The leaves of late fall crunch under my hooves as I stride through the surreptitious forest. The sky was melancholy gray and the leaves on the ground were shriveled and dead. I look down at the ground as I trot, as to not catch a glimpse of something I wish not to witness, such as whether or not these trees were actually looking at me or not.
A twig snaps off in another direction. I pause, lift my head up wearily, and peer over in the direction of the noise. Nothing. Not a silhouette, no breeze of movement, not even a leaf upturned. I change my gaze back to the haunted earth in front of my hooves, and keep scurrying deeper into the forest.
After quite a while of this undirected “adventuring”, I come across something uncharacteristic of the forest floor. Hoof prints, nay, claw prints embedded into crushed leaves and upturned earth. A spark of hope strikes me as I realize I am not far off my target. I turn in the direction of the prints and follow the trail. The trail leads me over fallen trees, through thick moss, and across the slippery stones of a stream with blackened water.
After a few thickets of lichen and shrubs, I come to find a familiar purple scaled body facing the direction opposite from me in a small clearing untouched by the long vines and dark leaves of the plants on the edges of the clearing. His ears perk up when he hears me behind him.
“Spike, this is unreasonable! Even if you find them why should they remember you, or hell I’ll say it, even care about you?” I regret the words before I even comprehended I had said them.
Spike turns around, his arms shaking, his claws in fists, his tail dragging on the ground. He’s biting his lip, a sure sign he’s holding something back, and tears dispensed from his eyes and slowly slid down his rough cheeks like drops of wax.
“Because I have hope Twilight! I know you need someone to reshelf the books, sweep the floor, or even make you dinner; but I’m sick of being your fucking hoof stool! I’m leaving to find my actual family and there is nothing you can do about it. I hope your owl gets his wings clipped and that you find yourself in a bunch of permanent poison joke so you can see how useless I feel on reshelving day!” He snatches up his traveling sack and runs in the opposite direction from me, waving his middle digit as his disappears from view into the foliage.
I stand there, dumbfounded. I sit back on my haunches and stare off to where he disappeared to. Why hasn’t he told me before?
Once I regain myself, I stand back up and sprint in the same direction he fled.
“Spike!” I call, desperately trying to get my friend to return to me as I cut through the foliage, “Spike I’m sorry!”
The second those words left my lips I escape the dense foliage and my hooves met with a rocky ground instead of soft earth. I halt the moment I feel this beneath me, but it’s too late. My momentum carries me the rest of the way needed to send me airborne off the sheer cliff face.
The wind resistance slows my decent only a slight bit, for the force of gravity is far greater than it. The beautiful view of the dense forest, gray sky, and eerie fog flash by my eyes as I plummet down to the hard earth below. I try to extend my wings and only get the response of feathers unfurling, but no joints extending.
The ground flies towards me at speeds I did not know of. So, this is the end. But I’m not at peace! This is unfair! I must settle things with spike!
I hit the ground and all I see is black.
