The land below took shape as the first rays of the sun fell upon it. With the night melting away, I descended to take refuge in the diminshing shadows. Here, a long black stretch cast by a tall hill. There, a shade provided by a copse of mighty cedars. From shadow to shadow I flitted. I did not fear the sun, but hiding from its gaze was prudent. Especially when carrying something belonging to it.
The captive was squirming again. I hazarded a look, and decided that instead of trying to escape, it must have been merely distraught. Whether it was the land flowing underneath in a caleidoscopic clash of light and shadow, rock and grass, or the wind biting into its muzzle, or my vicelike grip around its body, I could not say. Questions had to come later.
”C-cold, ” the captive mewled. At last, a reaction. The capture had been trivially easy, and for a while I wondered if I had flown into a trap. But there had been no pursuit, no alarm, and for a long time the captive just hang in my hold, breathing rapidly and making senseless noises.
”Where a-are y-y-you taking m-me?” Coherent sentence. Perhaps this was a good time for questions after all. With the sun climbing ever higher, I would have to stop soon anyway. I reared my head and exhaled a bank of fog to right, then made a sharp swerve to the left and dove toward a particularly dense tangle of trees. The captive didn't have time to decide whether it should scream or breathe, and settled for a broken whimper. I dropped it next to a fallen tree, circled tightly around, and released the zephyr I had been riding. It blasted away toward the receding fog and pushed it further along. Soon both the fog and the zephyr would vanish beyond the eastern hills. If anyone was watching, perhaps they would follow it and give me enough time to do what I intended. As far as misdirections went, it was a small one, but better than none.
My hooves made soundless contact with the land. The trees of the tangle were old pines and spruces, and would catch most of the sunlight. I entered the comforting shadows and moved deeper, leaving behind branches and bark covered in frost. After mere moments I reached the fallen tree that defined one border of a small clearing. I circled around it to meet my captive muzzle-to-muzzle for the first time.
The captive was laying on its side, leaning into the fallen tree. It was shivering, and fear wafted out of it, but I did not taste panic. It was vigorously flexing its wings and rubbing the fetlocks of its forehooves on its muzzle. I stopped two paces away from it, opened my maw, and fed. Fortunately I managed to rein myself in before taking more than a nibble. I should not have taken even that, but carrying the captive had taxed my strength and I could not resist the chance to recover. Giving in to such primitive instincts might have been excusable in others, but I thought I was prepared and able to resist them. This was not an auspicious start.
The captive stopped rubbing its muzzle. Slowly, it turned to face me, blinked, and snapped its wings close. ”A-are y.-you going-g to eat me?” It sounded calmer now. Not resigned, as I had expected. Wary, tired, and afraid, but not resigned. Perhaps I had not squandered my chances yet.
I closed my maw and took a step back to get a better look at the captive. The tangle had fallen almost silent. The captive's fast but regular breaths were barely audible. Dead leaves and frozen branches were making tiny cracking noises as they broke whenever either of us moved. But that was it. No animals, no wind.
The captive–pony, I reminded himself–pushed slowly clear of the fallen tree, but either it did not want or was not able to rise on its hooves yet. I could not blame it. I was almost twice as large as the pony, and while our shapes were similar, I am lean and angular and the pony was all soft round curves. It had a shaggy mess of a mane and a long stringy tail matted with pine needles. Both were covered in frost. So were its feathered wings. But what really caught my attention were its eyes. They were huge. The elders said ponies were diurnal, so why would they need eyes so large. Owls had smaller eyes. Griffins had a decent nightvision, and their eyes were not much larger than my own. So why did ponies have eyes like that? It was perplexing. Though this one had been flying at night. I knew there were various breeds of ponies. Perhaps this was adapted to night.
”W-what are y-you looking at? Why are you t-t-tilting your h-head like that?”
I snapped back from my musings and snorted. The pony flinched, but still it did not rise. Its wings shivered, and its tail whisked restlessly. The position remined me of a mountain lion I had once seen basking in the sun. What an odd resemblance. No, concentrate, you stupid snowflake. This was important.
”I am not going to eat you,” I whispered. My throat was not really suited for ponytalk. Learning it had taken years. Learning to vocalize something intelligible had been a quest in itself, and whispers were at the top of my vocal range. I was not even certain I was actually comprehensible. This was the first time I talked to a pony, after all.
The pony neither relaxed nor tensed. It tilted its head and looked puzzled. I wondered whether it was delibrately imitating me, or if the headtilt was a part of some universal language. The pony opened its mouth and snapped it shut before almost saying something. For a while we watched each other. Beyond the trees, sunlight now flooded the valley. Inside the tangle, darkness held reign.
The pony started again. ”But isn't that what you d-d-do to p-ponies? You are a windigo, are you n-n-not?”
So. They remembered. And it can understand me. All those years learning were not completely wasted. I inhaled, and let out another whisper. ”That is what you call us.” Inhale. ”You are to answer questions, little pony.”
It nodded, and that ridiculous mop of mane on its head bobbed up and down. The captive was thawing fast now that I was not touching with it. ”A w-windigo. W-what a lucky m-m-mare I am. Again.”
So, it was female. There had been no chance for close observation before striking. The pony had been a target of opporturnity. The others had been together, but she had flown alone. I recalled what the others had looked like from a distance. Many had been like my captive, though in more garish colors, but others had been different. More rider-like. More angular than the captive, with less curves, and larger muzzle. They had to be males. Did the males have larger muzzles because they were more aggressive. Did they bite?
”Huh?” the captive blurted. Had I said that out loud?
”Why do male ponies have a larger muzzles than females?” It slipped out before I could reconsider. Not the most impressive question to open with. My trainer would have buried his head in a snowbank in shame. Best not to tell that to the captive. It–she–was tilting its– her– head again, rubbing her cheeks abstentmindedly.
”I don't k-know. What has that got to do with anything?” Her eyes narrowed a little. That indicated an emotion of some kind, but it was difficult to tell what it was.
Inhale, and be calm. ”Do they bite more than females? Are their teeth sharp?”
