Hunter's Soul

by Verbose Mode

Rating: teen
Tags: Adventure, Crossover
Length: 8416

When terrifying monsters from distant lands appear, a new breed of pony is needed to protect their homes. Equestria needs Monster Hunters!

The Frozen North is not a place most ponies would call pleasant, but for Smithy Souls, it's home. And home just became a dangerous place.
When an attack by terrifying monster devastates Smithy's village, a pair of heroes pursuing the creatures from arrive to help. The unlucky Earth Pony must learn from his exotic new friends before a true nightmare arrives and unlock a potential he never knew he had. The potential to be a hero.
The potential to be a Monster Hunter!

***

Crossover with Capcom's Monster Hunter series. Tagged Gore for killing dangerous wildlife and wearing it as a hat, which may offend some people.
On Hiatus until I get bored. Or I beat MH4U. Whichever happens first. (Hint: I will beat 4 first. Get someone to teach you how to play.)

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2014-07-29 20:54:02 UTC

Prologue: On Cutie Marks

Cutie marks. They are the cornerstone of most ponies' lives, the one thing that assures they are unique and have a place in the world. They appear when a pony discovers their special talent, and lead them through to find their destinies.

Smithy Souls knew almost exactly how he was going to get his cutie mark. It seemed rather obvious, really. The blue-coated, straw-maned colt had been a very young, a bit lanky for his age, when he had hid for hide-and-seek in the village metalworking shack, and been distracted by the glow of the coals and sparks of the hot metal. He had stayed for hours, and came back the next day, when old Damask had put him to work on the bellows and fetching water. The weeks went on, until finally Damask trusted him with the press to cut thin iron rods to length for nails, and then heating and pounding them to shape in the nail-anvil. For the next four months, Smithy made nails, rivets, and sometimes hingepins for the village. It was tedious, but it made him strong, and he never once complained. He could feel it every time his teeth rattled as the hammer struck metal. This was part of his destiny.

When spring came, the village of Little Flanchard cleared the tracks and waited for the trains to come, bringing supplies they could not make or grow themselves and carrying away the gems from the mines. Damask always took the first train to Yanhoover to buy new iron and coal for her forge, and Smithy's own mother went to seek out spices and salts for the village lodge, leaving his father to mind the lodge and the foals. Smithy knew this, and made his own plans. The very hour Damask's train pulled out of the station, Smithy Soul trotted into the shack, lit the forge, and set about arranging everything he would need. Buckets of snow pushed next to the furnace to melt for quenching-water and fire-fighting. The tong-harness he would need to hold the ingot steady, and the other tongs he would need to move it in the fire. Each hammer he would need as he reached a different stage of the forging. And the flat, short ingot he reverently placed in the heart of the coals as they reached the appropriate heat.

He only planned it as practice, originally. Just a trial run to see if he could, if he had any real talent with the hammer and tongs. Hopefully old Damask would be impressed at how much he had learned as he watched her. At best, he might earn his cutie mark, a thought that made him giddy.

Smithy Souls decided to start simple, and made a knife. He had the image of what he wanted in his head; a simple, curved blade with a straight jaw-grip, easy to hold and use, like the ones his mother used in the kitchen. Just a humble tool, nothing fancy. A simple, sturdy iron blade.

The first day he pounded on the edges of the ingot, hammering one half in narrower to form the handle. It was difficult, striking it hard and straight without twisting the heat-softened metal. He left the very end a little less done than the other knives he had seen, as every time he worked that segment the forming grip would twist and Smithy would spend even longer fixing the mistake.

The following two days Smithy carefully pounded out the blade. Halfway through the second day, he realized he had made a great mistake; the ingot he had used was a flat rectangle, completely unsuitable for making a curved blade without the time and strength Smithy did not have as a young colt. Perhaps it could have made a lightweight cleaver, but with the amount Smithy had already flattened the edges, there was no going back. Smithy finished as best he could, heated it one last time, and dropped it in the quenching-barrel. It erupted with a hiss and gout of steam, and the colt awkwardly fished it out of the bottom, resolving to hold on to the item next time he needed to quench it.

The blade was an ugly, cruel-looking thing. The grip was straight, at least, but too short for an adults jaw, and capped with a unneeded flare of a pommel where he had failed to hammer it narrower. The blade started straight, but then suddenly widened near the end and curved sharply, ending where it met the spine at an awkward ninety degree angle. All in all, it was useless for anything but chopping very small sticks. A disappointing, but worthwhile, first-try by an inexperienced apprentice.

Smithy Souls was absolutely disgusted when his older sister, overjoyed, pointed out that the blade had become his cutie mark, complete with a orange-tasseled grip. He had spent the next four days crying in his room, lamenting that his destiny was that of a failed project, until Damask had come back from Yanhoover with her crates of coal and bodily drug him back out to the forge, where she taught him how to make a proper blade, and then a pickaxe head, then shoes, and more. Eventually, as the years went by, Smithy forgot about his useless cutie mark and focused on other things; his work, his friends, the Unicorn filly about his age that moved here to live with her uncle. Anything but the pointless and useless image on his flank. The knife itself had been bound with a matching orange tassel and was stuck firmly into the log wall of Smithy's room, a hook for the knitted cap his sister had given him that fall. Smithy grew, maybe not happy, maybe not content, but healthy and glad to live in the village Little Flanchard.

And then the Shadow In The Snow attacked.

