My Little Game Of Saddles

A glacial wind besieged the wintery planes of the Everfree Lands that lay beyond the boundaries of Equesteros, shrugging off countless layers of pale sheets that blanketed the region like a restless child. The ensuing tempest unleashed a violent stream of wintery sands upon them, with each and every grain swept within the gale hurtling towards the horizon of a looming sunset. All remnants of life that had somehow flourished in this bitter wasteland now seemed to wither away, finally accepting that their mere existence was a war they simply couldn’t win.

The celestial flame, once a proud and majestic wonder, began to flicker in fear of the impending force that threatened to erase it from the sky’s eternal canvass. Countless strokes of accusing red seeping from the heavens snuffed out the sun’s influence, the bold crimson river avenging every drop of innocent blood spilt under its supervision. A testimony of the gods, condemning the sun for its negligence. With Celestia’s precious gift exiled from its rightful seat at the peak of the world, murky depths of covetous black engulfed the land. The silent shadows removing any remains of light to mask the atrocities that the cloak of night inspires. As darkness prevailed, flexing its all-encompassing grasp by inflicting invasive chills upon the dwelling populace without any fear of retaliation, the only fire that stirred away the darkness within everypony was hope. Hope to withstand the tyranny of the night just long enough to witness the coming dawn.

That is, if it was ever to return.

The storm lingered on, and Riff Raff could feel the bitter frost piercing through his tattered rags and furs. Frosty fingers fondled at his gaunt remains, leaving what little flesh still lingered on his bones susceptible to winter’s icy embrace. Whilst the decrepit black cloak that grasped at the young colt's neck began to flap erratically at the request of the violent breeze, Riff Raff’s mane and tail of pale caramel promptly followed suit. Dark grey clouds had swarmed across the heavens, blotting out the seeking stars that had watched over them with caution and provided assurance during their long, tiresome journey. All whilst a downpour of pearl white teardrops persisted in their relentless conquest. Now wasn’t the time to be lost.

“Brothers!” he called, competing against the will of the elements to place one hoof in front of the other to reach his fellow brothers in black. The muffled crunch of Riff’s own hooves against several inches of winter’s soil was the only response he could arouse. That, and the constant wails of wind that insisted of pushing him towards the reach of the towering trees before him. Arms of scrawny oak lunged at Riff with the lively sway of a drunken stallion, whilst their bare, brittle fingers longing for the comfort their leaves had once provided long ago grasped at ghosts that only they could see. A thousand branches waved vigorously at the command of the breeze, urging Riff to swallow what little pride he harboured and flee back to where he belonged; back to the sanctuary of the Stall, where the gods permit his presence.

Caked with layers of frost and snow, the slits of Riff’s eyelids refused to open. Even when he finally managed to crack them open the resulting shards of ice that ventured into his newly-liberated vision rendered the lone ranger blind once more. “W-w- here are you? P-p-please, d-don’t leave me here!” Riff stuttered; fighting back tears of pain and isolation as the sound of his chattering teeth failed to console him.

Twenty-seven days they had been ranging beyond the Stall now; hot on the tails of a band of wildling scouts they’d been pursuing deep into the heart of the Everfree Forest. Or at least that’s what Riff Raff told himself; every time his belly began to bellow after days of neglect, or when his hooves trembled at the thought of taking another painful step, or when the faces of his fallen brothers returned to haunt him for every breath he stole from their lifeless corpses as they were left to rot under the ever growing piles of snow that concealed them from the world they once inhabited.

There had been five of them in the beginning, sworn brothers of the Nightmare Watch sent to investigate the suspicious movements of their everlasting rivals: the wildlings. All had been tested veterans of the harsh wintery lands that awaited them beyond the Stall, all except Riff of course. But now two lay dead in the snow, whilst the fates of his remaining brothers were as good as. And yet he still lived, alone to fulfil the duty of his fallen brothers. “I am the sword in the darkness,” uttered Riff, reciting the oath he swore not too long ago. “I am the shield that guards the realm and all of ponykind against its greatest adversary.” Ponies.

“There he is!” a gruff voice announced, faint yet distinguishable somewhere deep within the bowels of what was seemingly a desolate forest. A sudden surge of adrenaline flooded Riff’s body, thawing out his frozen bones faster than any hearth could do. The hairs of his coat stiffened with dread, his ears perked as the echoing roar sent chills down Riff Raff’s quivering spine. A blinding ray of orange light cleansed the forest of darkness, with only shadows of the trees surviving the onslaught. The beam was so bright that even Riff had to wince at a mere glance of it, shielding his sight with a shaking hoof. Despite his tainted vision, Riff could make out the rough outline of a tall, stubborn unicorn that this almost divine burst of light came from. And unfortunately for him, the stallion was charging aggressively towards him.

