Pinkie Pie dreamt a vivid dream; she dreamt that she was hovering over a small village, watching as its strange two legged inhabitants crowded around a fire. A stage had been set up and the townsfolk danced and sang together under the moon. In the logic Pinkie’s dream, she could not speak or call out. She could make sounds certainly, but not words. The reason why eluded her, although at that moment she did not care. The song of the Calla entranced her, but she could not sing along. She instead merely listened in delight.
Come-come-commala
Rice come a-falla
sissa 'ay a-bralla
Dey come a-folla
Pinkie laughed happily; she knew a party when she saw one, and now she knew that even strange things like these had them too!
Down come a-rivva
Or-i-za we kivva
Rice be a green-o
See all we seen-o
Seen-o the green-o
A spry old man wearing a Stetson hat stood at the front of the stage. Pinkie watched his feet move in time with the song as it began to gather speed.
Come-come-commala!
Come-come-commala
Rice come a-falla
Deep inna walla
Grass come-commala
Pinkie gasped as the old man danced faster and faster; his feet looked like lightning as they flawlessly tapped out the commala.
Under the sky-o
Grass green n high-o
Girl n her fella
Lie down togetha
They slippy 'ay slide-o
Under 'ay sky-o
Come-come-commala
Rice come a-falla!
The song gained even more speed, along with the incredible dancer at the front; his feet disappeared into a blur as he tapped his heels and toes to the rhythm. The old man started breathing heavily as he danced, still going faster and faster despite the strain. Just as soon as Pinkie would have sworn he would faint, on some unknown cue, the whole town lifted their arms into the air and screamed one word:
COMMALA!
The old man pitched forwards into the crowd causing Pinkie to cry out in surprise, but the crowd caught him handily. The elderly should not over-exert themselves, and nor should you surprise them as she had learned. This old dancer seemed to be an exception.
The crowd held him aloft, bearing him to three bemused people: a lady with dark skin and no lower legs, who sat in a wheel-chair, a man who grinned at the spectacle, and a boy who looked on in wonder. The crowd deposited the dancer between the three who all burst into laughter; the grinning man leant down and placed an arm over the shoulder of the dark skinned woman.
The dream changed without any warning, and Pinkie found herself flying at a great speed over a new place, one she did not like at all. The scorched land sprawled underneath her, almost featureless; its one notable aspect a huge decaying train-track that ran on endlessly. Milling around the tracks were creatures even stranger than the dancers of the commala. They looked like the animals that lived around Ponyville, rabbits, deer and others of that kind; although these things looked misshapen, like the badly made first attempts of an artist to create the inhabitants of a forest.
She soared over the train track leading onwards, catching a glimpse of a sign on the side of the rails as she shot past. The sign declared “Welcome to LUD” to any poor souls unlucky enough to pass by, as if those unfortunates would want the greetings of the creatures of Lud.
Faint drums that kept a constant beat sounded out, thumping out a steady rhythm that grew louder and louder, powerful and oppressing. Pinkie knew she had never heard them before, yet still the drums seemed all too familiar, almost like they were from a song that she should know the name of. A thought sprung to her mind unbidden, voicing itself in an odd faltering manner.
Velcro Fly! ZZ Top! Hear the God Drums!
Pinkie didn't know what a Velcro fly or a ZZ top was, but she knew of the God drums now.
Pinkie’s flight slowed, and then stopped. She found herself staring open-mouthed at impossibly tall skyscrapers in a once incredible city. The city itself seemed to pulse with the constant beat of the god drums. She saw the scarring results of an endless war between the Pubes and the Grays, as well as the results of hundreds of years neglect. Though she did not understand war, nor why what had happened had done so, the near complete devastation of the place began to overwhelm her. Another unwanted thought invaded her mind.
Blaine the Train is a pain.
