Kisses and Crinkles

Alright, Lyra.

Calm down now.

The coast is clear.

Nothing’s going to jump out at you and eat you up.

Nothing’s really been moving at all, actually.

You can start moving again.

It’s just the forest and these weird plant thingies.

It was just your imagination.

No monsters or wolves or dragons.

No glowing eyes surreptitiously observing you.

No ground to give away and holes to fall into.

No need to fear the tricks your mind has been playing.

What you should fear is the terrible cold.

Your breathing has become raspy.

Your bones have begun to ache.

You have to move.

Now.

Lyra kicked out her front hoof into a vigorous step. She realized she had moved her hind leg in the opposite direction, and swung her neck sideways in order not to topple over. She held her breath as she skipped with her remaining hooves, almost like a very modern interpretation of a classic dance, rhythmically bouncing on the soft, unsound forest ground, trying her best not to keel over. As soon as she sensed having at least three hooves on the ground, Lyra crouched down, clambering to the earth while the world ceased reeling. She tried to keep close to the ground, lest she do something silly like trying to walk forward again.

Well, this was off to a good start, wasn’t it.

Alright, Lyra needed to get a grip. It was her turn to act now, and it was exceedingly apparent that the situation was indeed urgent. She could feel the warmth returning to her cheeks, fending off the invading cold that has crept under her skin in heroic effort, though she sensed her struggle was doomed to fail in the end.

The clock was ticking, if only from the biting frost that was continuously assaulting her body in every bone and every joint, at every exposed patch of skin, on her hooves and in her ears. Lyra had already withdrawn her head as far as she could into the moist, but still relatively warm, wool scarf. After all this time, though she knew it to be illogical, it still seemed to linger with Bon Bon’s comforting scent.

Bon Bon. Only thinking of her made Lyra feel incredibly tired. There was still a pony out there, lost in the dark woods, but Lya barely cared about him anymore. He’d wandered inside more than half a day ago, and the forest stretched on practically endlessly into the deep dark. The chance of finding him in the first place was practically nonexistent, and short of bumping into him by miracle, blundering deeper into the forest, trying to search for him while it was too dark to see anything beyond two trees’ distance, was basically as fruitful as trying to find one needle in a million haystacks.

And suppose Lyra did happen upon him, then what? What would she find? It was crushingly cold, he was likely injured in one way or another, the lightning was greedily licking at the land’s features and masses of water flooded the terrain, and there was hardly any food or shelter on account of these deplorable plants locking down any natural resource. If Lyra didn’t find him right now, he might very well already have perished.

The sole thought made her stomach turn. Lyra had to steady herself as she swallowed back bitter bile that had risen in her throat. She hated thinking about that topic, and it certainly wasn’t something she was equipped to deal with right now. She was in way over her head, and it was pointless to even pretend being the right pony for this task. Lyra wanted to get out of here. She had to. She needed to get back and make sure Bon Bon was fine.

Bon Bon was somewhere out in the terrible rain storm, likely cold, wet and scared out of her mind. What had she been thinking! Sending her away on her own like that! She shouldn’t ever have left Bon Bon’s side in the first place. They could have tackled this problem together, gone out to find somepony with the actual capacity and skill set needed for such an undertaking. And they would have gone without putting anypony else at unnecessary risk. They would have gone as a team, the way Lyra had sworn an oath to do long ago.

She had sworn she would never abandon Bon Bon. But what else was it that she had done now? And to what end? What had Lyra even expected Bon Bon to do? Come up with some crazy daredevil rescue plan to storm the forest recklessly and get them out of there in a heroic adventure? That only worked in comic books and action stories. But this was real life.

“This is all your fault!” Lyra cried at the closest plant in particular. Her raincoat sprayed water everywhere from the sudden motion. “I could be sitting with Bon Bon in our cozy living room right now and sipping hot chocolate while being wrapped up in a thick blanket beside the warm fire. But no, you just had to decide to abduct an innocent pony on this night, of all nights, next to our house, of all houses, and if that wasn’t enough, you had to pick me, of all ponies, and stretch out your disgusting claws after me! Er, branches. Whatever! You get the point!”

Lyra turned in the direction she had been avoiding all along. The way she had come from. Beside a larger tree trunk was a clearing in the natural vegetation, that was wide enough to let one pony pass through without too much being scraped by chips and branches. Her hoofprints in the mud from earlier even lead away straight from the passage.

But no, it hadn’t been a mere hallucination. The demonic bushes were there and had blocked the way clean shut. The plain dread Lyra had felt at their sight before was now more subdued as she was beginning to get used to it, but she still had to keep herself together. Her nerves felt like an electric current, she was constantly constantly teetering on the edge of panic. She was trapped. But she couldn’t lose it now.

“Don’t worry,” Lyra said, “I know what to do.”

The plants didn’t have totally identical leaves, like she had initially assumed. Most of their leaves seemed to be similar as the plants stood together in groups, but they clearly varied across larger distances. The plants on the other end of the clearing carried the pattern of fibers branching off twice, same as their neighbours and the other plants closeby.

But following the overgrowth bordering on the clearing, the pattern evenly started to change. Three branching points instead of two popped up on the leaves, until eventually they were the dominating characteristic. And then four branching points. In the other direction, the branches receded into the main fiber until they vanished.

And that wasn’t all. Most plants appeared to have a similar number of actual limbs that were adorned with these angular, sharp-looking leaves. On the one end, the gnarly growths gathered around one fat stem, while on the other end, the stem seemed to be thinning out and the branches fell away like limbs reaching out into the open space.

This was too regular to be natural. The plant things had to be magical, monsters born of a different plane than Lyra’s own, and hopefully just that and not something worse. The ones before Lyra, blocking her former entrance, had no stem at all, and the branches were holding on to the network of vines underneath.

“It doesn’t matter,” Lyra said, “look, I’m sorry, but I am getting past you one way or another. I have to get out of here and find Bon B…” She had to get back to Bon Bon. “I have to get back to Bon Bon.”

She swung her head around to stretch her neck and flexed her horn, brandishing her machete with great satisfaction. The smooth metal gleamed in the unnatural light in the immediate vicinity, and it positively glowed in brilliant gold once Lyra brought the blade before her eyes and it reflected her own horn. Truly, this tool was her last vestige of sanity at this point. In a world where she was surrounded by magic, weird goings on that stemmed from whatever unholy power, trapped in the middle of a vast lightning storm with no way out but through, this blade was cold and simple and elegant. Pure metal wrapped in a handle of cloth, no hidden tricks or special properties, only the diligent craftsponyship born of countless eons of experience.