The captive showed another glint of emotion, though I was still not sure which one. ”No more than mares. Stallions talk a lot, I guess. But not more than mares, really. And some of them a lot less.”
”Answer the question,” I tried to keep my whispers steady. I had no idea what my speech sounded like to the pony. It–she–was talking much faster than I was, and I had to concentrate to keep up with her. I also noticed with satisfaction that I was able to notice differences in her tone. If I hoped to succeed, catching small details would be important. ”Are their teeth sharp?” The answer to this inane question was not no longer important, but I wanted to keep the pony talking.
”Well, no.” The mare opened her own dainty mouth to reveal a bright row of blunt teeth. ”'ey ook ike ich,” she said. I closed my eyes for a while to digest the mangled words. When I opened them, the mare was attempting to feed on me. I leaped reflexively, and smashed my rear on a tree. The bark cracked and froze over. Small branches splintered as cold flowed out of my body.
The pony snapped its maw shut with a yelp and scooted away from me, almost rising to its hooves. Her rump hit the fallen tree, and she braced herself, cornered. It really was an almost catlike poise, though spoiled by the rapid shallow breaths the mare took after she stopped. ”What?” she asked.
”You tried to feed on me.” But of course she did not. Ponies could not feed like riders.
”Yeach! No way!” She made a gagging sound. ”All I did was yawn.”
”Yawn? What does that mean?”
Some of the tension left her, and she settled lower. She was still shivering a little. ”It means I am tired. Ponies yawn when tired. Or when other ponies yawn.” Then her eyes narrowed and her voice dropped, in what I believed to be an expression of hope. Or possibly aggravation? ”Wait, what were you doing before you spoke to me?” Her speech got a bit faster. ”You said you weren't going to eat me.” Tension returned to her body, and she lashed her tail once. It got tangled in a frozen branch, and she made a face.
Sigh. Then inhale to respond. ”I am not going to eat you. We do not eat ponies.” Again, tension bled out. ”I was feeding on you.” The tension returned, and the mare's breathing quickened again. I resisted the temptation to take another nibble, then continued. ”You were afraid. The ride made me hungry. I fed on you.” Perhaps ponies conveyed seriousness with a lowered voice. It could be worth a try. ”I should not have.”
The pony's lower jaw dropped and her eyes popped open. Something was amiss there, but I had no time to think upon it, as the mare cried out, ”You feed on fear!” The smell of fresh fear intensified, and I could not help but to take a sip. The pony shivered again, then continued. ”I was afraid. Now I am less afraid. You ate my fear?” A beat. ”I am confused.”
”Feeding on your fear takes away some of your fear,” I whispered.
The mare shook her head and finally got fully on her feet, though she kept her head low and peered at me from under her mane. Her voice had dropped low again. ”I thought you ate hate. That's what the stories say.” She pulled her tangled tail free with a small wince.
So they told stories. I wondered if they were like ours. ”No. But hate sows fear. Hate sows more fear than fear itself. One can become numb to fear. With hate, you make your own fears. What do ponies eat?”
The mare had a wary look in her eyes. So large. Our eyes lack the black spots and the colorful rings around them. We do fine without them. She was speaking, and again my concentration had been elsewhere. ”..., hayburgers, daisies, cucumbers, eggs for breakfast, and oats.” Her words came out slower now. She was thinking more about what she was saying. Annoying. I could frighten her to make her to speak less carefully, but I needed her to be unafraid or everything could go wrong. Doing that went against everything my kind was used to. She ended her litany with a question, ”do you eat anything else but fear?”
”Water. Some things for taste.”
She looked alarmed, ”what sort of things?”
”Not ponies.”
”That's still a lot things to eat,” she said. She was stretching her legs now. She was still afraid, but seemed to manage it.
”Bark. Lichen from cold rocks. Dandelions.”
”I have never eaten bark or lichen. But dandelions I know. They're all right.”
”What do your stories tell of us,” I asked.
Her mouth closed with an audible click. I had been too eager.
”Tell me.” I snorted some fog, and watched her take a step back, waving her wings frantically to stay upright in the uneven ground. Were all the ponies this unsteady, or had I picked an exceptional one? At least her wings were still not thawed enough to attempt an escape.
”Why should I?” she barked. ”Why did you take me, if not to eat?”
”When did ponies last see us?”
”I don't know. The Hearth's Warming, for all I know. All I know are the tales,” she huffed. ”Nopony I know has ever met a windigo.”
”Do you know creatures other than ponies?”
”A few. But they don't talk about windigoes either. Why did you capture me!”
”We have been away. We need to know things.”
”What sort of things? What do you mean 'away'?” She spoke almost too fast for me to understand.
I was approaching this problem from the wrong shadow. This pony was not as easy to push as I had thought, and I should not have pushed in the first place. I took a step back, hoping to calm her down. ”A long time ago there was a mass migration. We needed much to feed on. We had met ponies before. We knew your fears and hates. We pushed them carefully. Your hatred for each other worked for us, and we were fed.” Then the plan had gone awry. ”But ponies did not stay put. You started a migration of your own.”
She looked sick, ”Then the stories are true. You pursued the founders into Equestria.”
”Yes. Five tribes there were. All five we hounded.”
The mare's eyes narrowed again, ”did you say five?” Her expression was not one of anger. It could be confusion, or perhaps curiosity. At least answering her questions was calming her down.
”Yes. The three largest tribes entered this area. One tribe went north. One escaped south. We abandoned the southern tribe to stay with the main group. We know not what happened to them”
”And the north tribe?”
”They were walking into a world of ice. The elders decided to abandon them, planning to catch them later.” It had been a mistake, but no need to tell this to the pony yet.
The sun had climbed into a position where some rays slipped through the canopy. I took a step deeper into the shadows to avoid them. The pony did the opposite, of course. She stepped into the thickest beam, and let it play upon her grey coat. Most of the ponies I had seen had very bright or garish coats. This mare could blend into sky almost as well as a rider. That yellow mop of mane was unlike ours, but the dominant color of the pony was still grey.