The Shadow In The Snow

The autumn air was crisp, and a thick carpet of fresh-fallen snow coated every surface it would stick to. Smithy took a deep, satisfied breath as he stepped out of his family's lodge, a belly full of hot oats and honey and a easy day ahead of him. A chilly breeze rippled across him, making him shiver and motivating him towards getting to work lighting the forge.

Those thoughts were quickly put on hold as a pleasant voice called out.

"Morning, Smithy!"

Smithy turned, surprised, as the local (and only) Unicorn filly trotted by, wrapped in a pink scarf.

"Yuh-Yarrow! Uh, good morning to you, too!" Smithy stammered, crossing his front hooves self-consciously. Yarrow beamed back, her short-cropped emerald mane ruffling perfectly in the breeze-Oh sweet Celestia she knows my name! Smithy valiantly tried to play it cool. "S-so, what brings you to this side of town?"

"Oh! You, actually." Yarrow's magic aura lit up, lifting a rough-spun cloth sack out of her saddlebags while Smithy tried not to blush and failed. "My dear uncle broke our coat hook with his magic. He's getting old, you know, doesn't quite know his own strength anymore. Brittle bones but whew!" The pretty mare shook her head, "still could move the cabin if he really wanted to. I made more burn salve, I'll happily pay with that, if you don't mind?" She asked, indicating the sack. A gentle clinking gave away the mason jars within.

"S-sure! Absolutely!" Smithy nodded his head as fast as it would go. "I'll fix it up better than new! You'll have it back by nightfall!" He promised, wondering which orders he could put off to actually have it done by nightfall and how badly damaged this coatrack really was. It was probably one of the ones Damask used to make out of old shoes, bent in half and welded to a pair of rods to form hooks. "I, uh... I just need to go by my forge first and get the coals going." Smithy committed to what he felt was a monumental gamble with what he said next, praying he could say it without sounding like a foal. "Walk with me?" He squeaked.

"Oh, of course! You'll want to keep the burn salve near where you get burned, I expect!" Yarrow fell into step beside him, and Smithy happily led the way to his workshop.

Yarrow was a newcomer to Little Flanchard, and "newcomer" as in she was the newest pony in town having moved in six years ago. Flanchard was a very small, isolated Earth Pony village in the northern mountains, and before Yarrow had arrived her uncle Dr. Mesquite had been the only Unicorn in the whole town, responsible for all kinds of magical troubleshooting. The town was too small to have a real Weather Patrol, and the five Pegasus that lived in the inn generally focused on keeping the weather safe as opposed to under control unless Mesquite stepped in, something he was getting too old for. Everyone else in Little Flanchard was an Earth Pony and a miner, something that made Yarrow seem very unique to them. Consequently, every young colt and half of the fillies in the village had fallen head-over heels in love with her, including Smithy Souls. Yarrow had ignored the attention for the most part, attending to her uncle and greenhouse, and it had slowly died off.

Yarrow was the only Unicorn mare Smithy had ever seen, and he thought she was beautiful. He was so wrapped-up in his amazing good luck in getting to talk to and walk with his crush that he failed to notice the sun go dark.

"Huh? What's that" Yarrow asked and they came around the street that the metalworking shop was on, looking up. Smithy jolted himself, and looked as well. Maybe Stratus lost one of his storm clouds again? he thought, trying to get his eyes to adjust.

Then the shape of the shadow changed, and Smithy's legs turned to jelly. "Dru... Drag..." He managed to stammer, sitting down on the snow, hard. Impossible. Not here.

"DRAGON!" Somepony up ahead screamed as the flying shadow folded its wings and plummeted toward the earth.

The sun glared brightly around the creature, forcing Smithy to look away as it dove. His mind was frozen, but his body decided that the street was not a safe place to be anymore and pushed Yarrow and himself under the eves of the nearest building. They both cried out in fear as wind swirled down the street at gale forces as the beast touched down, crushing Smithy's workshop under its talons and tail.

It looked unlike any creature Smithy had seen or heard of before, and absolute nightmare brought to life. It's fat, flabby white body looked like the largest maggot Tartarus had ever spawned, and a pair of sickly-grey, leathery wings sprouted from its middle. It only had two legs, each with three talons, just as meaty and gross as its body. The head was the worst: there wasn't one. Its long, boneless neck ended in a single slit that split open to reveal row after row of tiny, needle-like teeth set in rings of pale pink flesh.

The mouth-neck flailed across the street lazily, snuffling as it tried to scent its prey. One of the shop owners, Jazzline, scrambled out from under the wreckage of a sled and darted for safety, inches ahead of the abomination's jaws as the neck stretched and snapped after him. The monster screamed, an unbearable, earsplitting shriek that made Smithy and Yarrow cower and clasp their hooves over their ears. Smithy thought he heard a whimper. It was probably him.

He looked up to see the creature turn toward them, shuffling along, feeling its way along the street with its wing tips and neck. Smithy carefully got to his hooves, helping up the unicorn. It's blind, it doesn't have eyes! We can get away! He made a shushing motion to Yarrow, who nodded, crimson eyes tearing up in fear. The disgusting aberration waddled closer and they began to sneak away.

Smithy's back hoof stepped on the end of a splintered piece of wood that had been thrown down the street when the creature landed, making a soft crunch under the fresh snow. Yarrow look at him. Smithy looked at Yarrow. They both looked back at the monster searching for them.

The monster stopped sniffing. The ponies ran.