“Now, let’s see what you’re made of,” Lyra said and readied herself. She couldn’t deny feeling a tiny bit giddy finally applying her skills with her weapon in a real situation. She held the machete up and slid it into the bushes, choosing the spot carefully where it would hit.

There was a fat vine winding its way upward in a slope, and many branches hung off of it. The blade was long enough to reach that far into the vegetation. It was the perfect target. Lyra broadened her stance and reared up on her hind legs. She raised her weapon high into the air and tightened her grip around it. She braced her neck muscles and swung her head forward. She came down in one movement, the blade sung in the air, and …

Nothing. The blade wasn’t there anymore. Instead there was only a weird sticky sensation, like slime, pulling on Lyra’s horn. It was like she had already overflexed it, feeling like she had to tighten her hold but there was nothing to tighten it around. Lyra tensed up instinctively, but the tension never really occurred. Her efforts terminated in a counterweight that had latched onto her, perfectly opposing even the most menial magical force, negating its effect while still leaving her exhausted from the strain.

“Gah,” Lyra made as she recoiled. The machete tumbled into the dirt. She heaved and retched, and it was short of a miracle she didn’t puke right then and there.

It was a disgusting feeling. She had been touched in a way that nopony was supposed to be able to touch her, and then it had taken something away from her. Instead of the gratifying fatigue of a successful magical workout, Lyra felt like she had left something unfinished, incomplete, even though she felt the stress all over. She had to make a conscious effort not to try and do the same thing again.

The plant had molested her. It was abominable. It had tried to leech from her. “You’re gonna leech my magic?” Lyra cried, blinking away tears as she steadied herself again, her stomach recovering from its unrest and merely settling back into its perpetual knot. “I don’t think so.”

The plant was glowing visibly more than before, sitting there fat and impassive, looking down on her, mocking her. Enough is enough.

“Alright, no magic then, see how you like that,” Lyra said. She stepped over to her machete and blew the earth from the handle before she grabbed it with her teeth. “You asked for this,” she said as she secured her grip on the weapon tightly between her jaws. She clambered through the mud and got back up in the plant’s face. Leaves. Whatever.

“Oh, I’m going to make you regret the day you sprouted,” Lyra growled, targeting approximately the same spot from before, “You should know that Bon Bon does most of the gardening at home. In fact, I’m a terrible gardener. Take this!”

With that, Lyra reared up once again, tensed her muscles and hacked down on the plant as hard as she could. The blade impacted hard, and Lyra steadied the handle in her mouth with grim satisfaction.

A hit! So she wasn’t entirely defenseless against it. It could be beaten. And she wasn’t about to stop beating it. Lyra reached back and hacked down on the plant once more, and then she reared up and brought her blade down once again.

The jumble of plants shook under each impact, but the clattering of leaves and wood wasn’t there. Instead, the entire complex seemed to break under the force as one unit, accompanied by a raspy kind of groan as the rigid material lost its structural integrity. The familiar elastic resistance was missing from the plant. Instead, it seemed entirely dry and brittle, holding against her blows as one homogeneous substance. It felt unnatural to be beating it with a cutting tool, but Lyra didn’t stop.

After a couple more impacts, Lyra finally started to reveal the Vine’s insides. The cut wasn’t frayed like with normal wood, but it was weirdly smooth and angular. There had been chippings flying everywhere from from each hit, but even they were too small and light to be natural, almost like powder. The sparkly particles bounced off the surrounding plants, but they never reached the ground before vanishing. Almost like …

“Almost like when a unicorn picks something up,” Lyra said, panting hard, “telekinesis.” It only served to fuel her anger further, the thought that a revolting apparition such as this thing with a plant-like appearance should have anything to do with a real pony.

She promptly resumed her driven hacking, cold sweat collecting underneath her watertight clothing, the fire of combat pummeling on the back of head and drowning out every other thought. It was pure bliss for her. One thing she could concentrate on, no distractions, no worries.

It only took a few more moments of Lyra’s brutal treatment until her blade bounced off to the side, as the vine broke off with a hollow crack. Even though it was still hanging on by a few threads, Lyra could see the cold glow diminishing in intensity around the point of impact, and she could feel the ominous presence receding.

Another careful blow was enough, the fibres didn’t offer much more in the way of resistance. The vine broke apart. It’s came down on the thick plant life below and crumbled, big chunks dissolving quickly as they rolled down leaves and bounced off the ground. It was almost like a sand castle falling apart, except that the magical plant didn’t leave any residue. The material vanished to dust and was gone.

The distant murmuring of the rain and the wind howling through the treetops returned, as Lyra’s frenzy subsided and she remained standing for a moment gasping for air. It was almost soothingly quiet now. She could hear the blood rushing in her ears and her lungs drawing in chilly breaths, but apart from that, everything was relatively calm. The plants didn’t seem as oppressive anymore, like they had before.

When Lyra started cutting down the plant again, it wasn’t because of the chaotic rage that had gotten hold of her earlier. Instead, she was driven by an almost scientific kind of curiosity, her blows targeted with surgical precision to dig deeper into the strange vegetation’s structure. Of course, that was considerably easier now that the plant had mostly ceased putting up any resistance.

Lyra learned that the vines and the branches actually seemed to belong to the same plant, even though they behaved entirely differently. Surrounding groups of young trees sprang up in relief when Lyra severed the vines that had latched on to them, the vines’ remains wholly out of place as they dispersed into glitter.

Without the vines, the branches fell back into the plants’ main cluster, coming to lay on top of the undamaged leaves. The cut branch lost its glow, the ghastly eminence receding back down the trunk until it stabilized around the closest knot or structural branching point. After that, the dead branch disintegrated on its own. Apparently, it wasn’t very economic for the plant as a whole to keep the useless thing around.

Lyra found that she could touch the plant with her hooves and hold it in place while she chopped at it. Nothing much unusual happened, except for the sense of magic around her, and the plant pushing back somewhat stronger than a normal plant would.

As the layers of branches, leaves and vines were peeled away, revealed were a series of thicker stems at the plant’s core, which looked at least as unappealing as the rest of it had. Lyra struck it and it behaved similarly, being made of the same brittle fibers that crumbled away under her blow. There was no sweet and juicy core to this plant like it with natural ones, it only seemed to become more ugly and misshapen the deeper she got.

Lyra cut and hacked, glitter sprayed all around her almost as if she had struck sparks with her blade, vanishing into nothing before she could get a second look. Her neck needed a break, she had to bow down low to process the remains of the plant, but her jaws remained hard as steel. She was determined to get to the root of the problem, no matter what it took. Just as she was about to compliment herself for the clever choice of words, Lyra’s machete struck into dull softness and got stuck. Earth. She had hacked through the plant.

