south side of the water. We spent the night under that arch, wary of any aquatic creatures venturing toward our camp. Apparently bloatsprites, radhogs and radigators could be found in or near the muddy river. Though, I was highly doubtful of anything reptilian or insect like being around at this time of year, with winter and all coming on. At least the morning view was quite nice, the distant forms of the cliffs and mountains that comprised Shattered Hoof lay in the northern distance, waiting, beckoning.

We’d continued our general northward journey for the next two days, reaching the end of The Scrub as both my companions called it and entering The Crags early on the fourth day. At first we had been making good time, fifty nine miles in those first four days (most of that before reaching The Crags) but things had slowed as we ascended and worked our way onto the path we were currently traveling along. Today we would be lucky to advance more than four miles. Travel was slow, the ground was treacherous and the feral ghouls were far too numerous for my liking. At least I was earning my keep… I guess… and taking some of Limerick’s money… asshole.

I banked right, following the trail from above, keeping it in view. I was spending far too much time in my own mind (definitely not a good thing, bad mind! Bad!), but the route ahead wasn’t too terrible. There was a steep drop to the left about a half mile from where Pendulum was now, two or three ghouls wandering the path aimlessly. They shouldn’t be too hard to deal with, especially after I was assured (repeatedly and vehemently) that being bitten by a zombie pony would not turn me into one. It had required quite a lot of convincing from Pendulum on that front, quite a lot indeed. Limerick had just snorted and called me a bitch again. I was beginning to sense a pattern developing there.

I rose higher, letting the wind carry me upward. If it weren’t for the strong and steady breeze this would have been a much more difficult scouting excursion. You gotta cherish the small things, I guess. The visibility wasn’t too bad today either, even if it was colder than a changeling’s tit. The Crags leveled out a mile or so ahead of where the rest of my group was, and then they began to descend down toward level ground. That would be nice, walking down hill. After what looked like another ten miles or so the descent stopped, opening up onto The Flats as they were called on Pendulum’s map. Gee, these guys needed better imaginations for naming things but I would wait to get out a pencil… or crayon (more fitting for my mental acuity) and use it to cross out the uninspired names on the map and write new and better ones.

There was a river on The Flats, large, more impressive than the one we traversed on the third day. We would have to cross it, but beyond that… an old rail line if I was any judge. Excellent, another couple of days and we’d reach the junction for the meet. Feathers crossed there would be whiskey… and ammo… and bucks… in that order. I was running low on rounds for my hunting rifle and pistol in addition to the shotgun.

Some headwinds buffeted me and I fought to stabilize myself. Trying to measure the distances ahead using landmarks and what I knew of Pendulum’s map took a few moments and it seemed the paper was fairly accurate distance wise. With a good picture in my head I let the new wind turn me back southward and I began the return glide toward my companions, on the lookout for dangers and, just as importantly, a safe place to spend the night.

My mind wandered on the return journey, as it was wont to do. I thought of two foals somewhere out in the world… without their mother. My foals, a hoof clutched at my chest where my only picture of them lay within my armor. I couldn’t remember them, but I would find them, my good deed amongst some far less reputable no doubt. I thought about the Mysterious Stallion’s message (cryptic, weird and annoying… just like him). Neither of my companions knew the answer to his question. Though, to be frank, I really didn’t expect Limerick to know. That buck could barely tell his ass from his face on most days and as of yet I myself found very little difference between the two in his case.

“What happens when a librarian and student of magic, a party planning pastry chef, a burgeoning fashionista desirous of high society, a competitive but lazy athlete, an introverted animal caregiver and a farm running family pony become friends?” I asked the wind. My first inclination was to imagine a filly foolin’ orgy… and I didn’t often get far beyond that. What? It was a rather distracting (and enjoyable) thought. Thankfully nopony could see me at the moment. I was sure I had a stupid grin plastered on my face. Filly fooling of course made me reminisce about Candi, my nubile nurse in New Appleloosa… which made me think of Mistletoe the ornery old unicorn doctor who had treated me. Well there was a cold bucket of water and a pleasure destroying kick to the loins that dissolved all fun thoughts. Oh, and, the wind didn’t answer by the way. Just incase you were wondering. I know I wasn’t and had totally forgotten about it. Cough.

Was any of this really important? No, probably not. At least, I would have doubted so at the time. It does give some context though as to why I almost glided right into a massive spire of stone. I rolled left at the very last second, wings perpendicular to the ground, my hooves skidding along the sheer side of the rock face before shoving off. The kick gave me a little distance and speed. It also reminded me to pay attention to my surroundings. Give it five minutes and I would unlearn that lessen, bet you five caps. Lastly, it was what let me smell smoke. Hooray for attention paying!