Then the sunlight hit her eyes, and I had to reconsider. The rim parts of her eyes were golden yellow, and glowing as brightly as the sun. The blacks of her eyes diminished, giving room for more gold. No, the dominant color for this mare was yellow. Even her mane and tail were were yellow, though of lighter shade. Her wings flared open, and her hind legs tensed. Before she could take off, I exhaled some fog onto her. Not enough to freeze her, just enough to slow her.
She coughed, and staggered to lean on the fallen tree again. The scent of fear returned.
She blinked for a while. I did not move or speak. After a while, she continued the conversation. ”T-the stories say you p-pursued the three tribes. You c-cornered them, and almost d-d-destroyed them.”
Nonsensical. ”It would have been waste. What would we feed on after that? They nearly destroyed themselves. The anger of their leaders had grown too intense to control. The elders decided to separate them so their followers could be properly handled. But it did not work as planned.”
”You c-c-could say that.”
”Sudden strong emotions broke our control over their hatred. The elders say that every rider there was repelled. Most stopped eating entirely. It was a great loss. Most of them never talked about what happened.” But not all of them had kept their silence. Make the decrepit ones talk had been difficult. Threats were meaningless to them. Finally, one had approached me, probably because so few others showed any interest in them. His tale set me on this path, and eventually on the path of this little pony.
”Riders,” she whispers. I noticed her wings were tightly folded around her body now to warm them up. Or as tightly as they could be while she was wearing those tan saddlebags.
”It is what we call ourselves,” I told her. ”Windigo is neither our word or ponies'. In old elkish it means wind ghost.”
She took a hesitant step into the sun again, and let an errant beam of light play on her nose. I was getting worried. Some of the things we have been told about the sun were undoubtedly superstitions, but that did not mean I should ignore all of them. What if the sun really saw all she touched. The pony sighed deeply and closed her eyes. ”Do you speak elkish?”
”No. Even your language is difficult for us. I learned it from an elder who had learned it in dreamscape. In past we had no need to talk to others. Pushing can create hate easier. Few were interested in talking to us, as well.”
”What do you mean by pushing? Is it windigo magic or somesuch?”
”Yes. We draw fear in to feed on it. We can also push out to make emotions. Hate is easy. Fear can be done. Confusion is tricky. Do you speak elkish?”
Her eyes opened halfway, and her frown was replaced with a weak smile. ”I am fluent in high griffic, classic palomino, old equestrian, modern sheltish, neighponese, appleachian, mulish, all swamp dialects, norneighian, bisonen, and aklo. I speak adequate coyote, taurac, bray, elkish, old pegasi, and passing prench, but with terriblé accént. Zecora is teaching me zebraskan and duikan.” Her smile got wider with every item on the list.
Either the conversation or the sunlight was melting her fear. I still felt an intense need to get her out of the light, but could not afford any more mistakes. I had to keep her talking, not bolting. ”Is that normal for a pony? I did not even know there were so many languages.”
”Nope. Even Twilight doesn't come close. I know a pony who can greet you in fourty-six languages, and the Apple family can cuss in at least fourty-four. Languages are my special talent.”
Progress. ”Does every pony have a special talent?”
”Yep. When we find it, we get one of these to show it.” She executed a half-turn and lifted her flank. On it were seven circles. ”It's my cutie mark.” I had no idea how they were supposed to imply talent for languages.
”How...”
”They are speech bubbles.”
I was mystified. A hundred questions floated in my mind, but this was no time to go chasing autumn leaves. Her fear was nearly gone now, and unless I could continue the conversation, she might get brave enough to attempt an escape again. I rejected all flankmark-related questions, but could only think of one other.
”What are you called?” ”Do you have a name?”
We asked the questions simultaneously. The pony looked surprised, but answered without delay. ”Most call me Derpy. Derpy Hooves”. She sat on her haunches, and started rubbing her forelegs. Her gigantic eyes were affixed on me... except when they were not. Her eyes did not focus on one thing at a time. How had I missed that? Ponies would not be easy to catch if they could watch multiple directions at once.
”My name is Annwhinn,” I told her.
Derpy mouthed the name silently. Then she gasped, ”you have legs!”
I was so surprised by the exclamation I stuck my head between my forelegs to see what was wrong. Apparently nothing. A part of me expected this was a ploy to distract me so she could escape or attack, but when I looked up again, she was still sitting there. Her expression wavered between a frown and a grin. ”Of course I have legs. What are you talking about?” I asked.
She abandoned both previous expressions and ended up with a strange scrunch on her muzzle, making a sound like a cross between a tiny snake and a smallish boar. Her eyes mostly pointed at the top of my head. Right. I tossed my head, and cleared the frozen twigs, branches, and a semicoherent hedgehog from my mane.
The grey mare snorted one more time, ”sorry! Sorry. I just thought you don't have hindlegs.” Fear was now fully replaced by wariness, but another emotion was bubbling underneath it. An emotion I had hoped for, but never tasted. ”The stories never mention them, and in every show you always look like you have no flanks at all.” She mastered her face, and continued. ”Though it could be because you are almost always heads on sticks, with all sorts of white stuff floating behind, and two forelegs pointing out. Must be because it would too be hard to lift up a whole papermâché windingo with haunches and all.”
”Do you often carry around our heads on sticks?” It was an odd thought.
She shook her head vigorously. ”Oh no. Only during Hearth's Warming Eve. We retell the story of our founders, and some ponies wave around a few mockups so everyone can properly see the monst–” she suddenly slapped both hooves on her mouth. Her eyes popped open and locked on to me, fully focused again. The wave of fear flowed over me, and it was the hardest thing ever to keep from pouncing at it. I must have looked angry, with my nostrils flaring and brow furrowed in concentration. After a while, a small voice continued, ”sorry. I did not mean to call you a..."
”Monster,” I finished for her. ”We deserved it. Do ponies still hate us?”
She resumed rubbing her legs. ”I don't know. I don't think anypony even believes you exist anymore. It was a thousand years ago.”
”Twelve centuries is more accurate,” I corrected her.
