Distant Shores

It had been three days since making landfall. Three days, and the companions were becoming familiar with one another. Springer and Calliope were sometimes familiar several times a day.

Xanthippe actually felt a small pang of envy, wishing that, perhaps, Dimple would become a bit more familiar with her. The idea both titillated and frightened her. All Dimple seemed to want from her is a back scratching and the night before he had used her as a pillow before taking his turn to stand watch. She had been terrified when she felt him lay down beside her, his broad body brushing up against hers, his weight pressing down on her briefly as he slide down her side, and then feeling his broad jaw resting on her back.

They were traveling now through a forest full of pines and juniper, pine needles all over the forest floor, and little shafts of sunlight poking down from the trees. They hadn’t encountered sentient life yet. Springer was keeping track of all the new animals and birds that he had never seen before.

Their bellies growled, there was precious little grass on the forest floor. They were traveling slightly uphill, ahead of them above the treeline some mountains and hills were visible. They moved at a brisk pace, looking for a place to set up camp for the evening, hopefully a place with water and food.

Calliope took off at a brisk trot, the others hurrying to keep up. They were learning to trust Calliope’s senses. She ran, her wings flapping steadily, her tongue hanging out in a pant. They followed her up a steep ridge, over a jagged crest of rocks, through a thicket, down into a ravine, and then up the other side.

And Calliope showed no signs of slowing.

Eventually, they came to another broad stone cliff face, with a crack down the middle of the rock, the crack leading into a secluded hidden place, the scent of water strong in their noses. The cave was small, but it would shelter them and it had water in the back, a natural spring forming a small pool.

There wasn’t much in the way of food present though.

“Buggery,” Springer cursed.

Calliope perked up, her face hopeful.

“You hear all about these stories with adventurers and mercenaries out having adventures but you never hear about them starving,” Dimple muttered.

“You could try eating the zebra,” Springer suggested, causing Xanthippe to blush fiercely, turning pink all over her body in between her black stripes. Xanthippe worked very hard to stifle her giggles, she didn’t want the perverted unicorn knowing that he had said something that had broken her composure.

Dimple stood and shrugged.

“Trust me DImple, there are parts on a filly they don’t mind having nibbled,” said Springer slyly, raising an eyebrow in a well practiced gesture.

Calliope nodded enthusiastically, her tail swishing in a jerky fashion. She let out a loud shrill whistle followed by a series of clicks, pops, and a warble.

Dimple, if he felt anything at all by this shameless display, didn’t show it. He stood there, resolute. “I am better than the common minotaur,” he announced.

Springer looked at his friend strangely, trying to figure out a new complexity to be found within Dimple. Dimple was full of surprises. A murderous streak a mile wide, the heart of a romantic, and now, the newfound ability to spout cryptic moral platitudes while he stood starving.

“I am going to go off and collect firewood. We’ll camp here for the night. Settle in,” suggested Springer as he set off into the surrounding woods to find wood to burn.

“So, tell me your story.”

Xanthippe nearly jumped out of her skin, Dimple’s sudden words startling her quite badly. She had been keeping watch, standing near the fire, occasionally pacing around to keep herself awake and alert.

“Story?” asked Xanthippe.

“Well, you ended up a slave somehow, right?” inquired Dimple, studying the Zebra in the firelight, his features stony yet thoughtful.

“The story is simple and would probably be rather boring to you,” Xanthippe answered, sitting down upon her haunches and studying Dimple as he looked at her.

“Well, do go on, if I didn’t want to know, I wouldn’t have asked, so tell me a story,” said Dimple, reaching up behind his ear with a hindhoof and giving a scratch.

“This is all going to sound terribly cliche,” protested Xanthippe.

“Do I ask you for very much or treat you poorly?” asked Dimple.

“Well, no, you don’t, you’ve been surprisingly kind to me,” answered Xanthippe.

“And yet you balk at a simple story,” Dimple accused. “Of all the things I could be asking for, or simply just taking from you, the story is the one thing you deny,” added Dimple.

Xanthippe felt a searing hot blush of heat go coursing through her body. She couldn’t tell if it was anger, frustration, or perhaps lust. There had been a little bit of that lately. She felt deeply conflicted about being Dimple’s property. On one hoof, he had saved her and had asked for very little in return, on the other hoof, she was still property and he occasionally reminded her of that. It was infuriating. And humbling. And within the deepest parts of her mind, a bit of a turn on. Not that she would ever admit to that though.

Xanthippe’s golden yellow eyes glittered in the firelight as her skin burned, and it wasn’t from being to close to the fire. She stared at the grey shaggy pony who had just reminded her that he owned her, and all of the implications that went with that.