I cut back, circling, spiraling round this abburrrr… rance… errand… aberrance, letting myself lose some altitude. It was only now, with the changing of the wind, that I could see, and (as previously indicated) smell, the aftermath of a fire… and carnage. Below me, near what looked to be the perfect place to set up camp for the night… were bodies. Ponies. I was still too high up to make out any specific details but this looked not good… bad. I took note of what I could and, using an updraft rising from the canyon of the path beneath me, flipped, turning as I did so. Deciding that speed would be good right about now, I angled downward, hoping that I’d still have enough height to continue my glide most of the way back to my littlest of caravans.

I made it most of the way back (I blamed the heavy, hopefully dead explosive collar around my neck for dragging me down), making landfall about two or three hundred yards ahead of where Limerick sat, chewing on slightly irradiated tobacco. I could have tried to get back in the air but my wings would have none of it. Even the little work they had done was too much. I would be sore and stiff for quite a while after this excursion. My legs however, were fine. With protesting wings folded up against my armor I made a fast canter back to my companions, narrowly dodging the large brown glob of spit that Limerick (with dangerous and uncanny accuracy) sent my way.

“Bitch is in a hurry.” The earther spoke from his perch to both me and Pendulum, watching the environment around us as he did so.

“No, you’re sitting still.” I replied as I passed him by. The unicorn, who’d long since finished the rest of my cigarette, was holding a feedbag of withered grass to one of Bessy’s heads. My pet turtle… thing… was sitting on the other head, looking around with what appeared to be boredom or general disinterest. Was there really that much of a difference?

I had found the little beast in the wastes. I’d been out, returning to the hillside where, a few weeks beforehand, I had awoken with no memory and some pretty serious injuries. It was the same night I’d signed on with this outfit, come to think. The tortoise… like… animal… was a motley display of desert colors, possessed two heads, a large appetite and absolutely no intelligence to speak of. Hehe… just like me… wait… I mean Limerick. Uh… Forget I just internally made an idiot of myself. I was glad the creature liked riding on the Brahmin as much as it liked riding on me. It had several times, despite previous dire warnings from myself, pooped on me. I really was not into that sort of thing and trying to clean myself (as Pendulum refused to use his cleaning spell on me for what he considered my own fault… much to Limerick’s amusement) was an arduous task. I was considering naming the reptile Slow Poke, though ‘little shelled shit machine’ was rather apt as well. He… it… was prone to pooping on Bessy as well. The only thing different between her and me though was that the big cow didn’t seem to notice when it happened. Which, after some contemplation, I believed was probably a good thing. Uh… also, please note, do not consider this an invitation to compare me to a brainless two headed cow.

“Pleasant trip, I trust?” Pendulum asked, looking up from his task and using his magic to put a water bag in front of the beast’s face in place of the food bag. The tortoise turned its heads toward me and squeaked expectantly. The little bugger thought I was going to feed it no doubt. The cow, meanwhile, looked at the bag, sniffed it, nudged it with her nose then farted and started licking her other head. And ponies thought I was weird. The unicorn studied me for a moment, seeing the worry that must have been plain upon my features. “Problems?”

“Trouble.” I answered, lighting a cigarette. “On the road ahead.” He nodded, drawing both of his pistols, then magically pulled back the slides to make sure each had a round chambered.

I stalked the upper trail, nothing more than a goat path, barely wide enough for me to traverse. I wondered if any goats still living had two heads, like Bessy or my turtle. My hooves fell slowly, quietly, and my body was tensed, ready to move with sudden action to commit violence, nail and wire studded baseball bat clutched tight in my wings, at the ready. Below me, on the broader path, Limerick led the way. He’d hooked his mini-gun (sexy as hell, in case you’d forgotten… I know I hadn’t) up to his battle saddle but the activation bit was down, making it easier for him to carry his giant ass sword in his mouth. I considered making jokes about him swallowing swords and how he must have had practice but the whole ‘we must be very, very quiet’ thing prevented me. Oh, how I wanted to though, and it was hard as heck to ignore my instincts to insult the buck… especially when some slobber leaked from the corners of his mouth. It sure made me glad that I had wings with which to grasp my weapons. Also, I really needed a fucking battle saddle. The idea of fire superiority from close air support made a girl all giddy.