She shoveled the remains out of the way with her hooves to reveal the cause of this all. What she found was the forest ground, covered in marble-sized buds shimmering black and violet. They were definitely actual plants this time, and obviously magical ones too. Lyra could tell from the tingling pull all around her hoof, very strong even through her boot.

The tiny leaves were tightly packed at the center around a core of pitch black, but their oily surfaces began to sport an unpleasant sheen of venomous purple the further they flaked away from the middle. It didn’t seem to be very sturdy.

Lyra had crushed one under her boot, and uprooted several more of the sprouts with the machete. They had a tight knot at their base, which connected them to their tiny networks of stubby roots. The roots were an eerie sight. They were pitch black, and seemed to be covered in some kind of slime that made them glisten in the weak light, almost like tentacles. Black tendrils.

“So you are the ones responsible for this mess?” Lyra said. In her effort, she had cut into the surrounding plants, and it didn’t take much to move them out of the way. Revealed were several more of the bizarre saplings. Hundreds more. Probably thousands more in hiding.

“An infestation,” Lyra whispered as she righted herself and considered the ramifications, “this forest doesn’t have a monster problem, it has a weeds problem. Creepy, magical weeds, but still.” They wouldn’t need monster hunters to deal with this problem at all. What they needed was some kind of arcane gardener.

“Whatever, it doesn’t matter,” Lyra said, raising her head defiantly, “I’m out of here.”

She shook her disheveled mane out of her face, pulled her machete out of the mud and wiped it off against some plant. Saddling up to leave, Lyra tightened her scarf and re-fastened the hood of her raincoat.

What was happening here, this was none of her business. She scaled the remains of the magic weeds and looked up the muddy incline she had stumbled down from in the first place. She had decided that she would go back to town, and that was what she was going to do.

Lyra was freezing and absolutely exhausted. There was nothing she would be able to do here anymore. She valiantly put one hoof in front of the other and started her climb up the hillside. She could be happy if she made it back to her house in one piece, right? What could she do for the other pony who was still stuck much deeper into the forest? Nothing, that’s what. She had to leave him behind. It was the logical thing to do. She couldn’t waste her time pretending that she had any capacity left to care about his fate. But if that was so, then why had she stopped dead in her tracks?

“Oh, come on,” Lyra grunted, “I’m not going back there. No way.”

She consciously lifted her hooves again and forced herself forward, but for every step she took, the ground seemed to crumble away underneath her boots and she slid back down. She had to get back, and if she needed to pull herself up on every rock and root that had been exposed by the relentless assault of the elements. As exposed as the missing pony was.

Did he have a raincoat?

Lyra cried out in frustration and stomped her hoof. Her boot got stuck in the mud and she had to wiggle it out again. The worst part wasn’t that she would have to leave him behind to save herself, oh no. That was a logical conclusion that nopony would dare question considering the circumstances. It would be the sensible thing to do, to abandon him. There was no other way.

But then, why did Lyra feel so terrible? She couldn’t even continue walking forward at this point since the tears clouded her vision faster than she could blink them away. She had made a promise. She had promised that this whole affair would blow over smoothly, that they could do this, together, as a team. Bon Bon and herself. Lyra had already abandoned Bon Bon when she had sent her into the dangerous storm alone. And then she had run away on her own, and never looked back. She had sworn an oath to take care of Bon Bon long ago, but that oath lay shattered and crumbled in the dirt. Lyra had betrayed Bon Bon. The only way to right that betrayal was to betray another pony. No, that was too wrong to be right.

Lyra hung her head. The shame alone would have been enough to plant her nose firmly in the dirt, but the lethargy of defeat made her drag her thoughts like a puppeteer’s toy. Bon Bon was all she could think about. What would happen when they rejoined once more? Would Lyra have to tell her everything? That she had failed the quest she had set out to complete because of her own incompetence and fear? Would she have to keep it a secret and never tell? Would she have to lie to Bon Bon whenever the topic came up? To live in fear of accidentally slipping out with the truth, forever?

No. Lyra had made a promise to find that stallion. Sure, there would be times when she wouldn’t be able to live up her promises. It was only natural. There is a time in each pony’s life where she has no other choice but to disappoint herself.

But Lyra will never disappoint Bon Bon. Not in a million years.

Slowly, Lyra turned around and ambled back over the corpses of the plants she had slain. Her step was sure, her resolve absolute. She knew now what to do. She was crazy. The realization was strangely liberating, since it meant she couldn’t be held accountable for what she was about to do, and she could leave her fears and shortcomings behind in the mud between her hoofprints.

Lyra stepped into the clearing and turned toward the maw of the abyss. The forest stretched on endlessly before her, and at the edge of her vision, she couldn’t even make out the treetops anymore in the darkness. Her way was barred by a solid wall of angrily glowing magic weeds, but Lyra wasn’t afraid. She would have crossed the end of the world in Bon Bon’s name.

The machete whirled through the air before Lyra stuck it straight into the ground. She reared up on her hind legs, the raincoat veiling her form like heavy armor, and balanced herself against her weapon with her forehooves. It wasn’t quite a sword, but it would have to do.

“Bon Bon,” Lyra spoke calmly, “I swore an oath to you, and I will uphold that oath until the end of time. I promised you that I will find the stallion that is in there, somewhere, and, by the sun and the moon, I will find him. I don’t know what will happen to me as I enter into uncharted dangers. Nopony can predict what will happen at this point. This is all a huge mess, and I’m the one to blame. But I just wanted you to know. I love you, Bon Bon. I love you so very, very much.”

Lyra breathed deep. It felt good to finally be able to speak clearly. Her joints tingled with eagerness, her mind felt refreshed, and she was ready for action, come what may. She was kind of disappointed that nopony was around to witness her speech. She could almost see the sky opening above her head and the heavenly light of brilliant gold shining down on her spot to bless her for the upcoming battle.

Wait. There was actually a light above her.

“You again!?” Lyra said.

The sprite impassively twirled down from above, completely oblivious to the goings on in the world. Its four leaf-like appendages rotated happily in the air, keeping it afloat as it danced in Lyra’s field of vision, never afraid to mix in a bold spin or a cheeky loop to keep things fresh. “What do you want?” Lyra said, “No, wait, let me guess. You wanna bump into me again.”

The sprite made no indication otherwise. Despite herself, Lyra considered for a moment. Looking at the general area where she had hacked down the weeds, it became apparent that the absence of the forest’s only light source, the glowing weeds themselves, had plunged the site back into pitiless darkness. It would be difficult to continue her crusade if it meant she had to destroy her only means of vision, and she wouldn’t be able to tell her own leg from a tree.