With a moaning roar, the beast flapped its wings once and flung itself down the street, trying to crush them under its bulk. The worm-like head missed missed Yarrow's tail by less than a meter, sending both ponies tumbling away in a flurry of snow. The beast moaned again, and reared its head back, an aura of crackling lighting beginning to gather in its throat. Smithy rolled to his hooves, grabbed Yarrow roughly by that back of her mane and drug her upright after him as he fled, looking back over his shoulder. The electric charge grew brighter, and he could feel his coat standing on end as the creature lowered its head and discharged the blast into the snow. It tore along the ground in a wave of light, arching and spreading as it went. There was no way they both would escape it.

Smithy slid his flank under Yarrows belly and bucked her as far and as high as he could, sending her wailing up onto the roof of somepony's house. The wave of lightning brushed the tip of his snow-soaked tail and caught up with him. Smithy's whole world vanished with a flash as he lost control of every muscle in his body, wracked with pain as he skidded across the ground helplessly, his coat and mane shedding sparks. Distantly, through ringing ears, somepony called his name. His eyelids flickered, and he realized he had never actually closed his eyes, just that his vision had blacked out and was slowly returning. Nothing worked as he tried to move, his narrow, blurry view down the street perfectly framing the approaching monster. I'm going to die. It's going to kill me, then eat me. Maybe not even kill me first. It's going to eat me alive.

A bang echoed through the streets from behind Smithy, and something burst against the creatures neck making it flinch back. A second bang, followed by another and another made the beast wince and scream again, pounding Smithy's already abused skull into submission. The moment before he passed out, he caught a glimpse of a pony bounding over his body, clad head-to-tail in strange garb and swung a club bigger than he was, charging the abomination. Smithy wanted to shout a warning, but his vision faded and he finally passed out.

***

Cold liquid being poured across one's face is not the most pleasant way to be awoken, but it is very efficient.

"Mister Po!" Cried his mother's voice.

"Awaa? 'Ee awake na', inn'ee?" Came a new one, thick with accent.

Smithy sputtered and lifted his head, sore and confused. He was on a blanket set next to the firepit inside the lodge, his back getting toasty warm. His mother and sister Myrrh where standing over him, glaring daggers at the pony who had dumped a mug of water over his head. Smithy twisted his neck and was surprised by what he saw.

The pony was not actually a pony at all. The same hight as most stallions, but with a heavy, sturdy build and a thick coat of brown fur. A wild mane of rust-red spilled down his neck with several thin braids and beads, and a pair of wide, broad-tined antlers sprouted through them. His eyes were a laughing baby blue, close to Smithy's own coat, and his back end was wrapped in a set of heavy pants.

"'Ello da, friend! Gla t'see yeh back w'teh livin'!" He rolled his R's strongly, and half of his syllables seemed to be missing. It took Smithy a solid four seconds to translate the accent into normal Equestrian.

"Umm, yeah. Thanks? Are you the one who saved me?"

"This is mister Po, Smithy." His mother introduced them as Myrrh helped him sit upright. "He's a caribou, from across the tundra to the west. Mr. Po and his friend saved the village from that... thing."

The caribou snorted, pawing at the floorboards with a cloven hoof. "Aww, Ah dinneh do a grad job. 'Ee got awah, righ'?"

Smithy rolled his shoulders and grimaced. He could faintly smell urine and burnt mane, he had probably lost control of his bladder and soiled himself when the lighting-wave had hit him. "What was that thing? It's not gonna come back, is it?" He asked, hoping his worry didn't show too clearly. A sudden memory struck him. "I was with Yarrow! Is she all right?"

"She's fine, dear, Kirin says you saved her." Myrrh assured him.

"Who?" Smithy asked as Mr. Po coughed into his hoof.

"Ya, gud save, too, Ah saw eet. Dat wee beastie day hit'cha was a Kez-who. Nasta uggleh buggas."

Smithy shook his head, not sure he could understand this time.

"He means 'it was a Khezu' and you are lucky to be alive." Came a clear, ringing voice from the guest bedroom. Smithy gingerly looked around...

Just in time to see the most stunningly beautiful creature he had seen in his entire short life walk into the hall

She was taller than most ponies by a full head high, with a deep brown coat that dappled to a creamy tan on her chest and belly. Her legs were thin, and dainty cloven hooves barely seemed to touch the floor even when standing still. Her muzzle was slim and a pair of bright eyes that cooly regarded the room glanced over him. She had no mane, making her ears seem extra-alert, but her entire frame was so slim it failed to look strange. A tiny scut of a tail flicked up as she surveyed the room.

"A deer..." Smithy breathed, then coughed and blushed as he realized he had spoken aloud.

Mr. Po trotted up and bumped shoulders with her, an action she seemed to tolerate. "Ach, Keery! T' tough wee poneh s'wake!"

"I can see that, Popo." She floated across the hall of the lodge and lowered herself to Smithy's level. "Hello. How are you feeling?"

"Awwaawa..." Smithy shut his muzzle and shook himself before answering. "Better. Well, better than when I passed out, I mean."

She gave a small, fleeting smile. "You are very strong, little pony. A shock from a Khezu that size would have killed most hunters, even with appropriate armor. Your family was explaining to me that Earth Ponies are known for their toughness. My name is Kirin, and I am a Monster Hunter, same as my companion, Popo."

"I-I'm Smithy, Smithy Souls. Your voice is pretty. Where did you come from?" Smithy blushed as he realized how weird that sounded. "I-I mean, I've never met a deer before, and I can't place your accent-"

Mr. Po gave a barking laugh. "Och, teh wee poneh be fanceh t' ya!"