She blinked. Another thing ponies seemed to do frequently. ”Even Fluttershy and Bon-Bon think you are mythical. Fluttershy knows her creatures, but I can understand her not wanting to believe in your existence. But Bon-Bon always expects the worst, and even she does not bother to prepare for a windigo emergency.” She shook her head like a wet wolf and flapped her wings,. ”Most of us didn't believe changelings were real either.”
”Changelings. They feed on love.”
Derpy nodded. ”They invaded five moons ago. It was awful.”
It was my turn to nod. ”They fought us soon after our return. We drove them off, but it was not easy.”
If I read her expression correctly, she was puzzled. ”Why would they attack you? What do you know...” this time she just trailed off, and allowed me to once again complete her sentence.
”Of love? We feed on fear. It does not mean we do not know love.” I did not want to go on, but I had to. ”We have reserved it for ourselves. We sow hatred to harvest fear, so love is not something we share with others.”
”So the changelings attacked you to feed on you, too?” She stood up and took a step forward.
”No. Upon our return, they were the first creatures we encountered. I believe it was soon after they had attacked you. We were circling toward the Crystal Empire, and chanced upon them. We do not know what they were doing there, and we did not ask. Nor did they. Changelings are difficult foes. They know little fear.”
Wariness creeped to Derpy's voice. ”What were you doing near the Empire?” She sounded accusatory.
”We wanted to check whether there was any sign of the Devourer.”
”Do you mean King Sombrero?”
I frowned, but decided that was close enough, ”Probably the same pony.”
”Why do you call him that?”
”He was our mightiest foe after the Two Sisters. But he also took control of the Empire because of us.”
Derpy looked confused. She was now standing completely in a circle of sun, and it made her mane glisten. Her wings would be fully thawed in a moment, and I could not freeze them again without risking real injury. She was a bit jumpy, but curious. I had to use that.
I inhaled deeply. ”When we were repulsed by you founders, we traveled north to recuperate. We had been well fed, and the success of your founders broke our hold over you. When we much later went south to feed again, we encountered the Sisters. Their fears were too abstract to exploit. Meeting them head on was risky. The Sun Sister got too powerful too fast, and the Moon Sister quelled what hatreds and fears we could sow among the ponies. Their fury was something we learned not to ask for. For every victory we suffered three defeats. The elders took the battle to the dreamscape, but the Moon Sister learned our tricks, and eventually we were thwarted. When we tried to circle around the ponies to raid deeper south, the Sisters blocked our path. So we saved what we could and retreated north.”
”Celestia and Luna.” Derpy said. Even I could tell her voice held reverence.
”The Sun and the Moon, we called them. Pony language was not something we were interested in back then. After our retreat, we chanced upon the fourth tribe in the Crystal Empire. In hunger, we struck at them. At first we were successful. Then a stallion impervious to our influence rose to lead their defense. Either he had masterful control over his emotions, or he simply did not have any. His successes against us allowed him to rise high in the Crystal Empire. Eventually he held us at his mercy.”
”Bwuh?”
”He offered us a deal. If we removed the ponies above him, he would leave us be. The elders did not believe he would keep the bargain, but we had little choice. After the deed was done, he turned on us, and the might of the entire Empire was his to wield. But the elders had bought enough time for some us to escape ever further north, where nothing moves but the wind. So ended our great migration, with our numbers diminished and our herd exiled.”
I thought I sensed sadness in Derpy's posture. That was not the emotion I wanted. Though it was odd that a pony would feel anything towards my kind but anger or fear.
”We planned to get our revenge on the Devourer...”
”You still haven't told me why you call him that.”
”His greed was immense. He did not want prosperity and prestige. He wanted all the wealth and all the power, and he was willing to take down anyone in his path. No one was safe from his greed, and we felt it devour all other aspects of his mind. In the end, he became greed.”
Derpy was now fully concentrating on my tale.
”We had almost planned out our revenge when our sentries returned in total panic, raving that the Sisters had just traveled north and wiped the Crystal Empire from the map. We were horrified. We could not go against that kind of power. But some of the elders were pleased as well. Destroying an entire city spoke of vast hatred, and the chance to harvest the fear that might come out of it was too much to resist. The elders adjusted the plans, and set them in motion against the Sisters.”
Derpy made a sudden sound, most likely of frustration. ”Don't tell me you are going to take the credit for the birth of Nightmare Moon.”
”Who?”
”Oh, sorry, please go on.”
”The plan failed, because the hate we had expected to be in their hearts was not there. They realized what we had planned, and struck back. The elders were worried, but realized they had expended much of their strength. We also still outnumbered them and had recently fed on the leaders of the Crystal Empire, so the elders decided for a direct fight. This time the battle was more even. It lasted for six days and seven nights, and at the end, it was a stalemate. They were too exhausted and emotionally drained to pursue us. We had expended our strength and lost the most aggressive ones in our herd. We migrated far north and settled down to sleep in the ice, waiting for the world to forget us.”
”But now you are back.” Her emotions had balanced on curiosity again. I sighed. Producing the emotion I wanted turned out to be too difficult under these circumstances. That one glimpse had not been enough, and daylight was fading. Other ponies were probably searching for Derpy, and I could not keep her. I might as well tell her everything and hope for the best... wait. It could not be evening yet.
I looked up. The sun was hidden behind low-hanging shroudlike clouds. Oh no. ”Derpy. Can you fly?”
Her head flicked between me and her wings, but she did not speak.
”I want to explain why I captured you, but there is no time. You must take off and fly straight home.”
Derpy's expression was strange, but she did not argue. ”I still want to hear you out. This has been a really weird and terrifying day, and I'd like to know why.” She adjusted the bags on her back and flexed her wings in preparation. ”Which way is home, by the way? I kept my eyes shut on the way in, and suddenly the sun is not visible.”
”Take off, and fly that way between the twin hills. That will take you to your flight path. Let me check the skies.” I weaved a zephyr and leaped on it to take a peek over the treetops. The sky was overcast all the way north, and the clouds were expanding south. I heard a few flaps, and saw Derpy rising off the ground. Then I heard the neighs. Derpy's ascent stopped, and I saw her cringe. ”It is too late,” I said to her. ”Land at once and hide. I will try to trick them.”