Pendulum followed Limerick, not too closely though, Bessy was held in the glow of his magic, made lighter so that she was a more stealthy Brahmin, her mouths belted shut. The magic also held all the gear she was carrying, preventing it from moving around and making noise that would give us away. Pendulum’s matching pistols swiveled back and forth, covering the path behind us in case somepony… or something with violent intentions, had found a way to double back from the place of the attack and rejoin the path on our sixes. Wait… sixes? Hmm… my mind surprised me with its interesting word choice. Also, Limerick may have been a six but my backside was definitely more like a nine… nine and a half on a good day. Sorry, distracted. If I could find a way to separate my brain from my body and kick its ass… that really wouldn’t work… or make sense. Damn it.

The path was filled with gravel covered and mostly hidden stones that looked unpleasantly sharp. Little shrubs and weeds, tangled and withered, sprouted up from the few patches of clay like soil. Seeing them made me hungry but I wasn’t stupid enough... or desperate enough to try and eat them. I would get my lunch after we figured out what had happened on the path ahead. I breathed through my nose, silently, nostrils flaring… regretting the cigarettes I’d just smoked.

Crash! I wasn’t paying attention and tripped, falling muzzle first onto the gravel. OW! OUCH! Mother fuck… mother fuck. Ow, ow, ow. I wanted to cry, eyes tearing up. My companions stopped and were looking up at me, trying to figure out what was going on. I… bit my tongue. Oh boy did that hurt. Not going to say anything (embarrassment) and not going to cry (give away our position). I got back up, grumbling, and put a wing to my mouth, rocking back and forth just a little, trying not to think of the pain.

“Sowy.” I whispered down to my companions. I realized too late that my word was all fucked up from the damage to my tongue. I stopped, rigid, color rising in my cheeks. Then I decided I would just ignore their reactions and continue moving. Fuck… this stealth shit was hard… and my lack of coordination was hella’ shameful.

The massacre had occurred at a sharp right turn where the path widened slightly. There was an overhang above that gave some shelter against the elements, explaining why ponies would camp there. Just beforehand there’d been a dog leg in the path. And no, before you ask, that I could remember, I’d only seen a single dog… thing… a three legged beast of questionable odor that slunk around New Appleloosa. I moved forward like a stalking beast, hunting prey… so, slightly less bad ass than a middle aged house mare going after a young buck… or some such nonsense.

I pulled the shotgun from its scabbard with the barest scraping hiss. Okay, ready? Ready. I slid down the least steep patch of rock and earth that I could find, making very little noise except for a single brief whistle. I landed and threw myself to the side as Limerick leapt out from behind the corner, bit in his mouth, mini-gun whirring, ready to fire. I rolled and came back up, scanning the immediate area with my shotgun. Checking… checking… checking… I advanced, skirting the bodies, carefully looking behind anything that an attacker might use as cover. I checked off likely ambush points and switched the shotgun between wings to make sure my weapon was the first thing an enemy would see… not me. There was nothing.

A risen hoof on my part signaled Limerick to stop. He nodded and trained his heavy firepower upward, covering the heights above us. I trotted forward, hugging the side of the path, moving from cover to cover… nothing. I moved forward about a hundred yards. There was evidence of a fight but little else. I kicked a rock down the path ahead, swinging the shotgun back and forth. There was no reply. No shots, no yells, no action. There was only the wind, bearing the stench of smoke and death.

“Clear!” I yelled back, holstering the shotgun and drawing my bat. My voice echoed down the path.

“Clear!” Limerick’s scratchy baritone rang out.

“Clear!” Pendulum’s higher softer voice answered.

I scanned the ground for tracks and by the time I reached the bend where Limerick was waiting, Pendulum had caught up with Bessy. He released the Brahmin from his magic, sweating, stooped over, and breathing heavily. It was, according to him, hard work to significantly lighten the beast for any length of time. I was inclined to believe him. Bessy was a fat cow… literally.

I counted four bodies… and two piles of ash that might have once been bodies, near the smoldering remains of a campfire. Three ponies (two bucks and a mare) and one… wait a minute. I moved forward. Griffin… hot as hell… on his side, shell casings for a machine pistol… heavy double bladed axe. What the fuck?

“Pendulum.” I called out quietly. The unicorn tied Bessy to a small rock outcropping and made his way over to me.

“What is it?” He asked, his voice low. I pointed with a wing and my employer took in a breath with a hiss of recognition. I had seen the griffin before… and the other ponies as well. We’d found one of the other two caravans that had been in the bar with us the night before we left… and it made no sense whatsoever. “Lim.” Pendulum called to the earther. “What are you seeing?”

“Three more dead.” The other buck answered. “Set of twins and a mean looking bitch with a sawed off.” Limerick approached. “It’s Clam’s group.” He said solemnly, sparing a glance for the griffin.