“Oh, shit.”

“Riff, move your bloody arse before I stick a branch up there and carry you off with it!” Savoury Crust had always been one for questionable imagery, especially from someone as highborn as himself. Although Riff was overcome with relief, the sudden realisation that icy urine was trickling down one of his hind legs had soured their touching reunion.

Snorting with repressed amusement, Savoury Crust dimmed the light projecting from his horn and trotted calmly towards his sheepish comrade, notably avoiding Riff Raff’s left side in the process. “Don’t tell me you thought I was one of those ghastly savages,” Riff’s cheeks began to glow like burning coals against his charcoal-coloured garb “but I suppose what my wet nurse used to say is true; ‘a colt’s bladder never lies!’”

Bowing his head in shame, with strands of his snow-infested mane lashing at his teary eyes, Riff Raff could only faintly make out the image of his superior’s presence slowly making his way back up the summit here had come from. “What’s wrong?” called Crust, once he noticed his fellow brother had begun to trail behind once again. “Are winter’s teats too chilly for you to suckle on, or did your balls just drop off somewhere in all this snow? Get a move on before she takes a liking to that shrivelled little cock of yours. Even ice queens aren’t accustomed to having somepony piss in their mouths you know? And once she’s done with you, I’m sure the Lord Commander will find it particularly strange when she finds a colt squatting like a filly next time his bladder gets a bit excited.” The fulsome smirk that intruded upon Savoury’s lips was the only incentive needed for Riff Raff to quicken his pace. After all, he’d need to be fairly close to knock every one of that slimy bastard’s teeth out.

With the feral winds growing ever restless with the colt’s presence, chipping away at him with their constant whispers that brushed against his fur like the icy lips of a heartless lover, Riff’s shock failed to resonate with his body as a familiar voice rang in his ear. “They’re hold up in a cave two leagues west from here,” grumbled the returning ranger as he fluttered his wings in an attempt to brush off all the accumulated frost.

“Two leagues? We would’ve walked straight past them, those slippery horseshits! Too bad for them a Crust doesn’t cut without the rest of the pie. You surely took you’re time though didn’t you, Snowdrift?”

With a glare colder than the surrounding ice, if it wasn’t for the black furs and scarf that clung to his milky-grey coat, Snowdrift would have appeared as nothing more than a lifeless stare of pale blue eyes. “I’d watch your tongue Crust; the cold doesn’t do much to sooth my temper.”

“That’s Ser Crust to you, pegasus.” snapped the pompous knight as he swished his vivid cerise locks to liberate them from the descending snowflakes. “You’d best remember you’re speaking to your superior. I’d fall in line unless you want a demonstration as to why I was knighted by the hooves of King Cast Iron himself.”

“Aye, so you say. But out here in the Everfree; a pony endures by doing what he must, not what he claims to be.”

Snowdrift was a veteran ranger of the Nightmare Watch. With a coat of pale slate that enabled him to stalk the land as little more than a ghost along with his famed flying skills, the stallion was a crucial asset against the Wildlings when weeding them out of hiding in the Everfree Forest. His blunt mannerisms along with his years of selfless dedication to the Watch’s cause had garnered great respect from his fellow brothers, and very few were willing to dispute his wisdom.

Savoury Crust on the other hoof seemed to have never understood the concept of modesty, as he nurtured his pretentious nature to such an extent even members of the Royal Family would appear humble in comparison. Crust hailed from one of the great herds that resided in Equestria, a fact he did little to conceal from his fellow Watchponies. What he failed to mention however, despite his high-born heritage, the line of succession for Herd Crust reserved no lands and titles for lower branches of the family such as Savoury. He may have possessed enough skill and valour to be anointed a knight of the realm, but a pony without place or purpose within the fold was perceived as a liability should a chance to shame the family name present itself.

Ultimately the true figureheads of the herd gave their second cousin Savoury a choice: ‘slip off’ a tall cliff during a family hunt, a most unfortunate end to one of their most cherished relatives. Or, a chance to serve Equesteros with a sense of duty and commitment to that would last for the remainder of his days, his accomplishments would be his, and his incompetence could only hinder the name of the Nightmare Watch, not the family’s.