She let out a little yelp and adjusted her wings for landing. Unfortunately, she either misjudged the angle or had to dodge a tree, and backslid into a cedar. The tree swayed as Derpy smashed her flank on it and slid down with her forehooves flailing. ”Sorry about that.” She dropped back to the ground, and looked around, hopefully searching for a hiding place. Letting her out of my sight was troubling, but I leaped to fly away from the trees.
The moment I cleared the treetops I was challenged by a wordless wail. Ordinarily it would have filled me with pleasure, but right now it only made my frustration peak. Two other riders were descending toward me. They we slowing down, expecting me to do the same. They were easy enough to recognize. Qaibhell and Whoosh.
”There you are, my little stray,” Qaibhell cried as they approached. ”The elders thought you had gone hunting.”
”They should not have worried. I said I did not intend to feast without their blessing.” I tried to sound calm, but deceiving a herdmate is difficult is difficult.
Whoosh–always the sharper of the two–noted something in my tone, and probed deeper. ”You said you did not intend to, but did you anyway?” They made a full lap around me and started another one, with Qaibhell in front of me and Whoosh presently at my right. I was gently slowing down, leading them away from the Derpy. Whoosh continued without giving me a chance to answer. ”You were always curious. Perhaps you saw something while you were scouting. Perhaps a plump pony or a grouchy griffon.”
Qaibhell snorted, then spoke. ”Just ignore Whoosh, she thinks you have a treat hidden around here and is eager to get at it. I told her to ignore her hunger.” Now that he was closer, his voice was more conversational. ”It will not be long until the elders have a plan, and we can all feed.”
”But did you find anything while scouting, Annwhinn?” Whoosh asked. ”Why were you sitting in the middle of those trees instead of flying home?”
”The sun rose. I was afraid the Sun Sister might see me, so I took cover in the shadows.” My voice was steadier now. It was easier to tell the truth, even if it was not the whole truth.
Whoosh harrumphed. ”The Sisters are nothing more than an old tale now! Ponies do not last as long as we do.”
”But who says others have not risen in their stead,” Qaibhell pointed out. ”There are so many more other creatures, and even without the Sisters the ponies could cause troubles for us.”
”They won't remember us or our weaknesses. That was the whole idea of sleeping in the ice,” Whoosh went on.
”Did the elders send you to search for me?” I asked.
This time Qaibhell answered. ”No. But neither did they object when we volunteered to look for you.”
”How fortunate you were that we herded those clouds over the wicked sun and saved you from its deadly glare,” Whoosh said. ”But you did not answer my question. What did you find when you were zipping about?”
”I witnessed some ponies flying south of here. Mostly groups of three or more.”
”'Mostly'. But perhaps there were creatures other than ponies.” She lowered her voice. ”Or a lone pony. A lone, scared pony.” I had no way to tell if my misdirections were easily melted, or if she chose her words because they gave her hope there was for her to eat. Whoosh had always been very irritable when hungry, and the entire herd was feeling the effects of the long sleep. Depleting our strength in the fight against the changelings had not made things easier. ”Well, answer me, stray!”
”Do you think I would not share a feast with my herdmates?” My last attempt to fog her eyes.
Whoosh's eyes shone with hunger. ”If there was too little to share!” She leaped to full speed, neighing. ”I think you caught something! And I am going to find out!” She lanced toward the trees.
Qaibhell turned lazily after her. ”We best go after her before she attacks the south all by herself.”
”Yes. She should find nothing edible in those woods, unless she is fond of hedgehogs.”
A moment later we landed next to the fallen tree that had served to keep Derpy at bay. Whoosh had trampled around the clearing, but had not ventured deeper. She was sulking but appeared calmer.
”Did you find any leftovers?” I hazarded a small jab.
”I has hoped to,” she growled. ”Why do you always have to do things without waiting for others?”
”Things like scouting?”
”Everything! You have no patience, Annwhinn.”
Qaibhell was pawing around the clearing. ”Neither have you, Whoosh. You would make a good match.”
Whoosh scrunched her nose. It reminded me of Derpy. ”You have no right to say things like that. Only the elders are allowed it,” she growled. But if she was angry, at least she was not angry at either me or Qaibhell. Interesting.
I took a risk. ”Do you think the elders are infallible?”
Whoosh turned her gaze at me. She had eyes that shone like the full moon. Her mane like wispy clouds underlit by the morning sun. Her coat was also like a frosted meadow, but the first two things had reminded me of the Two Sisters, and now I was not certain whether I should be terrified or intrigued by her. I was frozen like a griffon between two preys.
”Did you look around at all, Whoosh?” Qaibhell asked softly. Whoosh broke eye contact with me.
”Not really. I was just angry.” She sounded tired. She had fought the changelings like crazy, and that must have taken its toll. I remembered how difficult it had been not to feed on Derpy, and I had been trying my best not to harm her.
”I was wondering how you could have missed this.” He crunched his hoof into the dirt and lifted it slowly. A rough yellow string of hair was caught in the frozen branches. ”This does not look like yours, Annwhinn.” Whoosh took one look at the hair, and snapped her attention back to me. Qaibhell was not done yet. ”The ground has been disturbed here. Someone has been swiping it to remove tracks, but obviously overlooked this.” He stepped around the clearing, while Whoosh was glaring at me, too angry to even speak.
Then, without warning, Qaibhell exhaled as much freeze as he could toward the densest part of the tangle. When I heard the cry of distress, I knew my ruse had failed. ”Wait, don't–” Qaibhell leaped after the cry, and disappeared from my sight. Whoosh was starting to say something when I caught a breeze and went straight up.
”Come back here, you liar!” Her words rang in my ears, but there was no time. I had to stop Qaibhell from undoing my work. It could be my only chance. Our only chance.
From my vantage point, I saw Derpy run clear of the trees. She must have avoided Qaibhell's blast, but that had only bought her time. She was in the open now, with nothing to hide behind. Qaibhell bounded out of the trees with a dangerous gleam in his eyes. ”Come here, pony!” Of course Derpy did not understand him. Our language was nothing like her own.
