Author's Note
This is my first story. I wrote it not for the people, but because the idea was stuck in my head and i simply couldn't get it out. It is completely unedited, and I have no plans on doing so. Read at your own risk. Any constructive criticism is welcome.
Pretty Sure
The grass drifted slowly in a gentle breeze.
Their stalks formed a chorus of raspy voices, soothing her frazzled nerves.
At least, she thought they would have. Not that her nerves weren't frazzled. Its just that there isn't a force on equus that could relax her right now.
Not with her life at risk.
At least, she thought it was at risk. There was no way of telling for sure. For all she knew, the enemy sniper had left once the first shot had been fired off. Still, there was that danger. That risk. Could she stand up and flash the "all clear" across the valley? Of course she could. She would also probably lose most of her skull in the process. Not that the idea wasn't comforting in a strange way. The thought that, with an easy motion into a standing position, all of the stress and danger would be lifted in an instant.
A small part in Fluttershy's core which refused to let go of her old personality tried to scold the rest of her mind for thinking such a terrible thought. That was surprising. That part of her kept quiet, for the most part.
At least, she was pretty sure it did.
That was something about war. It made a pony doubt itself. It made one sure that everything was constant. That way, you never grew dependant.
That way, you never had to rely on something or somepony else to get your job done.
Although, she supposed, that way of thinking was what got her into this situation in the first place. Lying in the grass next to a low cobble stone wall, overlooking a foggy valley in far reaches of the equestrian countryside. Her normally pink mane and tail was tied back into a thick braid, which was then dyed in a mottled camouflage. Her butter yellow coat was replaced with grey, green, and black warpaint to break up her outline. That was something she learned back in advanced training. If the enemy can't see you, they sure as hell won't know to avoid you.
She sat behind her rifle, which had been similarly camouflaged and mounted on a tripod. Six hours ago, she realized. She had been staring down the scope, looking at the opposing hilltops for six hours. She hadn't even noticed the passing time. She supposed being able to deal with infant animals in the dead of night helped with that. She knew that wasn't the reason she was picked for this job though. She was the last pony any officer would have chosen to join the elite sniper corps. But it had happened. Partially due to her reliability in the field on her own, partially due to the fact that she could ghost through practically anywhere without disturbing a fly.
She wondered how she could be so reliable. The Fluttershy of old, the one that took care of animals in a cabin on the outskirts of a forest, would be hyperventilating by now. At least, until the movement was picked up in a scope. That would put an end to it real quick. But still, it amazed her, on reflection, how calm she was. Her heart wasn't even beating hard. Maybe the rigors of war had tempered her mind. Thats something she would like to believe. It would mean that she was being tough for her country. That she was enduring so the civilians wouldn't have to. But she knew that this wasn't the case.
At least, she doubted it was.
What she really believed was that she was doing this so she could get back to her friends. Rainbow Dash had been placed into the wonderbolt royal scouts. Rarity, into the Battle Mages corps. Twilight, unsurprisingly, was acting as a general on the front lines. Pinkie and AJ had both been recruited into the royal engineers, ripping apart the technology of the old race and figuring out how to incorporate it into the art of war. And fluttershy? She had no special skills she would speak of. But her superiors thought differently. She had been placed into the Royal Marksmen, and, to everypony's surprise except to those who had put her there, She passed with flying colors. Top of the class.
She knew that all she wanted was for all of this to be over. Done. For there to be no more fighting. But she also knew that wouldn't come any sooner with her giving up.
Fluttershy glanced down with her eyes only, instinctively not moving her head, and saw the small balloon engraved into the rifle Pinkie had made especially for her. It was a mastery of craftsmanship, flawlessly replicated from the design that the old race had so apparently favored.
Damn them. Damn them all to whatever hell they use to believed in. It was the uncovery of their technology that started this war. Everything was fighting everything else. In desperation, they all tried to find some way to fight using the old devices and materials.
Apparently the old race were experts at the art of war. Gifted. Masters at finding new and inventive ways of killing others of their kind. She had heard of some of the things that Twilight had gushed about in the few times they had spoken since. Lanterns that operated without flame. Devices that flew so high, they twinkled up with luna's stars. Machines that could, in a single second, do the same amount of calculations the entire pony race could do in millions of years.
Robots that rained pinpointed explosions from so high up you couldn't see them. Devices you held in your hand that launched a compressed pellet of fire and death with the push of a button.
She hadn't believed of any of that in the beginning. Now that she had seen first hand what these devices could do, she was amazed the old race hadn't ascended to godhood, their divinity sparing them from the consequences of their power.
Then again, for all she knew the had been gods. A race so skilled as them at killing one another would have almost certainly not let a little thing like immortality get in their way.
All she wanted was for all of this to be over. The pony that had cared for animals back in the cottage was nothing more than a faint memory now. She wished nothing more than to be able to go back to that old life. And once this damn war was over, that was exactly what she planned on doing.
Only, it would never be the same.
Sure, she still remembered how to go about the daily routine. She remembered the name and needs of every single animal that lived with and around her, and had no plans on forgetting anytime soon. But after the things she's seen, the things she's done...
It could never be the same.
She felt stronger. More now than ever. Not just mentally, but physically. She could feel her muscles, once frail as that was all she needed, but now coiled and ready to launch at a moments notice. She had gone through the rigorous physical combat unit that every marksman went through. She could hold her own agianst almost every creature on the planet, and win most of the fights. She could kill. But that was nothing. Nothing compared to the weapon planted on her shoulder. She could see something from miles away, and end it's life with the pull of a trigger. That was something not even the princesses could boast. She had the power to destroy and kill resting in her hooves, controlled only by her training.
Power.
She had tasted power. It's raw strength. The ability to do what she wanted, when she wanted. And she realized something.
She hated it.
She despised the abomination that rested before her, just as ready for action as she was. The moment that her duty was fulfilled, she was running. She was leaving this hunk of horrendous metal behind and getting back to her cottage.
A small buzz ran through the air. It was barely audible, but she recognized it was the wingbeats of a butterfly next to her ears. It touched down lightly on the flower affixed to her rifle as part of the vegetation that was attached for camouflage.
It was so beautiful.
So innocent.
It fluttered away.
All the better, she thought. No need for such a pretty thing to be tainted by her struggle.
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Sergeant Grey-Quill of the griffon sharpshooters division scanned over the valley for the second time in as many minutes. He had fired only one shot in the last eight hours. His weapon was silenced, but he had chosen a bad target. As soon as the sentry fell, the entire compound had gone into lockdown. Normally, this would mean packing up and going home. But considering how they had remained locked up for that long, there was almost certainly a pony sniper somewhere in the valley looking for him.
It was just a battle of attrition now. He would wait out the other sniper, pick them off, and be on his way. There was no doubt in his mind that a hot meal and a warm cot was waiting for him when he returned.
This was supposed to be a scouting mission, but he had been promised a good word in with the commander if he could pick off one or two and still bring back the measurements he had been ordered to take.
A pretty blue butterfly appeared in front of him, resting lightly on his rifle. He attracted his gaze in an almost hypnotic manner, a rare spot of beauty in the otherwise abandoned landscape. At that moment, the sun managed to break through the layer of grey overcast and a single ray of light cut through the valley's gloom. The butterfly was immediately backdropped by wonderful golden ray, which almost seemed to ripple in it's warmth.
At least, he thought it was the sunlight.
A sharp crack sounded across the valley. Saddened, a particular camo pony began the slow belly crawl back to the fort.