“So I surmised.” Pendulum replied softly. The three of us continued our search of the area. The two ash piles indeed seemed to be the remains. And that was interesting to me because there had only been five in the caravan. Who was the sixth death? Pendulum assured me that their two Brahmin would have made larger dust piles and from the tracks that Limerick and I found, it appeared the creatures had been led off. Only, those hoof prints disappeared after about twenty yards. Fucking creepy if you ask me. Spent shells and casings littered the area along with scorch marks from energy weapons and possibly explosives. I freaked Pendulum and Limerick out a little when I deduced the vantage points from which the ambush must have taken place. Not sure how I knew, I just did. It seemed obvious to me. They found it really weird though and Limerick kept giving me wary glances afterward. Sadly, there was no evidence left of who might have committed the atrocity but for a few hoof prints, a single spent carbine round mostly hidden under a slice of shale and a few cigarette butts with a gold band at the filter.

The weirdest thing was that Clam’s caravan wasn’t supposed to leave New Appleloosa, by Pendulum’s reckoning, until three days after our departure. How did they get ahead of us? When did they leave? Why were they attacked? We had no fucking clue. The only thing that Pendulum or Limerick could guess at was that the caravan had left around the same time we did and had taken the straight trail through Shattered Hoof, avoiding or bribing any raiders along the way and using the griffin to deal with any ghouls in their path and then taken one of the smaller routes from there into The Crags. But all we had were guesses.

Our inspection took some time, the faint light of the cloud hidden sun dying as it swept down toward the west. We would spend the night here, according to Pendulum. Heavy storms were closing in from the north and this was the best shelter for a mile in any direction. Also, he didn’t like the idea of heading back or of moving forward in the darkness.

There was a combination of small caliber entry wounds on the two buttery creamy colored twins (or maybe buckshot impacts) and a hole from a large caliber weapon through the trading mare’s (who’d gone by the name of Clamshell, according to Limerick) head. Not pleasant… but professional, very well done. This was not the work of amateurs.

So, with night approaching, we began setting aside what useable material we could find. It was only when I rolled the poor incredibly attractive griffin away from the shelter of the overhang that I figured out he wasn’t dead. There was a retching cough and the creature spat blood… all over my face.

“Cocksucker’s alive… and a spitter.” Limerick remarked, coming closer.

“Ewww… somebody get me a towel.” I whined, eyes closed, trying not to get any blood in my mouth. Pendulum gave me one from one of the bags on Bessy (and I knew that it would come out of my pay without him having to say anything).

The griffin was wounded, badly. He had several gunshot wounds that had pierced his armor, including a massively damaging shot that he’d taken to the chest and numerous grazing wounds on his limbs. There was blast damage and cauterized burns… energy weapons for sure. To say he was in bad shape was about the same kind of understatement as me saying I often tended to drift on the current of random ass thoughts that flowed through my head.

Limerick was all for leaving the feathered beast to his fate. Pendulum was worried about using resources, the cost of helping him. I didn’t care. He was alive and I would treat him. For the second time in little more than an hour my two companions were weirded out by my decent skills at patching up the bird. Well, when you qualify as a combat life saver you… what? A sharp pain didn’t so much drill into my skull as bore right through it. What the fuck was that? I had no idea.

It took all of my medical supplies and I had to buy some off of the unicorn before I was satisfied that the griffin wouldn’t immediately, suddenly or randomly die. Pendulum watched me across the smallest of fires, listening to the rain and thunder that carried through the storm above us.

“You cannot carry him.” He said, faintly audible above the storm. Limerick was ignoring us, back turned, blanket over his shoulders, at the edge of the fire’s light. He’d lost a bit flip to me and taken first watch. Sucker.

“No.” I answered, looking my employer in the eyes. “Which is why I’m taking part of Bessy’s load. She’ll carry him.” Pendulum continued to study me.

“Any negative impact to our caravan will be deducted from your pay.” He told me flatly. I figured as much. But, for some reason… I just couldn’t leave someone to die like that. Ponies… griffins… two headed turtles… deserved better. And, what did it say about me if I was unwilling to help. It wasn’t right… wasn’t… just? I didn’t know. All I did know was that I was doing the right thing, and that mattered to me.

“Do you think I care about losing pay if it’ll save his life?” I asked the buck. He stared at me, firelight reflected in his eyes.

“You are a very unusual mare.” He answered and settled down to sleep, pulling a blanket over his body. “Good night, Lim, Wild.” The earther grunted and I nodded to Pendulum.

“Stupid bitch is more like it.” Limerick commented after a minute, just loud enough for me to hear. I gritted my teeth. I shook my head and made sure my blanket was covering most of my patient. He was sweating, mumbling, shaking. But, there didn’t seem to be much else that I could do. I settled down next to the griffin, trying to share body heat but shivering all the same.