The sprite emitted enough light to illuminate the entire clearing sufficiently, and to top it off, the soft, moving golden glow wasn’t even that much different from what a pony would produce. Lyra had a hard time admitting it, but the sprite’s outward appearance was actually kind of pleasant.

“Alright, alright,” Lyra said to the sprite, “you can stick around, I guess. You might prove yourself useful after all. But don’t even think about touching my horn, capiche?” A shiver ran down her spine at the memory of the last time the sprite had tried to touch her horn.

Surprisingly, the sprite actually stopped its tumbling around at hoof’s reach away from Lyra, and attentively held the distance. Lyra was baffled. “Huh,” she made, “I see. You’re a funny guy, aren’t you?”

The forest had grown hauntingly quiet now that Lyra had regained her calm somewhat. The regular animals must have already taken flight way earlier, or maybe they are holed up somewhere, which meant they were cleverer than Lyra. It made sense, since all the ordinary critters were able to experience magic in some way or another, even though they weren’t active part of it, let alone being able to shape it on their own, like ponies could.

But animals were known to have a sixth sense for danger and were quick to run away when something was amiss. And this forest was as amiss as wearing swim trunks in the frozen north.

Lyra was probably doing the world a favor if she made sure to eradicate any weed sprouts she came across, like she had crushed the ones back on the other side of the clearing under her boots. The forest ground looked much calmer now that it had been rid of its venomous pockmarks. It was gratifying how barren the upturned mud was where Lyra’s enemies had once entrenched their crooked forms. The total serenity that had fallen upon that spot was only highlighted by the soothingly natural flickering of the sprite’s light, a healing unification of experiences that descended on the fractured land to mitigate, to relieve.

And so, Lyra’s enlightened weed crusade proceeded to run its course. She promptly pulled her machete out of the ground and twirled it around in the air to shake off the earth. Then she took its handle securely into her mouth and marched on into the dark maw of the forest with grim resolve. She was a warrior. She wouldn’t be stopped. She fought for what was right. And she proved to the sprite that she totally hadn’t been about to break down on the forest ground and bawl her eyes out like a foal just before. Totally not.

The first blockade of weeds barred her way, and Lyra made it wish it hadn’t. She barely stopped her movement when she began barreling down on it, with a ferocity that sent the magical weed stuff flying everywhere and into her face every time she ripped her blade out of another deep wound she had struck into the beast. Lyra hacked and chopped and felled, obsessed with seeing the apparition crumble away under her hooves.

She was soon standing on top of the growth, and she started stomping it with her boots as well as slashing it to pieces faster and faster, only her breathing louder than the storm raging between her eyes. It couldn’t have lasted any longer though. Eventually, Lyra had to moderate herself and slow her ministrations down, or she would have pulled a muscle within the back of her neck, which felt like it was on fire. She paused to breathe. She couldn’t tire herself out now, there was still a long way ahead of her, and she would need all the energy she could get. The weed was basically broken at this point, only a few stems remained that were in the process of crumbling away. Lyra stomped the vile little buds right in their toxic little faces and ground their remains into the dirt with the heel of her boot. Then she hopped over what was left and took off into the darkness.

There weren’t any weeds to be seen in the immediate vicinity as Lyra made her way through the forest. The ground was slanted and broken by ledges, rocks and furrows that had angrily smashed the surface of the earth untold ages ago, now mere mementos of more turbulent times decorated with lush overgrowth.

Still, the jagged form of the forest ground dominated the landscape, and it was the base for vast variety of life that had established itself here, and all the ways it had to adapt. The trees themselves seemed to be the masters of survival around here. No matter how thick or how thin, how straight or how gnarled, how bare or how lush their crowns, the trees always found a way to settle down even on the furthest tip of an outcropping in the earth, even when their roots were already hanging through on the other side.

Similarly, Lyra had to be incredibly careful. The stones were slick and the mud was sticky, as she picked her way through the blasted lands. One wrong step, and she would be history. There was no way she would have been able to do this without the sprite’s radiant guidance.

Lyra knew that the trodden path, on which she had entered the forest to begin with, had to be around here somewhere. But she couldn’t tell whether she was above or below it on the hillside. She couldn’t tell anything at all, because further than two or three trees around her, nothing existed except for the pitch black. She wished she could have sent out the sprite to scout the area, but the sprite wouldn’t budge away from dumbly bouncing around in her field of vision, no matter how much she shouted commands, declarations and pleas at it. Its only use was preventing her face from being planted into one of the many trees in her way.

It had been clever of her to take the high road. The ground fell off to Lyra’s right, and she could see the weed’s bluish glow faintly irradiating the horizon. Fog had started to creep across the ground and fill up the forest’s valleys, and the absence of wind had somewhat softened the sharpness in the air. It truly was an uncanny sight, the skeletal stems of budding trees huddled around their looming giant counterparts, only visible by their black outlines before the backdrop of the icy sheen.

The weeds seemed to grow in drawn-out lines, reaching out into the unknown coherently like greedy tentacles, instead of growing in groves like natural plants. Lyra observed one such weed front running parallel to her own path further down the hill. The infernal plants didn’t seem very steadfast in their foundation. They tried to get closer to her and further up the hill, but their dangerous approach was thwarted whenever a large rock or even just a patch of rough terrain came up, the unnatural glow receding back into darkness as the weeds avoided the unpleasant obstacle.

It made a lot of sense when Lyra thought about it though. The plants didn’t really seem dependant on the soil, but instead it was magic what they were after. They didn’t need to grow on hard terrain, since the majority of magical creatures likely preferred the fertile flat lands as well, where the weeds could grow and trap them easily. Lyra herself was the case in point. She took the strain of the high road now to avoid the mental chagrin that awaited below. She could barely keep her eyes open at this point. There was no need to make this any harder than it already was.

Lyra wasn’t spared of the weeds’ presence forever, though. Too soon, the valley rose to meet her, and the terrain flattened out. With it came the unpleasant wall of weeds, popping into existence in her path only moments before the sprite had revealed it.

Lyra stopped for a moment to catch her breath. The weeds remained a wisp at the edge of her vision. That was curious. She stepped backward cautiously, and sure enough, the night returned to pitch black. Then she walked forward with determination, and the blockade lit up like starfire. Leaves were fully outlined in their common patterns, and the vines glowed as if to lure her in. The realization sent a shiver down Lyra’s spine. The weeds were drawing from her, even now. They had probably been leeching from her all along. They sapped enough from her to make their entire frames glow.