Before I could prevent Qaibhell's attack, Whoosh went over my head and blocked my path. There was no time to talk, so I merely neighed in frustration and jumped past her, using a tree to sling myself towards the pursuit. Whoosh kicked out, and scored a glancing blow to my flank.
For a moment I was out of balance, and that was all Qaibhell needed. He flowed past Derpy and blocked her. The mare slammed all four hooves to dirt, and managed to skid to a stop before ramming straight into Qaibhell. Ramming would have been better for her, for as she turned to evade her pursuer, Qaibhell breathed out a bank of freezing fog in front of her. Derpy knew what it would do to her, and swerved to avoid it. She was far too slow. Qaibhell leaped on her, and knocked her down. Her saddlebags spewed out a pile small rectangular flat things and a dark blue cap. She gasped, and reached for the pile. Qaibhell leaped on them, and Derpy snapped her hoof back, holding the cap like a shield between the two of them.
Whoosh was distracted by the thought of feeding, and tried to fly past me before Qaibhell could gobble the pony up. I slammed into her side and sent her into the frozen fog. ”Qaibhell, stop!” I yelled as loud as I could.
”Not likely! This pony is ripe for eating, and I am sick of lichen and griffon polar expeditions.”
Derpy had rolled on her hooves, and was holding the cap on her mouth. She was backing away from Qaibhell on a submissive crouch. Fear was thick around her, and I knew there was no stopping him now. Qaibhell opened her maw, and struck. Derpy stopped, her eyes flicked open, and her ears flattened. A small whinny escaped her closed mouth.
I was torn. I could not stop him. I had to stop him. She was only a pony. She was the only pony I knew. I could find another. But there was no time. Qaibhell was going to drain her. ”No!” I broke my breeze and dropped between them. Before he could stop himself, Qaibhell's feeding shifted onto me. He was surprised, both by my action, and by the fact that there was edible fear in me.
The sensation was horrible. I felt like Qaibhell was trying to drag a spruce through my guts. Riders could feed on each other, but usually it took premeditation and a lot of intimidation. And whatever Qaibhell thought of me, were were still herdmates. He did the only decent thing he could think of and stopped. Before he could think, I turned around and kicked him in the chest, dropping him in a heap. Then I staggered around and dropped next to him. The world looked odd when it was sideways. I saw Derpy shudder and pant as she tried to recover from Qaibhell's attack.
There was a thud next to me. I craned my neck, and saw Whoosh's hooves. ”What have you done, you idiot?” She checked Qaibhell, and snorted. I could feel her breath on my neck, but did not care. My head relaxed, turning back to face Derpy, who was watching the situation intently.
Whoosh knocked me on the head with her hoof. ”You have hurt him. For what? A pet pony? I don't undestand you.” She stepped into my field of vision. Her head was low, and she was snarling at me now. I did not want her to snarl at me. ”Why protect one pony? Soon we will descend upon them all!”
”No.” She stopped, amazed that I would confess. I could still see Derpy. She held the cap on her hoof now, flicking her eyes from it to Whoosh. Why was she not flying? Or at least running?
Whoosh pulled her head back. I could feel her condescension. ”No? You fool. That is what we do. That is what we must do!”
I was too tired to argue with her. It was hard to focus, but Derpy seemed to have come to a conclusion. She slapped the cap on her tousled mane, braced her hooves on the ground, and took on a serious expression that was only slightly spoiled by the way her tongue sticking out of a corner of her mouth. I felt another hoofstrike on my head. Whoosh was not really trying to hurt me. The truth was, she was probably more hurt by my actions. She wanted an answer. I owed her one. ”We must not. For the herd.” Whoosh pushed her head down to hear me better, and Derpy sprang into action.
Whoosh had time to lift her head at the sound of approaching hooves, and then the grey little mare slammed into her side. While not as big as Qaibhell, Whoosh was still almost twice the size of a pony, and did not fall. She did go out of balance, however. Derpy rotated on her front hooves, used her wings to stop sharply, and kicked hard. I did not see what she hit, but I could hear Whoosh drop like a bag of rocks.
Derpy limped trembling back to my field of vision, and tilted her head at me. The cap fell over one flattened ear. She blinked, looked over me at my two concussed herdmates, then returned her attention on me. ”Why did you save me? They were your friends, right?”
Somewhere I found strength to form whole sentences. ”I saved you to save them.”
”But that big fellow, he did to you what he was doing to me.”
”His name is Qaibhell. I have known him since I was a colt. He is the last rider on the world that would feed on me. I surprised him. That is all.”
”But if you can feed on each other, why hunt ponies.”
I coughed. ”Feeding on a fellow rider is like stealing life. I don't know why. Ponies and griffons and elks and deer do not eat emotions. Perhaps they are not as deeply tied to your life. But for us, and changelings, and others like us, emotions we eat become a part of us. They cannot be shared again. Feeding on them is an attempt to kill.” The mare laid down on her belly, to hear me better. She was almost close enough to touch. ”Why don't you fly away? They might wake up, and then all is lost.”
She adjusted her cap, then shook her head and dislodged it again. Her visible ear perked up. ”They look properly bucked. Anyway, I can't fly yet. The big one's ice breath mostly missed, but I was silly enough to raise my wings to cover myself. My feathers are still a bit stiff.” She flapped her left wing. ”Besides, you said you wanted to tell me why you captured me.”
”I needed to find out the truth about the day we were repelled by your founders. I don't have the words.”
”Go on.”
”In the old days, we hunted wherever we pleased. Few could challenge our mastery of the skies, and our herds were strong. We lived well.” Derpy's expression was unreadable. I hoped she was just concentrating on my story. ”Over time, our prey organized. They became tribes, they built villages, villages became towns. They lost their fear when they were together. We could not attack them with success. The elders decided to migrate to new hunting grounds.
”We needed sustenance for the migration, and for that we needed you to fear for your lives. We conjured up a terrible winter. Every creature fears starvation. We only expected to take what we needed and go, but when the ponies started their own migration, we got greedy. If we could keep up the pressure, we could break their tribes, and return to the good old days of hunting lone groups of ponies.” I heard Whoosh cough behind me. She was slowly regaining consciousness.