As she watched her dream began to shift again. Lud faded into non existence. Just before she completely lost sight of the broken city, she glimpsed strange clouds rising from the ground, and heard snatches of the unholy cacophony of long abandoned technology suddenly forced back to life and faintly, much worse. Screams of terror. Then Lud was gone; its god drums faded into silence. Pinkie felt as if she could still hear the drums deep in the back of her mind, thumping away quietly.
Lud was replaced with another scene that played out underneath Pinkie. A vast desert sprawled out underneath her, with no end in sight. Dotted around were unhealthy looking shrubs and some unpleasant looking tufts of grass here and there. Alone the old dancer of the Commala walked, step by step along the unforgiving track of land between him and his destination. Pinkie got the impression he was searching for something.
Or someone; quipped the wavering voice. A moment later it added Hile gunslinger Roland, last of the line of Eld.
Roland crouched over a burnt out campfire, running his fingers through the ashes and muck left behind. He looked away from the camp fire, and using the devil grass of the desert; he started a fire of his own, preparing for the chill that the night would bring.
Pinkie found herself traveling through her dreamscape again at an unimaginable pace, this time with some of the most beautiful, but painful chimes she had ever heard ringing in her ears. They rose in volume until Pinkie couldn’t take any more. She squeezed her eyes shut and bit down on her tongue in a mixture of agony and ecstasy.
The flight stopped and the chimes gradually faded into silence. Once again the dream had changed while she had been distracted by the painful, wondrous chimes. Pinkie opened her eyes to see a room with no windows or doors, lit by a chandelier and filled with tables holding one of the biggest arrays of food she had ever seen.
A man dressed in black robes leaned against the furthest of the walls, smirking at Pinkie. The smile seemed out of place on his pallid face. When Pinkie looked back the smirk grew wider, and the man in black pushed himself off the wall, starting a slow, arrogant walk towards Pinkie.
A new conviction filled Pinkie. This one meant to harm Equestria; to hurt those she cared about, to destroy everything. Pinkie glared at him. The man threw back his head and burst into laughter. Long, raven-black hair spilled down and hung over his shoulders. The dream changed once more, as the laughter of the man in black echoed madly, then stopped altogether.
The day after Pinkie’s vision carried on like any other; she got up, got ready and set about baking. The same old daily morning rituals carried out, comforting in their familiarity. In the few interesting parts of her work that day, she distractedly burnt her first batch of muffins. Several early morning customers left disappointed, including the resident mail mare. Other than the little mishap with the muffins, Pinkie felt the same as ever.
Without her noticing, at the end of her working day, she placed a particularly well made cupcake into a bag while chatting to the buyer. As he left, picking up the treat as he went, she shouted across to him.
“May it do ya fine,” before absentmindedly serving the next customer. A familiar small shape wandered inside.
“Hiya Pinkie!”
“Hile to thee Pip!” she smiled at the diminutive colt, who had wandered inside in search of a snack.
Pinkie herself didn’t seem to notice the difference, so Pip decided that Pinkie was up to her usual tricks, brushing off the comment as nothing important, even going so far as to return it. All in good fun of course.
“Hile Pinkie! I got some bits from Dad, so can I get a one of those ah… Ehrm... Those merins?”
“A meringue? Sure thing!” As usual Pipsqueak didn’t have enough. Pinkie pretended not to notice.
Fluttershy hummed as she flitted about her tree house, feeding her numerous animal friends, many of which demanded special attention or food. She finished shortly after midday, settling down outside in what turned out to be near enough a perfect afternoon, accidentally dozing off in the shade of her home.
A hungry white rabbit looked on sympathetically. Angel knew how much energy caring for him and all the other animals took from Fluttershy, and took relief in the fact that she had finally taken a break, but damn, if he wasn’t still hungry. Angel set off to find a snack, heading towards the Everfree forest where, he hoped; he would find something to eat.
Twenty minutes later, Angel began his foraging near the forest’s outskirts, looking for flowers for Fluttershy, and wild growing lettuce for himself. Most ponies gave the foreboding place a wide berth, although animals in their oddly universal sense of foresight, knew full well that unless disturbed, whatever resided in the forest, would remain in the forest.