Somehow, Lyra knew she should feel violated, but she could barely work up the nerve to care at this point. It wasn’t really a big surprise, since that was the only thing these ugly creatures seemed to be good for. Instead, Lyra almost felt grateful for the renewed vigor that came with the urge to smash something to pieces. And she knew exactly what she would smash as she brandished her machete.

Lyra stretched her legs and popped her neck before she got started on chopping down the weeds. It was a good opportunity to get warmed up again. The cold had grown crushing in intensity since she had left the clearing. Her limbs tingled as life came back to them, but her skin felt like it was being pricked with tiny icicles, and her joints stung where they were exposed below her flimsy raincoat.

Thinking about it, Lyra couldn’t even be sure whether the cold was actually there, or if it was just one more entry on the long list of malevolent arcana that seemed to spring from the vile weeds. Either way, she had to watch out and keep herself going. If she stopped, it didn’t matter whether it was the cold or the weeds’ unholy treatment that would ruin her.

The initial satisfaction of smashing the weeds had since vanished. The once enjoyable act had become a chore as Lyra continued the beating without paying it much mind. The slanted ground kept giving away under her hooves, and she had to pull herself upright again before she could make any progress.

Watching the weird behaviour her impacts caused was interesting, but Lyra’s neck started aching and her attention waned, and it made her want to move on. As soon as she had cut enough of a swath that she could fit through, she slipped between her victims’ remains and bustled her way straight ahead. She made sure that the sprite could follow her. It just seemed important at the time. However, when she emerged on the other side, she couldn’t help kicking the ground in frustration.

More weeds.

Cold sweat had collected in Lyra’s clothing by the time she had cut her way further into a part of the forest that she could at least pretend looked somewhat normal. She would have been yawning wide if she hadn’t been gasping already, the cold air burning inside her lungs and making her throat feel like ice.

Hopefully that wouldn’t turn into a nasty cold. And to top it all off, an awful headache had started throbbing right inside her forehead about two plant corpses ago. She was glad when her path became rough again and she had to climb uphill somewhat. Though, when she reached the summit of the outcropping, she knew why it was here.

Lyra was standing on a massive boulder. She faintly remembered it being here in the general area, but she hadn’t actually seen it until she stood on top of it. Before her was the edge of the natural platform, and then nothing but pitch blackness.

What Lyra also remembered was that there was some sort of way to climb around the boulder. She had done it what must have been years ago during a stroll in these parts. The earth into which the boulder was embedded went up very steeply on one side, there was no way to climb that. She also didn’t want to backtrack around the obstacle. But somewhere in between, she knew there was an opportunity to clamber down safely.

Darkness yawned wide as Lyra stepped up to the ledge. She crouched down and strained her eyes, but the sprite’s light didn’t reach far enough to be of any use. She didn’t even need that much vision, only the surface of the stone immediately below her was enough to find the spot she was looking for. She tried to reach down with a hoof, but that didn’t help much.

“Come on, dude,” Lyra said to the sprite, “be useful. Go! Get down there! Look for something, like … I dunno, just light it up. Come on!”

She frantically waved her hoof and tried to knock the sprite into the abyss. But the sprite was untouchable as it lightly bounced around in the air, its appendages rotating on happily as if it didn’t have a worry in the world. Lyra grunted. “You’re an impossible companion,” she said.

Lyra took the machete from her mouth with her horn. Maybe probing around with it would help, she could reach further with her horn than she could with her hoof. She carefully lowered the tool, trying to keep it to the surface of the rock, but her vision was promptly obstructed. The sprite had danced past her head and gleefully bumped into the blade’s handle, where Lyra was holding it. Carefully, Lyra retracted the machete toward her face and took it into her mouth, releasing her horn’s grip. The sprite disengaged and went back to dancing before Lyra’s eyes.

The realization hit her like a ton of bricks. Lyra jumped up, skipping a breath or two. “Magic,” she said, “you like magic! Of course! How could I have missed that.” She would have connected her hoof to her forehead, but the machete was in the way. “You’re a sprite, you are attracted by sources of magic. That’s why you keep following me around. That’s why you came astray from the swamps in the first place. Even I can feel how powerful the weeds are. And that’s why you stayed away from me when I asked you earlier.”

She was a unicorn. Her thoughts were fundamentally connected to the arcane. Lyra’s moods formulated bases of order in the otherwise amorphous magical plane, and with the increase in entropy came the attraction of surrounding arcane energy toward the focal area until the the potential, which had been held in place structurally, could disperse into the unordered equilibrium again. It was the most basic of concepts when casting spells, that energy always had to return to the magical plane from whence it had been drawn. It had been so obvious! The sprite didn’t actively decide to go anywhere, it was simply drawn toward the most complex source of magic.

Lyra crouched down to the ledge again. She pictured the spot in the darkness directly below her. How interested she was in finding out how it looked, how she would love to know what was directly underneath her, how curious she was to see the area surrounding it. And lo, the sprite promptly rotated past her head, bounced over the ledge and descended down into the darkness.

The cliff, as Lyra had imagined it, turned out to be just a drop of a few meters. She couldn’t climb down right here since the rock was too smooth, so she kept looking. But steering the sprite around was so much fun, she couldn’t miss the chance to scout out every last nook along the rock face and then some more of the surrounding forest.

Lyra was left in the dark while the sprite was away, but she wasn’t afraid, as her control improved quickly. It was actually very intuitive, you just had to feel the place where you wanted the sprite to go, and it would instantly go there. Calling the sprite back was pretty straightforward as well. Lyra would have hugged it right then and there if it actually had a physical body.

The mood didn’t last long. There was no time. Lyra had to press on. She had eventually found a spot where the rock was cracked, from which she could crawl onto a flat earthen descent. She came out on a flat path that led along the hillside. Following alongside it seemed fine, since it ran in the approximate direction she knew the campsite had to be.

Lyra would have to be careful to keep the sprite away from the weeds. They’d probably tear it to pieces if they ever got hold of it. Thinking about it, the weeds probably weren’t entirely as evil as they appeared. Sure, they were a pest and took away the breathing room of all the proper plants and animals that had settled down here long ago, but at the core of it, the weeds likely didn’t work much differently than the sprite. Magic was magic after all, no matter who you are or where you go, and the smaller manifestation of magic would always gravitate toward the bigger one.

The way was clear for running only briefly. There were weeds all around now. Lyra must have been getting really deep into the forest. But that didn’t make her falter. She dutifully readied her machete and cleared herself a way through the blockade.