Smithy felt like his face was going to burst into flame as the caribou saw through his interest, but Kirin took it in stride. "I expect so, these ponies have never seen anything like us before. I've noticed quite a few of them watching your own tail when you walk." Leaving Po to sputter and blush, the regal deer turned her attention back to Smithy and his family. "I hail from across the western sea, beyond the lands of gryphons. I met Popo when he came south from the Aurora-kingdoms hunting for Rathalos, and we have traveled together since."

"And... you hunt monsters? Like the one that attacked my little colt?" His mother asked, a note of pleading in her voice.

"Da straight. Ahn dinne be fooled, Ah'm gon'ah finnesh teh job!" Popo stamped a hoof.

"I'm not that little, mum." Smithy muttered.

"There is a problem, however." Kirin interjected. "We traveled here because we heard monsters from our lands where moving east. We expected smaller ones, the fast reproducers like Jaggi and Velociprey, but nothing so powerful as a Khezu. We can fend it off, but we will need some help assembling the supplies we need to slay it."

Smithy nodded, groaning as he hauled himself to his feet. "I'll do whatever I can to help. I am a blacksmith, after all." He held his head up proudly.

"Smithy..." His sister put a hoof on his shoulder. "The Khezu destroyed your forge. It's going to take weeks to rebuild it."

That news hit Smithy like an avalanche. That forge was his life! That forge literally made his cutie mark. He ground his teeth. "Miss Kirin, Mr. Po? Can I ask you a favor?"

"We are already planning on slaying the Khezu, if that's what your asking. I thought Po made that very clear." Kirin said, raising a stately eyebrow.

"I know. I want to help." Smithy took a deep breath. "Teach me how to hunt monsters!"

The silence that followed in the lodge was shocking. Even the miners at their own table stopped talking and looked over.

"S-Smithy, what are you-" his mother started, but was interrupted by Po bursting into raucous laughter.

"BWAHAHA! Aye, ye, a Monst'a Hunt'a! Likkle poneh teh slaya of great beasties! Ah kin see it nao!"

"I'm serious!" Smithy shouted, stamping a hoof and nearly falling over. Popo laughed even harder. "Really!"

"He knows." Kirin muttered, eyeing Smithy closely. "And he likes the idea. If he didn't, he would have told you you'd die."

"Haaaa~" The caribou warrior took a deep breath, recovering. "Nah, I dinne think ye'l dai. Yeh got teh 'art." He grinned broadly at the metalworker. "Ah dunno a sing'eh caribou nay griffon da would take ah hit lag tha, get ba oop an' say, 'please, sirah, may Ah have anotha'?' Yer righ' sturdy one."

"My son will not be hunting monsters!" Smithy winced as his mother advanced on them.

Kirin looked at her cooly. "Then who will? You? He is willing to face the Nightmare Herself for your safety." She stood up and walked back toward the guest room as Smithy's mother shrunk back. "I would not stop him."

"So you'll teach me?" Smithy asked, surprised by the turn of events.

"Monster Hunting cannot be taught." Kirin stated cryptically. "Find a weapon and speak to me tomorrow."

She shut the door.

"Grad, she in unna' them moods. All spookeh-like." Mr. Po shook his head, antlers swinging dangerously. "Ah'll hep ye find sum kinda gear teh geet yeh stahted. Must be sum'n in these parts fer wackin' things."

Smithy nodded, starting to get the hang of the caribou's strange manner of speaking. He took a step and caugh a whiff of himself again. Burnt mane and shame.

"Can it wait? I really need a bath."

The Basics

Smithy opened the old hoof-locker and coughed as a plume of dust spewed up into his face. The lodge's storage room was cold and smelled of mothballs.

The dust slowly settled as he reverently removed the old E.U.P. dress uniform from the top of the locker and set it aside, revealing the now-dull sheen of the armor underneath. His great-great-grandfather had been a Wonderbolt, a pegasus serving under Princess Celestia herself, and his sons had kept his belonging for generations.

Even as an earth pony, Smithy was fairly sure the armor would still fit, but the important part was deeper in the chest. Smithy rooted deeper, and found a long wooden box with the old Wonderbolt insignia on it. The box was nearly as long as he was, and barely fit. He popped it open.

His ancestor's lance gleamed, even in its disassembled state after generations of disuse. Smithy lifted out each piece and lay them on the floor, then began to reconstruct each component. The haft slotted into the base of the heavy conical guard, screwing in until a spring-pin locked it in place securely. The blade went onto the end of the guard, and four heavy threaded bolts tightened it in solidly, fixing the entire thing together. Finally, Smithy tossed the armor's saddle over his back, cinching it tight with the tough old woven belts and strapping the control belt for the lance-stirrup around his rear leg. He picked up the lance in his teeth and slotted the haft through the stirrup, let go and kicked his leg back, causing the stirrup to close and rotate forward, lowering the lance into its jousting position. He nodded, glad the mechanism still held up after all this time, and turned to look in the dusty old mirror.

The blade of the lance crashed through a pair of coatracks and sent a broom clattering across the floor. Smithy backpedaled into a crate in surprise, hurriedly kicking the stirrup-belt back into an upright position and causing the lance to catapult a blanket covered in dust into the ceiling, flooding the room with choking particles. He broke into a fit of coughing, stumbling for the door and catching the point of the now-raised lance over the doorframe. The blade stuck for a moment, then popped loose, flopping him backwards into the mess he was trying to escape.

Moments later he emerged from the dispersing cloud of dust, choking, coughing and thoroughly humiliated, so find his sister skidding to his aid.