The tension between the two stubborn stallions was as sharp as a blade. It took the nervous whinny of their young companion to cease their fruitless feud. “So the thief still draws breath then,” quipped Snowdrift, breaking the already fragile ice between them. “I suppose persistence is in your nature, eh lad?”

The brown colt had failed to shed his timid shell even after a year of training to become a ranger. True, it had taken considerably longer for him to learn the ropes than the ponies he had joined with, but like in his previous profession; patience breeds perfection.

“Although with being drenched in piss and all, I’m quite surprised one of those savages didn’t take him out while they had the chance. The scent was strong enough, and I’m sure Mustang Ryder wouldn’t appreciate this sorry sod relieving his bladder all over his bloody forest!” Meanwhile, Riff couldn’t help but wonder just how grateful a wildling would be if they stumbled across a fine hide of rich periwinkle, emblazoned with the hereditary crest of a fine slice of pastry with lavish silverware cutting through the rich, brown crust on every toned flank. It would surely make for delightful decor upon the walls of their huts (or whatever holes wildlings burrow themselves into). Or if what they say about wildlings and the hides of dead ponies is true, there were admittedly worse rabbit holes you could sheath your horn into.

“Reel it in Crust,” Snowdrift replied, hugging his shivering body with the remainder of his featherless wings. “The lad’s been through enough without having to be belittled by the likes of you, and I’m sure our dear friend King Ryder’s got better things to worry about than who’s pissing on his trees. Besides, whilst we’ve been tearing chunks out of each other’s dignity, there’s some wildling scum hold up in some cave warming their hooves at a fire while we freeze our bollocks off out here. I say we show our wildling neighbours how the Old Mare likes to deal with those who hunt down our fellow brothers!”

The muffled crunch as hooves punched through twelve inches of snow left much to be desired in terms of stealth, but with the sheer intensity of the current snowstorm, the tracks they left seemed to vanish almost as quickly as they were made. In the case of Riff Raff and Savoury at least, Snowdrift on the other hand drifted overhead, an angel of pearlescent ivory patrolling the sky with a natural grace, refusing to pollute the wilderness with even a trace of sound.

“Easy now lads,” Snowdrift called with a hoarse voice crackling like the embers of a dying fire. “Last time I checked they outnumbered us ten to one, so take caution with your movements. The element of surprise is the only advantage we have.”

Atop the summit they had climbed awaited the gaping mouth of a towering cavern, baring its fangs of petrified ice that seemed as lean and sharp as the steel they carried at their haunches. The sheer scale of the cave’s entrance was so daunting the last layers of Riff’s fleeting courage seemed to melt away in spite of the wintery blizzard around them.

“That there’s a dragon cave,” winced Savoury as wisps of smoke retreated from the cave’s vast innards.

“Don’t be so foalish, there haven’t been dragons this side of the Stall since Celestia’s conquest,” said Snowdrift with a hint of patronisation, dumbstruck as to how somepony educated by the highest echelons of society could be so oblivious to Equesterosi ecology. Although, it was common knowledge that high and lowborn alike still entertained fantasies of parasprites and Ursa Majors living beyond the Stall. “It’s just smoke from their fire, or from what remains at least. We better act now, before it’s too late.”

“Elements guide me,” Riff prayed as he began to make the ascension up the jagged rocks into the stony gullet of destiny. His superiors had insisted that he be the first to venture inside, his sneak thief talents apparently making him the perfect candidate to scout out their prey.

Cursing them under his steam-provoking breath, the colt in faded black scaled his way to the opening, clamping his benumbed hooves into supportable slits buried within the rock. As he vaulted over the ledge, landing on his back and briefly pausing to release a soundless pant, Riff Raff was greeted by the hardened glare of his enemy. He screamed.

Unsheathing their swords with the unmistakeable scrape of steel, one with magic and the other relying on the sturdiness of their jaw, Snowdrift and Savoury Crust leaped out from their adjacent positions, eager to propel the legion of lifeless corpses opposing them. “Luna be damned, what happened here?”

There they were, the band of wildlings they had endured so much to subdue lay undisturbed without an inkling of life belonging to them. All thirty-eight of them, huddled together as they slumbered for the last time, only to awaken when their hooves were firmly planted in the eternal soil of the afterlife. Stallions. Mares. And worst of all: innocent little foals.

Inspecting each of their carcasses, the watchponies were unable to locate any physical traces of what may have led to their demise, only the cold.