The weeds did become less and less of a mystery as Lyra went along, but that didn’t make them any less dangerous. It wasn’t easy to remember not to use her horn when interacting with her surroundings. Whenever Lyra only needed to make herself some breathing room, or when she had to right her coat’s hood as it became lopsided, she would instinctively go ahead and grab it with her horn. That’s what she had always done.

It only remained an attempt however, as the sharp jolt of pain broke through the everlasting buzz in her temples and brought her dutiful purge to a screeching halt. The mistakes of negligence weren’t pleasant, but the pain was a good teacher. Lyra couldn’t afford a slip-up of this sort again when her life could possibly depend on her keeping her cool.

She kept the sprite close to her back, and out of the weeds’ greedy reach, while she proceeded to clear her way.

The path went uphill again. After yet another congregation of weeds, Lyra didn’t lose much time before moving forward. The soft ground tended to crumble away under her hooves, and she was committed to punching her boots hard into the ground every step of the way to ensure she wouldn’t fall. Her muscles were accordingly sore, begging for a break with agony, but the urgency in the air wouldn’t allow it.

The sprite was incredibly helpful with its light. Lyra used every opportunity she could get to send it out to scout ahead, and map her surroundings before she decided on the direction to proceed. More than once, Lyra just stood at attention and observed the black shadows of the tree trunks thrown outward from the origin of the light, dancing over the forest floor in an elegant composition where each dark stripe always kept to itself and never actually touched another.

The scouting paid off more often than not, as Lyra was able to avoid several clusters of weeds. The sprite’s area of illumination was way larger than the distance from which the weeds began to glow, and it was relieving to stay out of their evil influence, even just for a little while.

Eventually, Lyra even caught some weeds growing right before her eyes. Where at first there had been nothing, the vines burst out of the debris covering the forest ground and pushed themselves tirelessly upward. Soon enough, the ligneous tentacles began waving around, feeling into their surroundings only for a moment before homing in on the nearest tree or bush.

While the vines wrapped themselves around the poor plants, the greedy branches had already started clambering up along their rapidly solidifying brethren. The thicket didn’t exactly grow like any normal plant would, but the stems carried already finished leaves out of the ground until the swelling had grown dense enough to form a solid barricade. Then the weeds rested, arrogantly lying still, waiting for their next victim. Lyra briefly considered walking over and smashing them apart, but she decided to take the safe route around. The entire process had barely taken a minute, and it had happened completely soundless. It was scary. She wanted as little to do with this as possible.

Visibility kept getting worse as natural vegetation started populating her surroundings again. Lyra had entered a region of the forest that was more wild and untamed, as opposed to the forest’s borders. Real plants kept getting under her raincoat, and Lyra had to perform acrobatics to get over some more intricately interwoven shrubs. It even became so bad at one point that she had to hack off a natural branch to be able to get through. Lyra felt much less disgusted at the unnecessary violence toward the innocent than she ought to. Maybe she was getting desensitized toward the plights of vegetables.

After the real plants were through, the weeds came again. This entire thing was getting ridiculous. At least the weeds all looked and behaved the same, and Lyra could put her attention to rest while she carried out the mind-numbing task of chopping the obstacles into passages. The break didn’t do her good, like she hoped. It only made her wish for all this to end even more.

The ground was crumbling under her movement more than ever. The weeds didn’t provide any useful support for more than a few moments, her face was on fire and her legs were numb from the cold, and she had no idea how long this would continue anymore. Everything sucked.

Finally, the cluster of weeds lost its strength and vanished under Lyra’s soles. She remained for a moment to crush the disgusting sprouts with her boots and grind them into the earth with satisfaction. She climbed over the remains and oriented herself briefly before continuing on her way.

She came no three steps. More weeds. Lyra hacked. She maimed and destroyed. This was all she knew. She wanted to stop, wanted it to end, but there was no end in sight. Carnage reigned all around. There was only Lyra, her death dealer, and the invaders. It was her calling. Her purpose. She had to do what had to be done, never mind her own aches.

Just when Lyra thought she couldn’t take it anymore, a blaze of clarity suddenly irradiated the barren lands. There was something, there within the backdrop of the never ending buzz of chaos. A tiny spark of life, struggling to be heard. A soft murmur, coming right from the direction where Lyra was headed. The sharp flicking of debris and the splurging of grand rapids. It was the sound of rushing water!

Finally, a vestige of hope she could steady herself against within the avalanche of despair. The rushing water was a landmark, a point at which Lyra could reorient herself and gauge her progress, since she would likely recognize it.

The burden of lethargy lifted off Lyra’s back, and she felt her heart beating with fresh vigor as she unearthed the weeds and cleared herself a path through. It seemed to affect the sprite as well. It flitted around more erratically than Lyra had ever seen, and she had to stay focused on keeping it close to herself. A brief lapse of attention, and the sprite might well have bounced away from her right into the maw of the greedy infestation.

The sound of water grew steadily more profound every time Lyra managed to inch another few steps forward. It felt like the surrounding vegetation was closing in on her and threatened to overwhelm her, but she knew that was only the plant life becoming so thickly overgrown around the water. The plants would have toppled each other over eventually even without her intervention. Even so, weeds and natural plants became a blur, and Lyra only focused on getting through without stumbling over too many roots and getting slapped in the face by rebounding branches as few times as possible.

Not long after, a dribble landed on Lyra’s head. Another ice cold projectile splashed onto her nose, and streams of water were arcing down from the darkness, channeled by the treetops right onto the undergrowth. It was rain! Lyra had to be getting close to open sky.

Water eventually suffused the soft forest ground, turning it into slippery mud again as shimmering puddles accumulated all around. The puddles hid under the leaves like nefarious traps, and Lyra had to be careful not to stumble over a root or slip down a slope and fall into one. She had managed to keep the insides of her boots mostly dry so far, and she wasn’t about to let that change. She hated having water inside her shoes.

The vegetation grew smaller and softer, and set of branches revealed veritable curtains of rain covering the land. Lyra stepped through and finally emerged into open sky. The blackness of the forest made way to the darkest hint of illumination. Lyra was able to perceive the approximate shapes of the distant surroundings again.

The sprite led the way, flying out into the rain and diligently illuminating the path for Lyra, and Lyra followed. The sprite didn’t seem to be affected by the rain at all, its careless bouncing through the air no different than usual, as the rain seemed to pass straight through it, or maybe it had some sense of precognition to tell where the raindrops were falling. Quite the opposite was true for Lyra though, as the deafening drum of the rain onto the plastic hood over her ears drowned out her thoughts.