"Smithy! I was looking for you!"

"I'm fine, Myrrh, I fine. I didn't really thing that through." Smithy brushed himself off and reached over his shoulder and pulled the old lance out of its stirrup. "Fink thiff vill vurk?" he asked around the haft, giving it a small brandish.

Myrrh looked along its length and gave a small shrug. "Well, I guess. Are you sure you don't want the rest of the armor, too? We want you to be safe... I was just at the town hall, everyone is really worried about what you're doing..."

Smithy set the weapon down on the floor, looking back at the armor. "I know. Hey, don't worry. I won't be alone, I'm gonna learn from the best, right? They're Monster Hunters, its literally their job."

"Oh, Smiff..." His sister reached out and wrapped her hooves around him. "Why are you doing this?"

"A lot of reasons." Smithy gave her a nuzzle and broke away. "Because I'm angry it crushed my forge. Because it seems heroic to go off and fight the dragon-"

"H'ain't ha dragon, y' ken?" Popo suck his antlered head around the corner. "Ah wuld nevah want t' fight ha dragon. Naw, a Kez-who is a wyvren."

"A... what? A wyvren?" Myrrh cocked her head. "I though wyvren were mythological. Or at least extinct since... forever."

"Oh, nae, lassie. That's a Hunter's main trophy! Hay, ma hamma is made of Barroth Ah hunted maself! It dragons ye be thinkin' of tha be extinct." The caribou shook his head.

Now it was Smithy's turn to be confused. "Dragons aren't extinct. One lives in a cave three mountains east of here."

Popo smiled and shook his head. "Naw, ye pullin' ma leg." The two earth ponies shook their heads, and Popo's mouth fell open. "Ye serious? Naw hay... We real' ah in a new land. Dragons..."

"Yeah, dragons. Never seen a wyvren before yesterday, though. Think this'll hurt it?" Smithy put a hoof on the guard of the lance. "My great-great-grandfather..." He tapped his hoof on the floorboards to make sure he had skipped the proper number of generations. "Yeah, he was a pegasus in the Wonderbolts. We still have his armor and service weapon."

Popo kneeled down in his forgives and cast a critical eye over the metal. "Naw offhence, but this t'ain't much of a service wep'n. It ain't ever seen a figh'." He ran his hoof along the blade of the lance. "Naw chips, ain't even been sharpened. Looks lag good steel, though. Equestrian-made, unicorn witch'ry for that polish." He straightened up and shook his head. "Nah, it be fine for some practice and paradin', but Ah nay let ye fight a big wyvren with this. 'Prolly snap 'n 'alf."

"Really?" Smithy asked, crushed. Popo looked at him with some pity.

"Ah teach ya haw t' make a real Hunter weap'n, once Ah see haw ya move. It'll do f'ernow."

"T-thanks. Where is Kirin? She just said 'find me' yesterday."

"Oh!" Myrrh gasped. "That's right! She wasn't in her room this morning!"

Smithy felt his eyes widen. "She's gone!?"

"Och, dinne worry 'bout it. She's gone oop t'mountain fer a looksie, we'll follow'er. Keery 's just lag tha', all dark 'n shady." Popo shrugged. "Get sum'm warm t'wrap yerself in, we'll get goin'"

Smithy nodded enthusiastically, picking up the lance and maneuvering it through the hall to lean it by the front door, then dashed into his room. He found quickly pulled his boots on, then looked over his saddle. Assuming it would be far to chilly wearing a barely-padded piece of steel around his middle, he unstrapped it, pulled a knitted sweater over his head, and buckled the armor back on over it. He grabbed his wool cap from where it hung as he headed out the door.

And hesitated. His cap had been hung where it always had, on the ugly knife stuck into the wall. The knife that matched the image on his flank.

He bit down on the hilt and wrenched it from the wall, slipping the blade in-between his saddle and sweater, figuring it couldn't hurt to have an extra tool out in the wilderness. Satisfied that he was ready, he trotted outside, picking up the steel lance and slotting it into its stirrup now that their wasn't anything to knock over or get caught on.

Mr. Popo was waiting for him, bundled in a warm-looking coat and pants made of fur and some thick, tough looking brown material, and had a small pickaxe stuck in his belt. Next to him, however, was his weapon; a massive maul made of layers of rust-colored horn and massive scales. It's striking head had multiple bevels, making it look a bit like a axe that was far to broad, and the haft was some kind of carved ivory reinforced with iron fittings and a muzzle-guard. Popo picked it up easily and slung it across his back, motioning for Smithy to follow him. Smithy adjusted his saddle and trotted after.

They left town heading toward the mines, then carried on right past and up a narrow trail between the dyeing scrub grass and snowdrifts. Popo called out over his shoulder as they went. "Game trail, y'ken? Wee beasties pass back'n forth fer awhile, an' it wears a path. Makes fer easy goin', an' leads to places!"

"What kind of places?" Smithy asked, huffing slightly. Popo didn't answer.

The trail vanished shortly before they reached the bottom of a cliff face, sheltered from the snow, wind and sun, resulting in cracked grey stone. Mr. Popo examined the rocks, picking one up with a hoof and tapping it on one of his antlers. "Och, ain't we just luck i'self. Here." He tossed Smithy the rock. "Tha's whetstone-rock. Sit 'yer pony bum down, use the flat side of the rock, and grind it hard on the edge of 'yer lance."

"B-but this is an antique! I can't just rough it up with some old rock!" Smithy objected. Popo stuck his tongue out at him and blew a raspberry.