“Wake me if his condition changes.” I told Limerick with a yawn, kicking a rock away from my barrel.

“Why the fuck should I?” He asked. Good question.

“Because if you don’t I’ll geld you during my watch.” I told him in all seriousness.

“Fine.” He replied… stubborn, unpleasant, clearly not a fan of this new development. I smiled and tried to think of baking cookies with foals and sitting around a fireplace telling stories for a perfect Hearth’s Warming Eve.

My dreams were more nightmares… a line of dead ponies with holes in the backs of their heads. Foals screamed at me for having abandoned them. I tossed and turned, breathing heavily. I couldn’t escape. Haunted. Bombs… explosions… bring your foal to work day… a storm on the plains… a mare resigning herself to her fate… execution… too late… a darkness gaping before me, a maw of night swallowing me whole… and ponies wondered why I drank. Alcohol made the night still, made my dreams my own or destroyed them all together. A field of graves surrounded me… continuing in all directions to the horizon. Blood everywhere. What had I done? A gun to my head. “There’s only one way to make sure.” A familiar voice. BANG!

I awoke in a cold sweat with Limerick over me, looking decidedly unconcerned.

“What is it?” I croaked. My mouth and throat were dry. “Is something wrong?” Oh, no. It was the griffin. He was dead. We were surrounded, about to be ambushed.

“Your watch.” He said gruffly and walked over me to where he’d be sleeping. I shook the sleep from my eyes and sat up. A cursory hoof ensured that the griffin was still breathing, thank the dead goddesses. My breathing slowed and I lit a cigarette off of the low burning fire. Pendulum had insisted during the day that we gather any dry wood along the trail. It turned out he was one smart little cookie with this whole storm and rain bullshit.

“Anything?” I asked, yawning and stretching as I stood.

“Just this.” My companion replied. He lifted one hind leg and gave an impressive fart. It sounded like somepony was playing a violin with sandpaper. I sighed… then the stench of eggs and the chili that Limerick enjoyed eating wafted over me and I gagged. Whew, boy, that was one hell of a stench.

“Night.” I said, finding a half full cup of cold coffee where I’d left it near the flames.

“Night.” Limerick replied perfunctorily and farted again. I moved further away, to the edge of the protection offered by the overhang above us. Occasional lightning tore the sky and cast an eerie but evanescent glow across the features of the world around us. The thunder sounded dully and a mist of rain swept over me. At least it wasn’t falling on me though.

I sat there and smoked, imagining terrors in the dark, but nothing tangible arose from my imagination to cause us harm. Limerick’s snores rolled like lesser versions of the thunder. I smacked my neck with my wings and held myself with my forehooves, shivering. It was a cold fucking night. I sat there, every once and a while shifting my position, taking a sip of coffee, lighting a cigarette, patrolling a few feet in either direction. It was the usual stuff you’d expect to do when on night watch in a miserable place when what you really wanted was sleep. Of course, sleep was no comfort to me.

There was a mumble from behind me, so faint I almost missed it. I looked over my shoulder and waited. There it was again. I turned around and tilted my head. The noise was coming from the griffin. I moved closer, putting my ear above his beak, feeling his faint shallow breaths against my neck.

“Dragon’s Teeth.” The griffin spoke in his sleep. Dragon’s teeth? What the hell did that have to do with anything? He was about to say something else when a mighty snore from Limerick drowned him out. Goddesses damn it. I waited but the griffin made no more noises. Well, that was really inconvenient. I may have kicked Limerick to get him to stop snoring but even if I did he didn’t wake up so it was all good.

I moved back to my spot where the mist hit me and sat down. I picked up my cup and was about to drink when I noticed that I was out of coffee. Shit. It was about that time that the earth pony buck started snoring again, like a saw working on lumber. I put my head in my hooves. I just couldn’t catch a break could I?

The storm began to abate as I lit another cigarette, the heaviest black clouds, burdened with the weight of water, moved southward, toward the direction from which we’d come. It had been a long night but there was a very dim light from the east. The sun, I hoped. A long night… and a really long day ahead. I sat back, smoking, thinking of the riddles that plagued me and the new one that had just been added to it; dragon’s teeth. I may have dozed a little but never fully fell asleep. I just sat there… thinking… and waiting for the dawn.

Coming Soon… Chapter 2: Tracks

Author's Note

Whew, darn being busy all the time and what not. Special thanks to my new editor, Janekfan. Hope everybody enjoys the new chapter. The quote is pretty easy to guess. ALD stands for After Last Day.