She reached up and pulled the hood back, turning her face to the sky for a brief moment of respite. The water came down upon her muzzle in ice cold masses, but it was a joy feeling something on her benumbed skin again. An enlivening thrill overcame her as the rain poured over her face, soaking into her muddy fur and saturating her mane. Lyra was washed clean of the cold sweat and the grime from the forest, dark streaks of water dripping off her chin, while the continuous metallic tink of droplets against metal blasted the dirt off her machete. The brief moment was almost peaceful, carried by the harmonic sounds of nature.

The distant mumbling of rushing water had built up to the unstoppable crashing of tides, and the sound came from right up ahead. The landscape was mostly flat now, and the jumble of plants that only reached Lyra’s knees was overtly absent of large trees. This was a migration area, which didn’t provide much solid foundation for ancient growths as opposed to the deep of the forest. To be precise, this area regularly saw the migration of large amounts of water when it rained, and the movement of animals that was bound to come with it. Lyra had arrived at Root Channel.

This was good. The channel was a major landmark of the forest, and was used to formally partition it among the surrounding lands and their owners. Lyra had covered quite a lot of distance into the north. But more importantly, it meant she wasn’t far from her goal anymore.

The ponies she was looking for, Parting Ways and Teak, they had come through here, crossed the channel and established their campsite somewhere on the other side, straight uphill. Lyra had a pretty good idea where that was, since there was only one hill in the immediate vicinity on the other side.

The solid earth under her hooves terminated in a ledge, which dropped down several pony heights into the raging current. Lyra hadn’t actually made the connection that the channel would be carrying so much water until now. Granted, she never had been here during a storm either.

Huge amounts of water tore through the chasm indomitably, splashing and foaming so much like the maw of a raging beast. It was incredibly loud as the stream flung massive chunks of wood and rocks around as if they were mere foals’ playthings. There was no doubt that the river carried enough force to turn Lyra into a mere ragdoll, so it seemed sensible to try not to fall into it.

The sprite’s light reached just far enough to be able to see the other side. The black forest rose immediately beyond, concluding the brief lapse of trees that had formed along the channel. The channel itself was fissure in the earth that had formed along the line where two ranges of hills met, eaten deeply into the rock by countless ages of water running through.

The forest actually stretched on far into the vast hillscapes that lay to the north and to the west, which were otherwise mostly inaccessible to ponies due to their roughness. Whenever it rained anywhere in the area, the resulting precipitation accumulated along such channels, before they gradually joined together and eventually funneled all the water to pass through here, after which, much further down in the other direction, the flow terminated in the wetlands and the water eventually fed into the swamps.

This left Lyra standing before the gap filled with an angry current, and the question of how to actually get across. Luckily, Lyra knew the answer. Somewhere in the direction to her left, there used to be a wooden walkway that served as a bridge across the channel, and it should only be about a few minutes away from her current location.

Lyra promptly set off. It felt good to walk freely once more, and thankfully her boots were watertight, because she actually had to wade through puddles of water now to make progress. Her raincoat was watertight as well, and more than once, a huge fountain of foamy water noisily shot out of the chasm to her side and doused her from head to tail. Though it was pleasant to finally have her tail freed from some of the dirt that had worked itself into it, Lyra could imagine there were better ways.

The path wasn’t smooth at all. Rocks and detritus lined the channel on both sides, and Lyra had to carefully step around them not to stumble. But as she valiantly proceeded forward, the biggest of the rocks soon rose in the distance.

It had been a huge boulder in the past, firmly lodged between two slopes in the landscape. The rock had crumbled sometime after, but earth had been carried against the remains on the other side, until the entire area was lifted to a higher elevation. What remained was sort of a natural cliff, darkly looming in the distance against the traces of light from the sky. And through a wide furrow in the center of the cliff, the water cascaded onto Lyra’s level in a massive waterfall.

Lyra realized that the lightning had stopped completely, and it was only raining in masses now. Though the painful flashes and the bone-shaking rumble of lightning were unpleasant, Lyra would have loved to be able to see the terrain, if only for a brief moment. She recognized the cliff.

The bridge had to be somewhere close, probably around the base. As it was, Lyra moved toward the cliff as quickly as possible. She didn’t want to think about it, but she also glanced down into the unruly stream at every turn, trying to spot the remains of the bridge somewhere below. She couldn’t actually make out anything useful down there with all the water splashing around, and she didn’t know whether she should be relieved or worried.

Luckily, stumbled upon the bridge. There wouldn’t have been any need to search for it so closely, because it was intact. Lyra was also worried. The so called bridge, turned out to be a bunch of planks haphazardly thrown across the chasm and stuck into the earth on either side. At least there was a railing on the upstream side, but it wouldn’t be of much use, as the supports were nailed to one of the planks instead of some feature of the landscape.

The water hadn’t ceased its splashing in the slightest, the foamy fountains hungrily licking at the construction, and it was almost a miracle the entire thing hadn’t toppled over and fallen down yet. Lyra swallowed. She’d had the bridge much larger and much more stable in her memory, and without all the water to boot, but it couldn’t be helped now.

“Alright, this is it,” Lyra said to the sprite, “we have to be very careful now. We need to get across, and this bridge seems to be our only way.” She looked down into the raging turmoil. “I won’t lie, I’m pretty scared. But just stick close to me, and I’ll make sure nothing goes wrong.”

The sprite continued to do nothing, in an agreeing fashion. Rain continued to pour down Lyra’s brow and dripped out of her tail in streams. The fact was that Lyra was terrified. But don’t dawdle around. Go now. If you let the fear settle in, you might as well never have come this far.

Lyra stepped up to the planks. There were tracks leading away from them on this side, so ponies had obviously been using the bridge for some time. In fact, the earth had been squeezed solid on top of the planks’ ends, lodging them into the ground solidly.

Lyra lifted a hoof and knocked on the closest board. It made a hollow sound, but the plank didn’t even as much as budge. She stepped onto it with her forehooves. The wood was mossy on top, and the green stuff was now soaked with water, making the surface of the plank slimy and slippery under her boots. But if Lyra stepped slowly and carefully enough, she could maintain enough surface tension under her soles to remain standing solidly and avoid a painful fall.

She followed up with her hind legs until she fully stood on top of the bridge. The bridge was actually broad enough that she could stand comfortably, there would be no daredevil balancing act like in the action stories. She gave a few tentative bounces, but the plank held firm. It didn’t move or become dislodged from its designated place, although it rebounded slightly under her weight. So the wood wasn’t entirely brittle and had retained some elasticity, which meant it wouldn’t suddenly crack under her weight. That was good. This might actually work!