Angel rubbed his paws together gleefully; he had spotted a large plant of mint, his favorite. Wasting no time, he stripped the leaves from the stalks, shoving more than anyone would think possible into a small, greedy mouth. Angel felt an irritating sense of unease, despite his excellent luck. A feeling of something amiss that just wouldn’t go away.
Angel ignored the feeling and continued enjoying his feast, stuffing handful after handful of mint down his gullet. The niggling feeling of something wrong grew stronger and stronger, until it grew strong enough to foce Angel away from his food long enough to look around with wide eyes, the hardwired response of flight or fight taking hold.
A raccoon appeared in front on Angel, causing him to leap back in surprise. The raccoon itself had not scared him. What had scared him was the way it had arrived, not falling, not walking or even jumping into Angels view.
Appearing.
One moment it had been a translucent silhouette, the next it had became an opaque, fully-formed raccoon that did not move at all.
Now that Angel could see it clearly, he realized it couldn’t be a raccoon. Its neck was definitely longer and the patterns of the fur were far too different. While common raccoons had ringed tails and grey or brown fur, this newcomer was covered in rings of black and white, all over his body.
Despite the cheeky, almost malicious way he treat others, deep down Angel cared, learning from the best. The raccoon thing lay on the ground, probably hurt. Thankfully its chest rose and fell, albeit in quick, rapid bursts. The breathing of any living thing that has very little time left to live. Angel set off at a run for Fluttershy.
Angel ran as fast as he could, arriving beside a still sleeping Fluttershy soon after. Losing his own struggle for breath, he barely managed to halfheartedly start poking an extended leg. Still, it was enough to partially wake her, skittish thing that she could be. It succeeded in getting a single eyelid to reluctantly slide open. Angel rapped a paw against Fluttershy’s hoof, wheezing heavily.
Fluttershy, upon hearing her baby bunny breathing so raggedly, roused herself almost immediately. Fluttershy raised her head and watched little Angel carefully.
“Angel? Is something the matter?” Angel didn’t reply, both paws were placed firmly on his knees as he breathed in and out, catching up with the breath he so desperately wanted.
“Have you got a cold or a sore throat?” A worried gasp came after. “Maybe you have asthma! Or even-” The holding up of a paw was thankfully, enough to stop the no doubt endless list of ailments. Angel motioned for Fluttershy to follow and set off at a run. Unsurprisingly, in the state that he was in, he lasted all of ten seconds of scurrying before he ended up sitting on Fluttershy’s back, pointing the way.
Pinkie Pie drew a hoof across her sweaty forehead. Today had been a busy afternoon, thankfully finished. Mrs. Cake had been so pleased with her today in fact, that she had given Pinkie a spare cupcake and sent her off from work ten minutes early, the cupcake lasting until she walked out of Sugarcube corner. Pinkie placed the whole cupcake in her mouth at once, chewing happily as she walked onto the busy street.
Preoccupied with her treat, she did not notice the particularly overworked brown and white stallion, who barely held up the massive load of timber planks he had been saddled with, as he stumbled barely a few feet away from her
Finally the planks made their escape, one of the uppermost slipping loose. As if guided by an unseen hand it, flew straight and true, making an almost comical Clonk as it hit the back of Pinkie’s head. The stallion did not find it comical at all; he threw off his cargo to check on the now unconscious mare.
Pinkie looked around, seeing no floor; no ceiling; no walls. Everything she could see was white, except for one thing. At the time, she didn’t know it, but she could see the raccoon thing which Fluttershy, at that time, would be moments away from finding. He looked healthy and happy; he cocked his head to one side and barked, sounding oddly like he was talking.