“These aren’t scouts,” Riff announced, although his realization had failed to come out as nothing more than a squeak as the words caught within his throat. “T-they were just ponies. Families and friends and neighbours, leaving their homes and belongings behind in the hopes of finding somewhere new, somewhere safe. Almost as if they were... running from something.” Wrapping themselves within their cloaks, shielding themselves from the frightful reality of what they were witnessing; the shrouding silence was abruptly ended by the strained wheezing of a trembling filly.

“P-please...” she pleaded, breathless and unable to relieve her vision from her heavy pink eyelids, “it’s s-so cold.”

His heart swelling with guilt, Riff Raff knelt down next to the feeble earth pony and placed his hoof upon her forehead, brushing past her silver mane to check the young mare’s temperature. “What happened here? What’s your name?”

Coughing violently in response, she tugged at a beautiful wooden necklace decorated with foreign markings.

“Those are glyphs of the first herd,” said Snowdrift as he squinted at the markings he was seemingly familiar with, “her name is Buttercup.” The sound of her name paved the way for a sweet, innocent smile to intrude upon her frozen features, and yet the tears of ice that retreated from her eyelids reinforced a sense of pity somehow. Perhaps for herself or even the family she had lost. But the way she stared directly to Riff’s eyes with a sense of knowing; it almost seemed that she pitied them.

“T-they’re coming. P-please, make it s-s-stop. It’s so... cold.”

“Who’s coming?” the pale pegasus demanded. Stern, yet soft enough not to incite fear within the broken filly.

“Please, it’s s-so-” A large rock coated in an orange, magical aura plummeted down upon her face. The gory remains of Buttercup splattered all over them, her blood staining their rugged coat and furs as well as their consciouses. Savoury Crust glared down at his accomplishment, eyes wide with torment.

Snowdrift’s blade lunged at Savoury with the fury of a storm, unleashing a small trickle of blood as it came into contact with his left cheek and forced him to the ground. “What the fuck did you do that for?” he mumbled against the steel as traces of pale-gray mane shrouded the resentment fuming in Snowdrift’s icy glare. “You’re a monster!”

“We came here to put down wildlings, didn’t we?” Pleaded Crust, his muzzle leaking with the very same crimson fluids he had drawn from an innocent, “Why should it matter how young they are!” Igniting his horn once again, Savoury launched an army of boulders upon his fellow brother, bludgeoning him with brute force until the pegasus slipped off the cliff, resorting to his wings to rescue him from the impending fall. Firing a beam of energy at his retreating enemy, Ser Savoury Crust howled like a timberwolf as his shot pounded into Snowdrift’s left wing, sending him hurtling towards what seemed like a wintery grave.

“Oh Spirit of Harmony, grant me the element of laughter so I can banish the fear that threatens to engulf me and giggle in the face of danger so that my very essence may continue to serve you without fault or error.” Swept up by the spiralling chaos of the preceding events, Riff Riff was beginning to feel light-headedness creep upon him as he fell upon his haunches, teardrops abandoning their posts as his mind wondered to a happy place. A place he once called home.

His stomach had been growling for the past five days, he could barely walk with the pains of hunger feasting on his well-being. If it wasn’t for the needs of his little sister, Rosebud, Riff Raff would have huddled in a corner and welcomed death with a smile.

Despite the many burdens of being an orphan, especially a lowborn one, a colt in his situation can learn to walk amongst the crowd without being noticed. Riff learnt from an early age that a pony that isn’t wanted needs to take what wouldn’t be missed. After all, when you’re tasked with finding your own means of sustenance or die, you have no choice but to learn the ropes of sin, and pray to sweet Celestia you never let go.

The annual Summer Sun Celebration Apple Family Market were always a ripe opportunity for a thief. With thousands of earth ponies flocking together to thank Celestia for her gift of dependable seasons throughout the year, who would notice one young little colt amongst the tireless horde? With his saddle bags strapped securely to his thighs, tactfully hiding any evidence of his blank flank status, Riff Raff was prepped and ready to harvest the crops.

“Now, are yah sure this is the one we’ve been lookin’ for, big brother?”

“Eeyup!”

Turns out picking apples from their buckets had become a tougher sport since last year, especially with beady-eyed highborns trotting around in all their hypocritical splendour. Of all the times the Lady of Applefell, Applejack herself had to visit Corefield; it had to be when he had a sister to feed.

“You should be ashamed of yourself, youngin’. Plenty o’ ponies worked their hooves to th’ bone to buck them apples, n’ what gives you th’ right t’go stealin’ their goods like it wus nopony’s business, huh? It just ain’t right now, is it?”

“Nnnope!”