“Here we go,” Lyra exclaimed. Her first step onto the bridge consisted of slowly shuffling her forehooves forward. When she was sure that they were firmly planted on the wooden surface, she dragged her hind hooves after. Time for the second step. She pushed her forehooves out again and shifted forward, pulling her hind legs behind. This brought her away from the ledge and fully out over the raging rapids. Progress!

Things were going pretty well. The remaining distance wasn’t so much all of a sudden. Alright, time for the third step. Lyra inched her forelegs toward the center of the bridge and carefully shifted forward until she was standing normally again. A massive fountain erupted from underneath and slapped Lyra’s hooves clean out from under her.

Lyra saw Bon Bon. Bon Bon was smiling. Bon Bon was crying. Bon Bon was shouting. Bon Bon was sleeping. Bon Bon was just there, her infinitely deep sapphire eyes sparkling in the summer sun like the sky itself. Lyra loved Bon Bon so much. It had been the biggest miracle of Lyra’s entire life that she had met Bon Bon, because without Bon Bon, there hadn’t even existed a Lyra until that point. Bon Bon’s gentle touch. Her words of encouragement. Her soft skin. Her smell. Bon Bon. Lyra just wanted to be with her.

What the hay? Why was she thinking of Bon Bon in times like this? She should be worrying about her own survival instead. Look. Open your eyes! Don’t be such a scaredy-cat. See? The bridge is right there. You might not be able to feel it right now, since it’s above you, but you can still see it. Now stretch out your hoof. See, the bridge is coming closer. You’re going to grab its edge. No, not there, there’s a bunch of water splashing onto that spot. Further below. Yeah, just like that. When you hit the ground, you’re just going to hold tight. Things will work out, you’ll see.

Lyra hit the plank with her chest, knocking the air out of her lungs. A jolt of pain erupted in her head as her chin smashed into the wood and her teeth were knocked against the machete’s handle.

But she held on for her life, her left forehoof cramping around the edge of her plank and her other hooves outstretched for stabilization. Even though she was laying completely still, the world needed a few moments to stop spinning. The vertigo would have sent her stomach into uprising if she still had any feeling left at this point. Water was pouring over her from somewhere, though she couldn’t tell if it was the rain or the remains of the huge splash.

Lyra stayed like that for quite a while before she gasped for air, finally forcing herself to draw some fresh oxygen into her burning lungs. Nothing was happening. The bridge was still there, the rain was still hammering on her head and the river was still splashing around. The sprite was also still there, floating near the wood right before Lyra’s eyes.

Momentarily, another splurge of water came bursting into the air from the stream and hit Lyra in the side. Lyra braced herself, but almost nothing happened this time. She was in such a favourable angle to the ground that the water basically just lightly rebounded off of her and splattered away on the other side. In fact, the forces affecting her body were so vanishingly weak that she could even start inching forward again.

“Oh yeah, it’s much better like this,” Lyra said to the sprite, “we should have gone like this all along.”

She was slowly sliding forward on her stomach. Gripping onto the the planks with her forelegs, and by pushing herself with her hind legs, Lyra could make progress at a fairly comfortable pace. Surely it meant that her yellow raincoat accumulated green stains as she dragged it over the moss, but it was a price worth paying for how safely she could travel this way.

Now and again, the river threw up some more water to try and knock her off the bridge, but the water mostly just washed over her and then left her in peace. Lyra didn’t have to crawl like that for very long before she reached the halfway point on the bridge. And nothing bad had happened! Lyra did deserve the brief moment of respite to calm down and catch her breath.

A roaring crash tore the tranquility to pieces as half an avalanche of rocks was sent down the waterfall to Lyra’s left, splashing into the water like cannonballs. The waterfall hitched for a brief moment. On the top of the cliff, a huge, jagged black shape had built itself up just at the edge and completely walled off the stream.

There was barely time to identify the massive jumble of huge tree trunks held together by a tight abundance of branches and other debris, before it keeled over the edge. The monstrosity came crashing down the face of the cliff, flushed out by a huge wave of water, before it all splashed into the channel and veritably exploded into several chunks. The water didn’t discriminate as it tore everything along its path, and even the biggest piece hurtled down the stream at breakneck speed. The largest chunk still had a huge shard of a tree trunk embedded in it, loosely wrapped into a messy tangle of other vegetation.

And it towered straight into the air, way higher than Lyra or the bridge, as it raced toward them.

“Oh no,” Lyra said, “no no no no no no!”

She turned toward the massive jumble and held on to the bridge with both hooves, leaning over the edge. Lyra’s eyes were burning as she tore them wide open, desperately trying to make something out within the pitch black shape that was about to annihilate them. But it was just too dark, and it was coming in too fast. She was likely to miss if she tried to grab it, but it didn’t seem like she would be getting a second chance.

“I can’t see,” Lyra screamed at the sprite, “I need light out there! Go!”

The sprite shot past her into the darkness like an arrow. When the incoming mass was lit up, it was barely in time. Right in its center were only branches and vines, but slightly off to the side towered the giant tree trunk. It would easily tear down the bridge.

Lyra braced herself and flexed her horn so strongly, it made her head hurt. She reached out and grabbed the trunk just as it came within reach, and then she pushed it away as hard as she could.

The force was unstoppable. It immediately pushed her back and threatened to fling her off the bridge. Lyra’s horn had been burning like crazy from the weight, but when her forelegs were fully stretched, the pain was like nothing she had ever experienced before. She had to hold on to the bridge for her life. She couldn’t let the trunk come any closer, but she felt like she was being torn apart.

The bridge bent under the weight until the material’s capacity for stress was reached. The only thing that stood between Lyra and oblivion now were her screaming hooves.

A disgusting crack resounded. It was the longest heartbeat of Lyra’s life.

Lyra waited for the bridge to fall away under her, but it lost its tension and bounced into straightness again instead.

The weight pushing against Lyra’s horn lessened. The tree trunk keeled over backwards and harmlessly splashed into the current. It passed underneath the bridge and was carried out of sight by the water.

Lyra didn’t waste any time righting herself. Her limbs were still complaining, but she had no time to listen. With all the haste she could muster, she crawled over the remaining stretch of the bridge, carefully pulling herself forward in order to remain safely connected with the ground, but never stopping once until she arrive at her goal.

When Lyra reached the other side and stepped onto forest ground again, she skipped away from the bridge as far as she could and immediately sank to her knees.

She could have proverbially kissed the earth in that moment, but it didn’t seem a pleasant thing to actually do. Instead, she rolled over onto her back, and began laughing like crazy. The sprite danced in front of her face, sharing the mood.

“We’re still alive,” Lyra bellowed. At that moment, it was the funniest thing in the world.

“We’re still alive!”