Chapters A Firelit Room
My head pounds. I awaken in a room. The room is cold and dark. I shiver, and look around. I see nobody. I am alone.
Another shiver. Fire. I need fire. In front of me is a fireplace. Wood rests within. Tiny embers flicker beneath. A fire poker rests to the side.
Someone was here earlier? Where are they now? Is that how I got here? Head keeps pounding. I shiver again. Questions can wait.
I grab the poker and stoke the fire. The room immediately gets brighter and warmer. Chill leaves my bones in minutes.
I stoke again. The fire roars to life. The room is hot, comforting. Relaxing. I sit and embrace the warmth. The cold leaves me be, so does the darkness. This will do for now. Light streams out the window.
Some time passes. A slam as the door hits the wall. Someone stumbles in, cloaked in a dark robe. I cannot see their face.
They collapse on the floor, panting. I look upon them for a moment. They suffer from intense cold. The cure is heat. I have no heat to share. The fire does. I stoke the fire, and hope they are okay.
Must continue tending to the fire. That means wood. Outside the door is a forest. Wood is out there.
I look back once more at the collapsed figure. I pray the fire will aid them. In turn, I must aid the fire.
The forest is quiet, not a sound to be heard. For a moment I wonder how they found me, how they found this place. The forest is dark, this house a small hut of solitude. The light from the window, perhaps? What are the odds? It doesn’t matter. I must find wood. The fire beckons.
The forest is cold, so i make haste. Gathering wood takes a few minutes. A bundle of sticks, twigs, and branches rests in my arms. Nothing special, but it will do. It will feed the flame all the same.
The house is bright. A beacon of light in a dark, silent forest. Crackles grace my ears as I open the door. The fire is still burning. The room is hot.
She is awake. Groggy, but awake. Alive. She pulls back her hood, revealing her features. Midnight blue complexion. Eyes much the same. A horn protrudes from her head. Her hair lighter blue, bedazzled by bright white lights. Stars? A galaxy in her hair?
She tries to speak, but words fail her. Unintelligible mumbles relay her delirium as she gathers near the fire. She is determined to stay warm. As must I. Cold is merciless. Fire is merciful.
I set the wood down near the fireplace and place a branch inside. I stoke the fire, maintaining the heat and light for two now. She savors the warmth. As do I, but only briefly. I still need more wood.
I depart again, out into the cold, dark forest. I find more sticks and twigs on the forest floor. All of it will keep the fire burning, blazing. Must keep the fire going.
I hear voices. Out in the forest, they call. Alluring, enticing, begging me to venture, to wander into the depths. Compulsion tugs at my mind and body. I almost drop the bundle.
No, not yet. She still waits at the house. I have not turned her away, nor will I. Must tend to the fire. Must tend to her. I must. I must.
I enter, and she has stopped shivering. The room is hot, the fire still burning. She basks in the warmth, her cloak discarded on the floor. She opens her wings, heating her feathers. She looks at me, and purses her lips. A solemn smile.
She thanks me for the fire. Hugs me, making me feel uncomfortable. It is difficult to breathe. I don’t refuse it, though. Not like I can.
Soon she breaks from her hold, realizing my pain. I finally gasp for air, and she blushes.
She waits for me to gather myself. Tells me that she can help me make things using magic of some kind. Says she is a friend.
I am uncertain. A friend? She says it with certainty. Why does she say it that way? do I know her? Does she know me? How can I be sure? All I know is she hugs hard. Could even break my back.
She sees my face, full of doubt. Waves away my worries by asking for my name. Doesn’t want us to simply be strangers. Her name is Luna.
I share mine in turn. She tilts her head, then chuckles. Calls my name odd. Hers is odd too. Named after the moon? Her mother must have been lost in her starry mane.
I ask her if she knows how I got here. She tilts her head. I gesture to the fire, say I did not start it first. Someone else did.
She thinks for a moment, and shakes her head again. She does not know either. Perfect, more questions and less answers.