“Oy!” The sound echoed, and seemed to please him, so he made it again, “Oy!” Bright eyes stared straight at Pinkie, who smiled back. Pinkie found those eyes very unusual for any animal, a bright gold surrounding a blackened center, containing surprising depth and intelligence for a creature so small.
Oy disappeared, and the strange whiteness with him. Pinkie began to return to the world of the living. The blurry shape of the stallion from earlier leaned over her, talking to her. Pinkie couldn’t understand him at first, but the dissonant sounds and phrases cohered into words after some time.
“-lo sweetheart? Hello? Can you hear me? Nod if you can.” Pinkie groaned loudly, and the stallion sighed in relief, turning to glare at a recently gathered crowd of onlookers. “Thanks ever so much for your help to the lot of you; standing around gawking when she could have been hurt.” The gaggle of ponies looked angry, then under the stallions furious glare, most looked down, embarrassed.
“Bloody ghouls, piss off. Go on!” The crowd dispersed with some reluctance from the most exciting thing that had happened that day, muttering in unwarranted offense as they did. A little pinto colt ran forwards.
“Dad? Dad! What happened to Pinkie?” The mare in question made her recovery remarkably quickly, leaping to her feet to look at Pipsqueak then the stallion, her newfound energy stemming from the thrill of discovery.
“Oh my gosh! You’re Pip’s dad?” Pinkie talked quickly, forgetting the hefty knock to the head in moments. “How come I never see you around town? ‘Cos I know everypony in ponyville and everypony knows me! So what’s your name mister?”
The stallion just stood there, with an open mouth. Moments ago Pinkie had been unconscious, and now she literally bounced on the spot. He couldn’t even begin to fathom how anyone could take a knock like that, and to come out smiling and talking, not in the slightest annoyed with the one that had caused the accident. So he looked on dumbly at the pink bundle of energy.
Fortunately for him, after an awkward few seconds of silence, Pipsqueak answered Pinkie for his dad.
“That’s my dad, Pippin!”
“Pippin?” Pinkie looked at Pipsqueak, then at Pippin. She stopped bouncing, forming predatory grin formed on her face. “Well I’m Pinkie Pie, and everypony in ponyville knows me apart from you, and now you know me. I think I know what this calls for.” The smile widened alarmingly “Do you?”
Pippin shook his head, backing away slightly.
“It calls for… A… A parting!” Pinkie staggered on the spot, and would have stumbled forwards if Pippin had not caught her. Pippin found his voice.
“Pinkie, I’m no expert but I think you might have been hurt a bit worse than you think, would you mind coming to the hospital with me?”
“Sh-ure. We can hah-have the part-ee with nuzz redhurt.” Pinkie leant heavily on Pippin, unable to hold herself up. Pippin failed horribly at keeping the sarcasm out of his voice.
“Right then, that sounds just perfect, Pip? Can you go get her mum?”
“Not really dad. Pinkie’s parents don’t live nearby. Mrs. Cake does; she’s sorta like a mum. Should I get her?”
“Yeah Pip, go get her.”
It did not take long for Pinkie to arrive at the hospital and receive the help she needed. Mrs. Cake later spent the better part of twenty minutes ranting at Pippin, but in the end understood it had been an accident, agreeing to let the incident slide if Pinkie confirmed his side of the story. Of course, it would have to wait until she could talk properly. Pippin’s cargo of timber, meant to build little Pipsqueak a tree house was stolen. They never did find out what happened to it, but Pipsqueak didn’t seem to mind.
A doctor later told them why Pinkie had started acting strange. She had suffered a minor concussion, and a contusion, caused by some slight internal bleeding. Neither would pose a problem, although thanks to medical protocol, Pinkie would have to stay the night.
Pinkie never did get around to organizing her ‘parting’.
Unaware of the incident in town and fully preoccupied with drama of her own, Fluttershy rushed into her treehouse. On her back sat Angel bunny, holding tightly onto her mane as he held steady a comatose Oy. Fluttershy had seen the symptoms of this kind before, on an old ferret that had not lived through the night. In both that case and this one, when the fur was parted, bright red swellings of the veins and arteries could be seen. When the symptoms were put to the vet, along with the question of what the illness could have been, the answer had been quick and unusually simple. Septicemia.