The bright, grassy green of her accusing eyes gave no purpose for Lady Applejack to interrogate any further, the guilt was written all over his face. “You’ve given me no choice but t'punish you fo' stealin'. Now, fo'tunately fo' you, you does git a choice in th' matter. But trust me, neither option is exactly purdy, I’ll promise you that much.”

With the choice between having the offending hoof hacked off or being dispatched to the Stall to serve as a brother of the Nightmare Watch until the gods deem otherwise, at least at the Stall you never heard of the Old Mare’s brothers in black dying of starvation. At least, on this side of the Stall anyway.

“Riff...” a faint mumble ringing in his floppy ears as he was slowly coaxed back into consciousness. “Riff, we have to go NOW!” Strange, he thought, he would never have thought it possible but the world around him had seemingly gotten colder, the snowstorm feral in response. Jagged teeth of crackled lightning struck the ground, ploughing a heap of snow across the sky. Not only had the symptoms of winter worsened, he could now sense a new element brewing in the mix, an ingredient that seemed to make these harsh conditions all the more potent: fear.

A wail of anguish drowned the cave with an echo that was sharper than any blade could hope to be, constant ringing plagued his eardrops to the point where there was a brief yet agonizing pop, and it was all over. The sight of Savoury mouthing something to his face was the last thing he remembered before it came for them. A ghostly shadow of a translucent horse crashed down upon them, its mane flowed freely with an unnatural yet graceful ripple. Its eyes, a blinding shimmer of the purest blue peered into their souls without the need of pupils. This majestic beast of legend stood a meter taller than Savoury Crust, whose imposing height was already terrifying to Riff, never mind this thing.

Defiant as always, Ser Savoury mustered enough telekinetic energy to sheath his sword and stand his ground. “From whence it came!” he charged. His cerise mane swishing in the air, the proud orange glow flickering around his horn and weapon from the heavy strain it induced. Unfortunately for him, myths don’t die so easily as ponies do.

With one fatal swipe it was over in a second, the beast had sliced Crust into two. A horn of extensive ice had arisen from the horse’s skull and carved through its enemy cleanly, with droplets of fresh blood pouring down its tip. Riff didn’t have the chance to move when the beast began to hammer its hooves upon the harsh, rocky surface, with each step the resultant layer of ice stretched longer until it had consumed the entire cave. It had only taken one effortless nicker from the chalky spirit to break the ice, causing the entire cave to crumble and fall upon the ground like an avalanche.

Frostbite, he realised as he scraped his hooves against the snow that buried him without feeling any response from them. The Old Mare had always warned them about the perils of frostbite. “A bout of frostbite is worse than anything a wildling could ever do to you,” she used to say, parading examples such as Snowdrift himself as to show what it could cost you. Feathers and the tip of the nose in his case, but their Lord Commander was thorough in detailing more severe cases. “When you’re out there beyond the Stall, you have wits and skill to combat against a wildling attack. But frostbite? Not even Celestia’s will can save you once it festers.”

He began to smirk, fear was irrelevant. Whether it was by the hooves of their impossible assailant or by the cold, he was condemned to death.

Reserving his strength to reflect during his final moments, Riff Raff accepted his fate and lay on his back, thankful to Luna’s mercy that his trapped hind legs had lost their feeling too. As he glared up at the murky sky, hoping to catch one last glimpse at the moon before he drew his last breath, he swore he could see something fluttering in the distance. It appeared to be a pony, either coming to save him from his destiny, or abandon him to it. He didn’t care which. Although, somehow he thought that brief image in the distance was somewhat familiar. Perhaps it was his sister Rosebud, granted wings by the will of Harmony, coming to take him home to Corefield to soothe his suffering and clear his name. Or even an angel cast down from the heavens with an invitation for an audience with Princess Celestia herself, for willing to sacrifice his own life for the realm.

Death wasn’t so bad, he pondered, feeling the flames burning within him slowly diminish into smoke.

“I’ll be forever watching over you, my sweet little Rosebud,” he whispered. Recalling the last thing he had said to his sister before he set off for the Stall, it gave him solace to know he could finally do just that.

A sudden jolt erupted from the upper half of Savoury Crust’s divided corpse. It began to neigh in a distorted fashion that had no right to come from a unicorn, or any kind of pony for that matter. With the siren song flooding the land with its disturbing tone, the dead began to rise, with pale, sharp beams of sapphire reaching out from their eye sockets.

The Windigo towered over Riff Raff, conveying no emotion yet instilling the very essence of fear into what little remained of his conscious state. With one swift swing of its horn, it was all over.

Winter was finally coming, and yet for Riff Raff, the afterlife never did.