She sees my face, filled with concern. She tells me not to worry. Says it doesn’t matter much now. I saved her, and that’s all she thinks matters. I’m not so sure.
She extends a hoof after the exchange. I cautiously extend mine. We connect, and my cautious mood fades. I accept her friendship.
A Tiny Village
I cart in more wood. Her smile greets me. I do not know if it is for me or the cart.
Luna built this, and I use it. It carries more branches, larger ones too. Much more than my hooves could carry alone.
The task is now much more laborious. But the rewards, the benefits are worth it.
It also gives me time to think, to reflect. The forest is perfect. Quiet, sleeping, peaceful. No voices to be heard, not since that night. Just me and the cart.
Wheels, hooves, branches. Sounds of work, toil, and effort. It has a purpose. Without wood, there is no cart. There is no fire.
I am the provider. She makes, she crafts, but I provide. What good is a builder with no wood to build with? And so, I provide the wood. I must ensure that there is work for her to do.
A sizable pile of wood is gathered. More than the fire needs. She ponders the stack. Clarity shines in her eyes. I assume she has an idea.
A hut. She says other wanderers are out there. She says they will help. I can always use help.
I consider expanding the house before expunging the idea. A separate hut is better. This house is small, modest, and comfortable for few. Three rooms, no more. A storeroom, the firelit room, and a spare room. She takes the spare room. The fire room is mine. It could hold more wanderers, but it would cramp quickly. Cramping isn’t my style.
She sets up the hut out in the forest with her magic. Not too far from the house we share. We need only wait now. Others will find us like she found me.
In the meantime, more wood for more huts. More huts mean more wanderers, more help. Strength in numbers.
I take the cart back out into the forest. The voices come back again. Want me to explore, to search, to find. Find what? They don’t say. Only to seek.
Curiosity bubbles to the surface. Is there something out there? Something important? Will I even know where to go or what to do?
I shake my head. Thoughts return to the house, to her, to the fire. Exploration will wait for now. Settlement is paramount.
I return with a cartful of wood. She brings news. Two wanderers found this place. Already? It was not long since the hut was finished. Yet they came quickly. Pure chance? Did they know? Were they led here? It bothers me, but I shrug. They found this place. Why does it matter now?
They reside in the hut. They gather wood to help her and I. A simple, yet meaningful task. More wood is always welcome. More wanderers are always welcome.
An issue of food crops up. The grass is sustainable for now. But when more come, better food is needed.
She suggests a farm. Reaches into her cloak and provides seeds. I look upon her and smile. A farm sounds wonderful. It can always expand as more come. Provides better food, wholesome food.
It still needs more wood. I take the cart out into the forest again. Pile more wood on than before. The extra burden is nothing. The cart strains, but moves all the same. My hoofs trudge forward, but do not complain. They know the reward, as do I.
She tells me she set up a second hut upon my return. Looks somewhat tired from all the construction. Then she looks at the wood I carried. Wonders how I managed. I shrug. I don’t know how I did. But our work is not done. She nods in agreement.
I lay the fence while she preps the homestead. One of the two wanderers says they are a farmer. They begin tilling the soil and planting the seeds. In time, they say, the bounty will be grand. I hope so. I hope indeed.
More sounds come from the forest. Voices, but different from the other ones. More wanderers, a group of three. I usher them to the second hut.
They thank me for the shelter, offer aid in return. I nod, then leave them be. Be it wood or farming, all help is welcome. They’ll figure out their place.
I look back at my house. The light is dimmer than usual. I enter and stoke the fire. Let the heat battle the chill that built up within me today.
Luna enters, having finished the homestead. Takes a seat next to me. Basks in the warmth.
She asks me how things are. I shrug. More came in, I tell her. Might need another hut soon.
I motion to the door. Must get more wood. She stops me. Says I’ve done enough today. Her eyes tell me to stay. Not to venture into the forest again.
A sigh. I relent, and come back to the fire. Her smile relays her thanks. I like that. I smile in return, and we both settle in the house. I am content to relax with her and the fire for tonight.
The Dusty Path
It’s surprising how fast things move. How quickly they grow. All when you don’t really notice it.