And there was no way to run either. She was in a strange land, full of who knows what kind of zebra eating monsters. Running would be foolish. Keeping Dimple happy was simple. Dimple kept her safe and really did ask for very little in return. Xanthippe sighed and prepared to tell a story.

“My father is the chief of a large tribe of zebras who live on the edges of the Sea of Grass, we live among the bottlewood trees and the gourd trees. Several days walk from our tribal lands in the direction of the west is the endless waters. To the north lies griffons, to the south lies more zebras, and to the east lies dragons. I was educated and spent my entire life being prepared to marry a chief of a tribe of zebras far to the south. When the day came to leave home, I was placed on a boat along with a contingent of my father’s most trusted guards, and we departed, heading south, traveling along the coastline,” explained Xanthippe, telling her tale.

Dimple’s stomach rumbled loudly, which he ignored, as there was nothing to eat to make it be quiet. His blue eyes reflected the firelight, leaving behind orange flashes on his irises.

“The boat was seized, many of my father’s guard were taken captive or simply killed, and I was taken. We sailed around the coastline, into strange lands I knew nothing about, I was kept caged and under constant guard by my new captors, left unmolested, which I am most grateful for, and eventually we ended up in the marketplace where you found me. I was supposed to be part of an exotic slave action or something like that,” finished Xanthippe.

“So you are educated? You can read and write and all of that?” asked Dimple.

“Yes,” said Xanthippe, her answer simple and direct.

“Would you like to go home?” inquired Dimple, his voice soft in the warm glow of the fire.

“Of course I would!” Xanthippe snapped. “I miss my family terribly. My father would probably send me away to the zebra I was supposed to marry again though,” cried Xanthippe, fresh tears now visible in the firelight.

“Look after my very simple needs and I will try to get you home, situation permitting,” promised Dimple. “Might take some convincing for Springer to see reason, but Springer does listen to me when I have something important to say,” Dimple added.

“You would do that for me? Why? I mean, you own me now, correct?” ask Xanthippe, confused and bewildered, her tears still dribbling from her muzzle.

“Seems you were never mine to own. There are others still connected to you,” said Dimple, staring down at his single front forehoof.

“I don’t understand,” replied Xanthippe.

“It would be much easier owning an orphan,” answered Dimple.

“What a horrible thing to say!” exclaimed Xanthippe, now feeling very angry and glaring at Dimple, who seemed unconcerned about about her anger.

“Not really, no,” retorted Dimple. “Orphans have no ties to anything. Nothing is invested in them. Nothing is connected to them. They simply are. As I was. Nothing shed tears for me as life seized me and carried me away to my fate. Nopony cried for me as I was bought and sold, traded, brokered, and passed around as property. Not one tear was shed as my front leg was branded with a white hot poker, right up in the front, right were everything and everybody could see it as they looked upon my face, letting them know that I was a slave. I am glad I lost that leg. Small price to pay. Somepony, well, zebra, still cries for you, so it is best I return you home,” explained Dimple.

“You, you, you… you don’t make any sense at all!” Xanthippe said in a loud confused whisper, her anger melting away, replaced by a sense of befuddlement. She rose up on her hooves, stomped over to Dimple, and kissed him on his head between his ears.

“What was that for?” asked Dimple.

“I didn’t know what else to do,” confessed Xanthippe, sitting back down near Dimple.

“And you say I don’t make any sense,” grumbled Dimple, now staring into the firelight and trying to ignore the over emotional zebra.

Several more days into the wilderness, they found a wild orchard full of apple trees and walnut trees, which the starving ponies were most grateful for. They had set up camp in the orchard, which sat on the edge of a shallow brook full of grey and purple rocks.

Calliope had been finding food during their long walk, rabbits, small animals, the occasional fish from rivers and streams. She was gaining weight rapidly and her wing flapping was no getting her off the ground. She was also becoming far more aggressive. Protective. Not only of Springer, but of Dimple and Xanthippe as well.

After eating, a thorough exploration of the orchard revealed a crumbled dwelling made of sod, now fallen in on itself and empty. Whomever had lived here had moved on.

Springer was getting worried, they hadn’t seen anything or anybody, hadn’t seen pegasi flying overhead, there was no signs of sentient life anywhere.

Dimple seemed completely unconcerned.

The decision was made to stay in the orchard for a few days, eating as much food as possible, and searching the surrounding area. Springer reasoned that if there had been farmers living here, there had to be someplace for them to sell their goods somewhere nearby.

It was a line of reasoning that Xanthippe had agreed seemed sound.