"Wel' boo-dee-hoo. Yew couldn't kill a Mosswine with tha' thing. Hunter's weap'n need to be two things and two things on'leh; strong, an' either heaveh o' sharp. Tha' thing ain't heaveh, so yew best ge'r sharp." The caribou pulled his pickaxe out of his belt and began to chip rocks off the wall, pocketing the ones with big enough grinding surfaces and discarding the rest. "Rememba' this spawt, Smivvy. Yew should come by 'n climb t'build oop ya strength."

Smithy nodded, pulling out his great-great-grandfathers lance and bracing it across his shoulder. He used his hoof to push the rock across the side of the blade, keeping it at an angle to produce an edge, repeating on both sides and the tip to finish. He grimaced as he saw the damage he had just done to the polish.

"Y'done?" Popo asked, trotting over. "Look'n good, def'nitly won't bounce anymore. M'kay, let's go track'n a doe!"

They set off further up the mountain, where the snow was piled deeper. It wasn't long before Popo saw what he was looking for and called out. "Oi!"

"What is it?" Smithy pushed through a drift, looking at where a splash of dirt stained the snow. He furrowed his brow, tiring to determine what happened. "Did somepony pull up a plant here? Look, it came up by the roots right here." He prodded at the spot with a hoof, puzzled. "A rabbit would have just eaten the greens. Why pull it up?"

"Because..." came a melodious voice from disturbingly close behind them, "mountain herb is a valuable healing reagent."

The startled earth pony colt spun around, nearly putting his eye out on Popo's antler. Kirin the deer was standing serenely behind them, not a meter away. The doe was wearing insulated armor and a helmet made of iridescent green- and grey-speckled plates, padded with thick rolls of black fur that made her look like some kind of dark princess. Balanced across the back of her saddle was a strange kind of crossbow with a metal barrel far wider than any bolt Smithy had ever seen. She raised an eyebrow as Smithy backed into a snowbank.

"Ay'ya, Keery. Kids' might' sharp." Popo said casually. Smithy extracted his tail from the icy-cold drift.

"S-sorry Miss Kirin, ma'am. You… you startled me."

Kirin nodded, looking away up the mountain. "I see you've found a weapon."

"Y-yes." Smithy stammered. "Mr. Popo said he would help me make a better one, b-but I hope this one will do for n-now." Smithy cursed the return of his stutter silently. The pretty deer's penchant for sudden appearances wasn't going to help his awkwardness one bit.

"It will do. There is an Alpha Giaprey on the prowl. We must act quickly before it decides to make this mountainside its territory and threaten your village with its pack."

Popo sputtered in surprise. "Yew want him to hunt nao!? Ah barely gave ma intro teh 'Trackin' fer Dummies Earth Pony Edition'!"

Smithy looked between the two, slightly confused. "Why do I feel like that was an insult, and what's a Giaprey?"

"Follow." Kirin turned and started walking. The two bucks fell into step behind her. "The Giaprey is a small, birdlike wyvren, closely related to Velociprey and Jaggi. It is adapted to arctic climates, which explains why it was able to cross the ice bridge between our continents. They hunt in packs, and attack by leaping on their prey and slashing with a large, razor-sharp talon. If they feel the prey will be difficult, they spit."

"Spit?" Smithy glanced over his own clothing and wished he had worn more of the pegasus armor. Knitted wool didn't seem like it would stop a razor-talon. "Is it poisonous or something?"

"Naw. It's foamin' and freezin', turn what it hits inta a ice-ball. Right annoyin' when it's in yer face." Popo elaborated. Smithy tried to imagine it and failed.

Kirin continued her instruction, and Smithy hung onto every word as they hiked. Bird-wyvren stood on two legs, meaning they would need to lean before dashing and jumping. Stay light in your hooves, be ready to dodge a pounce at any time. Strike after it attacks while it is recovering, then break off. Smithy absorbed the information like a sponge, feeling like his life would depend on it. And above all: do not hesitate.

"If you hesitate, it will kill you. Wyvren are dumb beasts that know no fear, but they are predators and will tear you to pieces in a heartbeat." Kirin turned and looked Smithy straight in the eye. "You must kill it or it will kill you. Your are the Hunter or the prey."

"I-I understand." Smithy swallowed hard. He had never killed anything bigger than a potted plant his mother had bought once. And that was an accident. Now he was about to kill something that bled.

The deer huntress took a sharp turn to a fallen log, sheltered by some trees. "You will find blue mushrooms in there. Collect as many as you can find. If you see deathcup, tell me so I may remove it safely. Do not try to pick it up with your teeth, I am not carrying antidote."

Smithy complied, getting down on his belly and sticking his head under the log. He found several of the blue fungus in question, and some other kinds that smelled sickly sweet and peppery. Avoiding those, he wriggled back out and presented his haul.

"Good." was all Kirin had to offer, turning and leading the way again. They stopped several more times, collecting herbs, a bottle of honey, some waxy berries… most of which struck the earth pony as odd, but both Hunters assured him they were useful and necessary. Some time later, Smithy noticed smoke up ahead, and got his bearings.

"Hey! We're heading back to the village!"

"Yes." Kirin confirmed.

"I thought we we're going to hunt the Giaprey?"

"We are."

Smithy rolled his eyes. "Well is the Giaprey in Little Flanchard?"

"No."

Popo chuckled. "Teh likkle shites can wait. We jus' got some cookin' t'do."