The village expanded greatly. Wood is plentiful. Huts dot the landscape around us. What was once one became five.
I cart more wood in. See many smiles among the populace. Cheerful, happy smiles. But none match hers. Her smile I look forward to the most.
We built a trading post. Nomads shuffle in from time to time, bringing wares in exchange for wood. Cloth for blanket and comfort. Fangs for sharp tools and cutlery. Leather for garments, shoes, and other necessities.
Some even offer dragon scales. Claim they help for protection. Protection from what? They say there are monsters out there. Ferocious creatures.
I laugh. The most ferocious thing I have seen is a bunny in these woods. I turn them away. They warn me of danger again. I scoff at the thought. No one would dare harm this place.
The farm now produces wheat. It took little time for the seeds to grow. They rooted to the soil quickly, grew faster than expected. Almost impossibly so. Odd it seemed then, but thankful we are now.
Instead of grass and water, we now feast on bread and water. A vast improvement by my standards. We still wait on the other seeds to grow, brought in by other ponies. Cabbage, carrots, celery. They will come eventually; quickly, if the wheat is a good indicator. And the feast will be nice.
Our home, our village is now functional. Sustainable. The forest calls to me. Nothing shackles me, binds me to this place any further. I must venture, see the world.
Luna sees my eyes. My desire to leave. She doesn’t want me to go, but understands. Suggests a workshop so that she may help prepare tools for my journey.
The dent in the wood stores is barely noticeable. Within hours, she and I build the workshop. Tables and tools all within an open area next to the house.
Only now I notice how important my house is. It’s a hub of activity for me. My room, her room, the storeroom for all the goods, and now the workshop. I like it. It keeps things central, organized.
I craft simple tools immediately. Torches, waterskin, rucksack. It is strange to carry things that are not wood. I will get used to this.
Finally, a weapon. the teeth are sharp, the wood long and sturdy. I fashion a crude spear. Won’t stab deep, but better than bare hoofs.
I grab some bread rolls from the storeroom. She is there. Her eyes beg me not to go one last time. Filled with tears.
I shake it away. The need has been held back for far too long. I tilt her chin up, force her to look me in the eyes. I smile, and tell her I will return. She will tend to the village while I am gone. I trust her to do this in my stead.
Voices in the forest cheer me on. Happy to see me on my way. I ignore them. I don’t do this for them. I do it for me. My natural drive to explore, to expand my reach. It urges me onward.
The trees break away to a field of grass. I look up and see clouds. Naught but clouds and dim sunlight through them. A swig of water and a bite of bread. So begins my journey.
Another house within my sight. No smoke from the chimney. Abandoned, perhaps? It’s not too far away.
The door is off its hinges. The window cracked and broken. The wood old and creaky under my hooves. Please don’t break. If it breaks, I might break. Won’t be able to return then. I have a promise to keep.
A sound, a violent yell. A crazed pony hops out of the hallway. They brandish a knife, intent to harm… or kill. I see it in their milky eyes and their gritted teeth. Their rationale is gone; only instinct remains. Talking is futile.
Flashes of steel, wood, fang. Flickering sunlight as our shadows fight, dodge, riposte. Not two ponies, but beasts trading blows. Grunts couple each strike. Screams when we each draw blood.
Both of us now weak and ragged, sporting deep cuts and deep holes. A final blow shared between us. His knife in my gut. My spear to his neck. We collapse to the floor, my attack more decisive than his.
Removing my spear, I grasp my gut wound. Red begins to pool beneath me. Bandages. Need cloth, cloth…
He wears cloth garments. I set to work. Tight wrappings round my body. Most of it around the gut. All of it around the gut. Must contain the blood.
The pain searing, slowing my body. My movements sluggish, yet steady. I need to explore the house later. For now, I must return.
Limbs heavy, despite less burden. Walking now a task taxing my body for all its worth. The wounds catch up to me at the edge of the forest. So close. I am so close.
I collapse. Darkness takes me. but before it consumes… a flash of light.