”We kept pushing your ancestors. I wonder what would have happened if we had not been there when your founders had their last fight. Would you still be three separate mistrustful tribes? No matter. Your leaders were uncontrollable, and the elders wanted them gone. They were separated and guided to a vale.”
”Do you mean a cave?” Derpy asked.
”No. A vale. Our kind do not fly well indoors.”
”In the story they were forced into a cave.”
”The story is wrong. What else does the story say?” Let her do the talking for a while.
”They had an argument and the three leaders–Commander Hurricane, Chancellor Puddinghead, and Princess Platinum–were frozen stiff by their hatred. Their three aides–Private Pansy, Smart Cookie, and Clover the Clever– were about to suffer the same fate. But then they talked, and discovered they did not hate each other. At that time they found out about the windigoes and discovered harmony. The entire cave exploded into pink light, and a floating heart of light appeared to warm everything up. The windigoes were blasted away, and the three aides spent their night talking. When the leaders melted, they made peace and founded Equestria.”
”Close enough. Thasswa says they were about to freeze the pony leadership, but those three aides discovered them and rallied. Before they could be frozen as well, they released a burst of emotions so strong it qualified as a magic event.”
”Wow. Maybe friendship really is magic, like Twilight says. Who is Tazva?” Her pronounciation was atrocious, but considering the differences in our languages, it was a wonder she got even that close. Special talents seemed to work.
”Thasswa is one of the riders who was sent to deal with your founders. He and the others were pushed away by this burst. I am not certain about floating organs. Afterwards things happened like I told earlier.”
”I still don't understand why you captured me. You obviously knew what happened in the cave. Vale”
”Ever since that day we have been driven. Enemies are everywhere. I don't know if other tribes of windigoes have fared better, but ours is all but done. We are starving. Unless we can change, we will fade.”
”What do you mean, change?”
This was the crux. ”Thasswa and the others said the burst of emotions overwhelmed them. It tasted... he said the difference between the burst and ordinary fear was greater than the difference between mortal fear and licking stale lichen off a sun-baked rock. Those who experienced it lost their appetite for fear. Thasswa said the sensation was unlike anything he had felt before or after, and that the idea of eating fear again was repulsive to him.”
Derpy made a face. ”It's repulsive to me, too.”
”You need to understand. Whoosh–the rider you kicked–was right. Fear is what we eat. It is what we are. Until that day. Thasswa and the others have not eaten since that day, and three of them are still alive, after twelve centuries. They are frail and tottering, and most of their time was spent sleeping in ice, but it is still unheard of. Whatever that burst was, it was edible, but so strange that we have never tasted it.”
”I believe it is joy.” Once again, we had spoken in unison.
I continued. ”We cannot keep eating fear. We are hated for what we do to sow it, and I cannot blame you. But joy is the opposite of fear. Somehow it might be edible. If there is a chance we might change what we are, we could change how others see us. I needed to know. That is why I captured you. To learn what you still remember about us, and what you might remember about those days. And for the tiniest possibility of learning what joy tastes like.”
”You are dumb as a rock.” This time Derpy's words matched those of Whoosh.
Whoosh coughed before continuing angrily. ”What does it matter what we eat? We still take it from the prey. Do you believe they will just let go of their hard-earned joy?”
Derpy did not seem to be quite as angry. ”Why did you not just ask?”
I decided to answer Derpy first. Whoosh was already mad at me. ”What would you do if you saw a windigo coming at you? You knew the stories. Would you have stayed to talk?” She looked sad, but shook her head. ”I could not take the risk of you fleeing. I also could not risk entering a pony village. If you remembered what we were, you would probably attack or repulse me without giving me a chance.” I spared a glance at Whoosh, who was feebly trying to stand up. Either that little mare was stronger than she seemed or Whoosh was really on her last legs. ”But the worst thing was I didn't know how to talk to ponies. Think about how our talks started. The only way I could see getting this done was to catch one and try to talk to it on my own terms, taking my time.”
I addressed Whoosh next. ”And it matters. When we eat, we take. But what we do to create the emotions is another thing. What do you think is better from their point of view? That we create constant hatred or fear, or that we create... actually, I have no idea how to create joy.” That was the weak point in my plan. I switched back to Equestrian. ”For a couple of times, I thought I felt it in you,” – I weakly lifted my muzzle at Derpy – ”but I did not dare to do anything to lose what little trust we might have.”
Derpy was shaking her head slowly. ”It is difficult to trust someone who just captured you and could gobble you up.” She craned her neck to check on Whoosh's progression, and asked, ”you really don't know what joy is?”
I snorted. ”I know what joy is. I just never though it was edible, or what it tastes like.”
”Never?”
To my surprise, Whoosh spoke. ”How could we. Fear is so easy. Everything we eat out of others is fear. Causing joy has to be the opposite of causing fear, and since everyone already fears us, there is no point in doing things the hard way. I suppose we could feed on the joy of another rider, but that would be lifestealing . The thought is revolting.”
Derpy was licking her lips, and tilted her head. Right, she doesn't understand our language, and Whoosh does not speak pony. She could get the gist of my end of the conversation through my emotions, but not participate in it. I translated to Derpy to the best of my ability. She shuddered before speaking. ”I understand what she means. To first make somepony happy and then to suck the lifeout of him. Horrifying..”
She shook her head. ”I don't know if I would want anyone to eat my joy.”
”Do you feel a lot of joy?” I asked.
Her eyes got a faraway look, and the corners of her mouth started creeping upwards. ”My life has had its ups and downs, but there is plenty of joy in it.” There. I could sense it bubbling under the canopy of other mixed emotions. It was the same scent I had felt when shaking sticks from my mane. Now that I knew it, I think it might have first appeared when we were talking about languages. This time it was a stronger.
”What brings you joy?”
”Dinky, Sparkler, my friends, wind in my mane on a starlit night, the smile I receive when I deliver a letter to the right person,...” She went on, but I could only focus on the swelling emotion. It broke through her worries and displaced some of the pain she had suffered when Qaibhell attacked her.
”Can I–” she stopped and looked at me. ”Can I taste it?”
