The mountains stood dark and tall against the light of the coming dawn. Covered in a thick blanket of soft snow and topped with swaths of dark green pine trees. The occasional cluster of rock jutted out every now and then. A hard, cold wind blew down from the mountains; cutting through the trees; whistling. A lone cry rose up from the valley, from the sides of the mountains. This cry was from pack of grey wolves, not timberwolves; if you can remember such creatures from past experiences. First a lone wolf started, then one after another joined in; their howls converging and mixing; creating a haunting sound. It was enough to make a pony who had heard such a melody before get goosebumps and chills. The wolves quickly ceased howling, one by one, until one remained but it too; faded. If you look down on the valley, you would notice a little white line, going the trees; like a quill on parchment; but with the colors reversed. The trail was made by ponies years ago, who wanted an earlier way to get through the valley then crossing the mountains; many ponies had died trying. Time passed, then the railroad was made; and so the trail was abandoned; left to the mercy of the wild. But the trail never did overgrow that much. In fact, there was almost nothing; save for a few feeble pine shrubs that were poking through every few feet. The trail lay empty, until a pony appeared over the rise. This pony has no name, not because he never got one; but because he has amnesia. The pony is dressed for winter, with moccasins; a cap with ear flaps and a jacket. He carries a rifle, not a modern one; but an old one; used by soldiers during the Indian Wars that had ravaged the land almost 200 years ago. All other guns were lost to history, banned; destroyed; after ponies realized what damage they did. The pony is a stallion, with emerald green eyes, a light gray coat; and a brown mane. The pony moved quickly, desiring to get out of the cold. And for want of a better, this story takes wing.
"You can close your eyes to reality but not to memories."
-Stanislaw Jerzy Lec
The day had broken cold and gray, exceedingly cold and gray; when the pony turned aside from the main trail from which he traveled on to cast a look ahead to where his destination was. It was not insight, yet. This pony traveled alone, for being in the company of others was not something he took joy in. Only when he visited settlements was the pony seen talking to traders or shopkeepers, looking for items of interest; such as crates of food; or barrels of water. He did all this with great intention and enthusiasm, for he was stockpiling resources for the worst part of the winter that was still to come. Reaching the ridge where the view would orientate the pony to the new landscape that lay before him, he stopped and took a break. The area which lay before the pony was beautiful, every bit of it was covered in snow and frost; making it look like the made up lands in old tales. The pony shifted his gaze southwest, to where in the fading sunlight; stood the silhouette of a castle. That was the Castle of The Two Sisters, the old ruins from which the duo ruled; before Nightmare Moon had come into existence. The pony turned away and continued on his trek to his home. The trail was faint but still noticeable. He plunged in among the frost covered trees. Nearly a foot of snow had fallen since the last creature had passed through here, it was a good sign to the pony; who wanted no others to find where he currently resided.
Trying to remember events from his past was impossible, it caused terrible migraines simply trying to think of his real name. The pony was frustrated by this fact. His current name, or the nickname that had been given to him by other ponies; The Wanderer; was growing old. He wanted a real name, but he couldn't remember it, let alone try to anyways. Snapping back to reality, the pony glanced behind him and spotted a wolf, not a timber wolf; but a flesh and blood wolf. It suddenly stopped and stared back at the pony, as if playing somehow. For a long moment, the two creatures didn't move; trying not to scare the other. The wolf then broke the stare and ran into the trees. With the animal gone, the pony continued on towards the place it knew best, where there was warmth and comfort.
Nearly an hour later, the smell of burning wood caught the attention of the pony, who recognized it as a sign of his nearing to home. Around a clump of oak trees, the stockade fort came into sight; not untouched by snow and frost. The pony breathed a sigh of relief, quickening his walk into a trot; for the thought of the warm fire filled him with new energy. He passed through the gates of the walled in fort, glancing to the walls that surrounded the collection of wooden buildings. It was a large fort, enough to hold maybe 150 or more. When he had first found the fort, it was in surprisingly good condition despite the wet weather that had been hanging around in the sky. A good clean up, stocking and a few repairs to the roofs had deemed the post livable again since the abandonment years before. The pony trotted up to the building, where; as far as he could tell; had been the garrison headquarters. the rest of the fort was just buildings that served not much use to the pony. The inside consisted of the area where the deals where made, the back area where the officers had slept; it had a wood burning stove; a bed; and a small desk. The pony pushed the door open and stepped inside, sighing as a blast of heat hit him. The pony shook the loose snow off, and removed his moccasins; which cracked from the ice that had built up. removing the footwear into his left foreleg, he removed the rest of his cold weather stuff; collecting all the garments he moved to the back area. Placing the rifle in the corner. The fire was going out, a result of him not feeding it for a couple of hours. The pony grabbed a chair from the desk and carefully put all the clothing on it, making sure that it was going to dry properly. Satisfied, the pony walked into the kitchen; greeted by the sight of a lot of food; stored away in sealed crates and barrels. Every inch of the sustenance was marked and measured, to make sure that nothing else; save for him was going to steal the precious food. opening the cupboard, the stallion removed a large tin container of hot chocolate mix; still felling cold on the inside and wanting to get rid of it.
Placing the foamy warm drink on the worn oak desk, the pony climbed into the squeaky chair and settled in. Taking a sip of the warm liquid, he opened a leather bound book; flipping through the worn pages until he came on where he was writing. Dipping the quill in the ink, he began with start of his day. After he had finished, the pony set the quill down; rubbing his hooves over his face. Getting down from the chair, he walked up to the window, staring out at the couple feet of snow that lay every where he looked.
"Another day." He mumbled to himself. "I still can't remember anything important."
The pony thought hard, thinking back to when times must have been better for him. He would eventually remember something important. Something that would reveal more about who he was. If and when that day ever comes." he thought.