They re-entered the lodge, and Kirin vanished into her room and returned with a metal pot and a long rod with a crank-handle jutting off of one end, and Popo excused himself outside again. The doe quickly took over the central fireplace, Smithy watching curiously.

"Magic may be the domains of stags and unicorns," Kirin stated as she poured a small amount of water to the pot and added the mushrooms Smithy had gathered, "but Alchemy is available to all who seek its knowledge. Healing Potions are an asset to Hunters new and experienced, as mistakes can be made at any time. Blue mushroom and honey melted under low heat unlocks the healing energies of the common mountain herb, and will quickly stop bleeding and mend flesh when drunk. Beware drinking such a simple mixture to often, though, as your body will begin to reject it."

Smithy nodded, fascinated as the doe stirred her concoction until it was a translucent light green, the poured the liquid into bottles and corked them. She lay out her saddlebags, pulling four paper-wrapped packages from it. Kirin opened one, and the earth pony reeled back at the sight and coppery smell of bloody meat and bone. Kirin glanced up at his reaction.

"Wha? W-what is that?" Smithy asked, leaning away.

"Giaprey shank. I killed two this morning before we rendezvoused. A Hunter does not kill for pleasure alone, we carve everything useable from our trophies."

"W-what are you going to do with it? Alchemy?"

"No..." Kirin delicately slid the rod through two of the shanks. "We are going to eat it."

Smithy gagged. Kirin looked surprisingly concerned, and Smithy would have said it was the most emotion he had seen from her yet if he haven't been so adamantly looking away.

"Is something the matter?" The doe asked, carefully mounting the spit high over the flames.

"Of course something's the matter! It's meat! Civilized creatures don't eat meat! We have hay, and flowers, and vegetables!" Smithy wrinkled his nose, expecting the smell of burning flesh to fill the lodge at any time.

"Why? Equines like you and I can eat meat just fine." Kirin turned the spit slowly. "We are Hunters, and thus we are predators. Predators eat meat to keep them strong."

Smithy buried his face in his hooves, aghast. He had just apprenticed himself to a complete barbarian.

"Are you going to help, or are these going to go to waste? You had best not be squeamish, their will be much more blood and sinew if you slay and carve your own kill." Kirin noted. It was at that moment that the lodge door opened and Yarrow walked in.

"Hello, Smithy! You're back already!" The emerald unicorn smiled brightly, unfazed by the swath of bandage across the side of her head and around her left hoof. Smithy's heart skipped a beat when he realized he hadn't given a thought to finding out how she had fared from after the attack.

"Y-Yarrow! Are you ok? H-h-how are you f-feel-agh!" He worked his jaw in frustration, trying to stop his stammer. It had barely bothered him at all, yesterday. Yarrow graciously ignored it.

"I'm doing fine, thank you! Or, thanks to you." Smithy was stunned when she lowered her head and scuffed at the floorboards shyly. "You saved my life and almost died."

"W-w-well, it was me or both of us..." The blacksmith-pony blushed heavily, wondering how to react to that. You're welcome? Or is that dismissive? How to does somepony respond to that?

His train of thought was derailed and brought back to his other dilemma when Yarrow sniffed the air. "What is that?"

Smithy rolled his eyes. "That is our wonderful Monster Hunter here, cook-"

"It smells good!" Yarrow exclaimed, trotting over to the fire.

"-ing… wait, what?" He took a wiff himself, and had to admit, he didn't smell the acrid stench of burning flesh he had come to expect from the times he had burned himself on the forge. Instead, a thick, heady, savory scent had filled the lodge.

"This is Giaprey Leg Rotisserie. We will be hunting the rest of the pack this afternoon." Kirin elaborated.

"This is meat?" Yarrow leaned closer, eyeing the spit. The product in question had turned a glistening brown, and sizzled as fatty liquids seeped out and met the flames. Kirin opened her mouth, looking annoyed about another accusation about civilized diet, but Yarrow was on a very different page. "I've never had meat before! I never thought it could smell this good! I don't know why, it never occurred to me that you would cook it."

Kirin gave a flabbergasted Smithy a smug look behind Yarrow's back. "Of course, raw it is indigestible and tough. If you like, you and our Hunter-to-may eat first while I cook Popo and myself the others."

Smithy felt ill as he realized he had just been had, and there was no way he was going to get out of this without taking a bite of the stuff. Yarrow merrily used her magic to help the doe pull the shanks off of the spit, and floated one over to Smithy, who did his best to grin.

"Uh… thanks?" Oh Celestia I'm gonna have to eat it. I'm gonna eat it and probably die. He took it carefully in his hooves by the slightly charred bone that stuck out at either end. To make it worse, Yarrow sat down right next to him.

"I'm kinda nervous. Are you? I've never even heard of Giaprey before." She confided, examining her own piece, trying to decide where to start.

"It's a small, flightless bird-wyvren. They live in cold places and hunt in packs." Smithy recited.

"Huh. Well, here it goes!" Yarrow sunk her teeth in and took a bite, and her eyes widened. "Oo vao! Diff iff riffy goof!"

"Really?" He cautiously lifted his own shank and bit in. Immediately, his taste busts danced as a surprising amount of tender juices burst around his mouth, fatty, savory and almost spicy, entirely new and more than a little wild. He chewed thoroughly and swallowed, then took another bite. Kirin's composure broke and she gave a sharp, barking laugh.

"What's so funny?" Yarrow asked, watching her skewer the rest of the meat before turning back to her own. Smithy blushed and made certain his mouth was full so he would not have to answer, glad his mother was not in the building at the moment.