”Why don't you just take it?” The question was conversational, not accusatory.
”We need to change more than our diet.”
”Are you developing table manners?”
”I don't know. What are they?” I was so tired.
”Never mind.” Derpy stood up and flared her wings open. She flexed them in a complex pattern of some kind, and inspected them. A few feathers were sticking out and a couple of others were broken, but she seemed to be satisfied. ”I can fly now. If I'll let you get a taste, will you let me go? Will it stop me from leaving?”
”I will not stop you. I can not even try. All I want is a taste. I need to know if we can eat it, or if what happened to our people that day was just a fluke.”
”So you don't want to just suck the joy out of my life?”
”Just a sip.”
She walked around, checking again at my two herdmates. She collected the saddlebag and looked unhappily at the flat things that were spreading here and there in the wind. I was tired, but wind was still mine to command. I whistled up a tiny whirlwind and watched numbly as it collected the escaping objects. Derpy watched attentively as I guided it closer to her. She opened one flap of the bag, and I had the whirlwind stack the objects inside before dispersing it.
Derpy closed the bag, and looked at me. ”That was convenient.” She paused to think. ”Now listen, I am not certain this is smart, but if there is even a chance you might not come charging at Ponyville and scaring Dinky, I'm willing to try the alternative. So one sip, no longer than it takes for an apple to fall from a tree. Got that?”
”Got that. One sip. Apple-sized.”
Derpy adjusted the blue cap on her head, and steadied herself. It was almost too late. The joy she had felt had diminished. Only a faint spark was left. I opened my maw and tried to reach for it.
There was nothing. I felt betrayed. Angry. Then I stopped to think what had happened to Thasswa. ”Derpy. Can you relax. I don't think this works if you are tensed up.”
She adjusted her stance, but nothing happened. The spark had been there, but locked behind a shield of other emotions. Her flankmark might as well stand for the bubble of worry surrounding the joy inside. Inaccessible. But what if the bubble could be burst. Burst! This was a long shot. I reached with a hoof, grabbed a stick, and stuck it through my mane behind my ears. I looked at Derpy.
She looked incredulous. ”You look ridiculous. That is so desperate it reminds me of the story Pinkie told about the Cake twins.”
”I don't have anything else. If I had seen that poor hedgehog, I would have crammed him in my mane, too.”
Derpy chuckled and the bubble burst without warning. One sip. I inhaled. She jolted backwards. The taste was like nothing I had experienced before. There is no point in describing it, but suddenly understood Thasswa a lot better. Strength flowed back into my legs, and I climbed on my hooves. Derpy's emotions bottled up again, but I had tasted enough. Enough to know that it was plausible, and enough to understand that our way of life would have to change completely. I turned to Whoosh.
”I was right.”
”You are still an idiot.”
”Anyone who tries something new for the first time is an idiot. I am still right.” I spared a glance at Derpy, who was still reeling from my sip. ”Whoosh, I am going with the pony.”
”Are you serious?” This time she managed to put some real emotion into her voice. If disbelief is an emotion, that is.
”Yes. This is important. You know what has happened to us. The ponies remember us. If we attack them, they will push us back north, and we will starve. This is the only way.”
”You cannot go against the wind. The elders will never accept it.”
”They are free to starve. See to Qaibhell. When you get back, find Thasswa and tell him what happened here. Tell him I learned something new. Inhale.” And with that, I thought of all the things that had made me happy. A sad amount of that had happened today. I tried to project it at Whoosh, and she shuddered.
”What... just happened?”
”Fear is taken by force. I think joy must be handed out by consent. That is all I can spare if I am to fly, but it should get you back on your hooves.”
”Annwhinn, wait.”
”I will return. Unless the ponies don't let me. But I must try.” I turned and walked towards Derpy. She flattened her ears and took a few steps back, spreading her wings. ”I surrender myself to your custody.”
”Whut?” The cap fell again to one ear.
”I need to return with you to Equestria. If I go alone, I am unlikely to get through. If you go alone, some other riders of my herd might still be around to pursue you. And I know enough to understand that I know too little. I need to talk to someone who might know more. And if I there is still time, I need to talk about a truce. Will you let me fly with you?”
For a moment, she was tense, all nerves again. Then her eyes widened. This was apparently a pony expression of understanding. ”You mean, you would be like an ambassador?”
”I don't know. What is that?”
”Like Dinky's father. Somepony who represents his people to someone else, living among them.”
”Very well. I will try that.”
”Great!” She took the cap off her head and stashed it in the saddlebag, and took to the skies.
I caught a zephyr and leaped after her. As I took a last look behind me, I saw Whoosh looking back with unreadable eyes. I reached out at her with a small breeze, and turned to follow the gray mare.
”Come on, Whinny!”
”What did you call me?”
Derpy had settled to fast-flight position, her forelegs before her and hindlegs pointing straight back. ”Oh, you better get used to that. Some ponies will use your full name, but the ones you are most likely to meet at first will settle for 'Whinny', trust me on that.”
”It is better than 'whiny', I suppose,” I grumbled. I noticed that despite her sudden cheerfulness, Derpy was moving stiffly and slowly. She had had a rough day, and now she was flying hard on top of it. But soon we would reach the edge of the cloud cover. There was perhaps one thing I could do to pay her back for all the misery she had gone through.
”You are tired. Get on my back. The sunlight should keep you warm enough for a while, and you can rest.”
She considered it briefly, then maneuvered above me and grabbed a hold. ”You are cold!”
”I willl try not to be. Are you secure?”
”Yeah!”
”Then hold on, and yell me directions as they become necessary. You said you like wind in your mane. I hope this is enough.” I craned my head forward and squeezed the zephyr to increased our velocity. Once again, the land whirled under us, but this time there were no whimpers or sobs from my passenger. While I was still not very fluent in pony, I believe the cry she uttered this time was more likely one of glee.
We entered open sunlight and flew south.
Author's Note
Apologies for atrocious commas; I am not a native english speaker, and comma rules of that language are one of those things that I have never managed to get in my head. Criticism and grammatical corrections and are welcome.