Blood poisoning.
Devastated by what she had seen as her own failure, Fluttershy had from that day forward kept several doses of what would have saved the aged ferret, Penicillin. Fluttershy didn’t know how the raccoon thing had got its illness, but she suspected the vicious bite on its back, frighteningly near to the neck.
Fluttershy tore into her home, terrifying bird and beast alike with this mad, rushing creature that replaced their sedate caretaker. Once Fluttershy safely placed Oy and Angel on her couch, she shot upstairs, tossing an assortment of brightly colored medicine bottles out from her upstairs bathroom, where the life saving penicillin was kept. Several cracked, pooling in a perfumed multi-hued puddle on the floor.
Fluttershy’s labors bore fruit; there stood four pale green bottles practically glowing with allure. Fluttershy grabbed two of them. Both doses were moments later administered properly, with Fluttershy setting to work bandaging and cleaning the huge bite with antiseptic immediately after. When she finished this, she sat down next to Oy while Angel clambered onto her forelegs. Both stared at the unlucky beast. Now came the difficult part for them. They watched, watched and waited.
Applejack kicked the apple tree, her last of the day, watching smugly as the red fruit fell readily into the waiting buckets. She grinned in satisfaction as she surveyed the products of a hardworking day. With a quick turn and a flick of her hoof, the buckets of apples grouped together, ready to be lifted and moved. The moment before she lifted them up, she heard distant sounds, a pained howling and screaming.
Applebloom had watched the thing as it attacked Winona, deftly cutting and biting. Winona’s leg had come off. It had come clean off and the thing was eating it, as if it had never tasted anything so delicious. All she could do was scream once, then watch, frozen stiff with fear.
Winona crawled painfully slowly towards Applebloom. She had to guard The Filly, the one who played with her day in and out, the one who fed her when she was hungry and looked after her when she was sick. She had to guard The Filly for The Mare and The Stallion. The dog’s version of the trinity, the three she would love unquestioningly. The three she would die for.
The biting-tearing-crab thing had attacked The Filly, and she had stopped it. Stopped it as any Gooddog would, and any Baddog wouldn't. Winona did not think of herself as a Baddog, and so crawled on; placing herself between Applebloom and the freakish thing that had finished off its meal. It skittered towards them, voicing strange, plaintive questions as it did.
“Dad-a-chum? Dum-a-chum?”
Applejack looked on in horror, blood covered the thing, it covered the soil, it covered Winona. The unnatural pairing of a scorpion and a crab, given wickedly sharp claws and a beak for a mouth came closer.
“Did-a-chick? Ded-a-check?”
The questions it made almost seemed to be pleas for help, as if it asked all that could hear, can’t you help me? Please help me. Can’t you see I’m desperate?
It moved further forwards, closer to Winona and Applebloom.
“Dum-a-chum? Did-a-” Crack! Applejack kicked the monstrosity against a tree, splitting its carapace into two. It twitched revoltingly for a moment on its back, arachnid legs waving madly in the air, then it stilled. No one moved, no one made a sound.
Winona whined pitifully, bringing Applejack to her sense. Ever the practical one, she checked on a wide eyed and mute Applebloom, who thankfully, had escaped without any injuries. Then Applejack checked on Winona.
Winona knew she would die. She knew it could not be averted, and she would have had it no other way. The Filly would now be safe, The Mare would see to it. The biting-tearing-thing would trouble them no more. She had done what any Gooddog would do. Dimly she saw The Mare approach; tears running down her face. The Mare walked over to her softly; the words Winona desperately wanted to hear on her lips.
Applejack kissed Winona on the head.
“Good dog Winona, good girl.” Winona feebly licked at Applejack, collapsing to the ground moments later.