"Our hunter-to-be has just learned several valuable lessons. That is all." The deer shook her head, amused.

The ponies turned as the door burst open and Popo backed in, dragging the remains of a toboggan and a number of Smithy's tools. "Oi! Yew think ye could rig 'er up to yer saddle as a shield? T'ain't  much, but it'll stop the likkle 'uns. Oh, hai there, lassie. Ha's teh steak?"

"Wonderful, thank you. Miss Kirin is making more." Yarrow shut the door with her magic as the caribou shook a bit of snow off of his pants. Smithy took another bite (he was nearly finished) and set the Giaprey Rotisserie aside, chewing as he looked over the salvaged materials. He swallowed and nodded.

"Yeah, shouldn't be too hard. I'll have to scrap my tong-harness, but I can mount a shield." He picked up his pliers and set about prying loose the bits he would need to bolt a pivot haft onto the flat sled that would fit his armor's secondary stirrup.

Yarrow came over to watch. "Can I help?"

Smithy hesitated. "Uh… I-I guess? How?"

"I was hoping you'd tell me." The unicorn admitted. Smithy winced, embarrassed.

"He could use better armor, certainly." Kirin supplied. "And we only have a few hours to acquire it."

"Right! The rest of m-my great-great-great-grandpa's Wonderbolt armor is in the storage room. I can still use that, I-I think."

Yarrow's eyes sparkled as she gasped. "Your grandpa was a Wonderbolt?! Oh, wow, I'll go and get it!"

She came trotting back with the assorted pieces of the armor floating in the sparkle of her magic, as well as what looked like some spare socks and a coat. "Pew! It is a mess in there. Looks like a tornado went through."

"Fanks." Smithy muttered around a screwdriver. He spit it out and continued. "I could use some m-magic here. Can you help me drive t-these s-screws in?"

"Of course! Hold it steady."

Between the two of them, it only took a few minutes to bolt the haft securely to the toboggan, and an hour more to fix on several reinforcing strips of wood to keep it from splitting when hit. Then, Yarrow had him stand up and began to dress him.

"R-really, I can do this myself!"

"Nuh-uh." The unicorn orbited several pieces of protection around him, trying to determine where they went. "You saved me, the least I can do is make sure you stay safe out there. Besides, my brother is in the Imperial Army of the Crystal Empire, so I know how this fits. Now hold still."

She started by making him pull on all four pairs of the wool socks she had found, the stuck his boots on and laced them tight. A greave went over the front of each leg, buckled on, and linked up to the peytral she buckled to his chest and the flanchard across his flanks. She lifted the criniere for his neck next, but Smithy ducked away.

"N-not that piece. I need to move quickly, and l-look around."

"Then the helmet, at least." Yarrow pulled his mane back and floated her silver-grey champron down, threading the hairs through the back. The front was more than open enough to see clearly out of.

He stretched, kicking each leg to test for mobility and nodded. "I think this is good. A-any more and it'll slow me down."

Yarrow looked like she was going to object, but that was the moment Smithy's mother returned. She gasped as she saw her son testing the flexibility of his apparel.

"Oh, Smiff." She stood in the open lodge door, letting the cool breeze in and fumbling for words. "I... Oh, do be careful, Smithy. It's dangerous out there."

"I know, mum." Smithy picked up his new shield by its mounting haft and slotted it into the left stirrup, swinging it up and out of the way across his back. "But that's why I'm going."

"I-I don't understand?" She finally trotted in, leaving Yarrow to close the door again with a huff. Smithy was surprised when she picked up his lance and helped him mount it. He put a hoof on her shoulder and she gave him a nuzzle.

"Because yesterday something dangerous from out there came in here, mum. I'd rather risk one me stopping it out there than the whole village hiding from it." He grinned sheepishly, rubbing the unguarded back of his neck with a hoof. "Is that monologuing, technically?"

"Just a little bit, my brave little colt."

"Mum, I'm pretty sure I'm getting to be bigger than you."

"Your wearing boots. They add an inch." She looked him over again, and a fleeting terror flickered behind her eyes. She turned toward Kirin, who was slowly going about packing up their supplies. "Keep him safe?"

"Of course." The doe gave a roll of her shoulders that swung her strange crossbow around her saddle and in front of her, raising a firing bit to her muzzle as she checked the loading mechanism. "Such creatures we seek this evening are far beneath us. We will hold back significantly so that your son may learn by experience. That is the only way."

"Och, Ah'd say it would b'borin,' but nothin's ever borin' here in Eques'tra, innit?" Popo finished grinding a slight edge onto the bevels of his hammer and slung it across his back. "Got am' hamma, got ma Po'tins, got ma Paintball. Ah'm red t'go!"

A loud clack announced that Kirin had finished loading, and swung her weapon back to its stowage position. She nodded curtly to Smithy, who made a final adjustment to his two bags of healing Potions and gave a weak smile.

Yarrow wrapped him an a startling hug from the side. "I'd tell you to 'be safe,' but you won't be." She whispered, giving him a squeeze. "So… don't do anything stupid."

"O-ok." Smithy awkwardly patted her on the back, blushing furiously. Yarrow disentangled herself and went to sit by the fire without a second glance. His mother just stood where she had last, eyes downcast. Smithy but as much pep and cheer into his voice as he could. "We'll be back by sunset, I hope!"

The three hunters filed out the door, Popo the caribou in the front, Kirin the doe at the rear, and Smithy, the earth pony novice, in between.

The Giaprey where not hard to find...