This War of Ours

Chapters

DAY FIVE
DAY SIX
DAY FOURTEEN
DAY TWENTY-SEVEN
DAY FORTY-ONE
DAY SIXTY-THREE
DAY TWENTY-EIGHT

DAY FIVE

BOOM.

A distant blast of noise echoed throughout the innards of the hollow tree. It had been days since this endless cacophony had begun, and the three fillies huddled underneath the table within the darkness could no longer distinguish the rumbles of distant thunder from the explosions of bomb shells.

At this point, they no longer cared which was which. They were scared all the same.

Scootaloo held her two best friends ever closer, wrapping her orange wings around them. They shivered under her protection—whether it be from cold, or fear, she did not know. Together, the trio hugged each other in the darkness as the rumbling reverberated within the Golden Oak Library.

In time, silence descended upon them once again, and all that could be heard was the soft pitter-patter of rain and the whistling of wind as it blew past the holes that had been blown through the ancient tree.

Slowly, Scootaloo lifted her wings and sat up. “I think that one was just thunder.” Her voice was scratchy and cracked, parched from hours of thirst.

“Maybe the shelling stopped?” asked Sweetie Belle to her right, peeking out from behind her mane slightly. The filly gave Scootaloo a worried glance, and all she could do was offer a helpless shrug in reply.

Helpless. That’s all Scootaloo had felt in these last several days, and it was the worst feeling in the world.

“I sure hope so,” said Apple Bloom, looking up from underneath the oversized Stetson that adorned her head. “Feels like it’s been forever since I got so much as a wink o’ shut-eye.”

“You and me both,” muttered Scootaloo. Her stomach growled. “And I’m hungry as a manticore.”

Sweetie Belle curled up slightly next to her friends, leaning her head on Scootaloo’s shoulder. “I still can’t believe this finally happened.”

“This war’s been going on for weeks,” Apple Bloom muttered darkly, holding the other filly close. “It was bound to hit Ponyville someday.”

“But why? Why here? Why us?” Sweetie suppressed a sob. “It’s not our fault. We didn’t do anything.”

“The gryphons don’t care,” replied Scootaloo, gritting her teeth. “To them, we all might as well be the bad guys.”

“I hope Rarity’s okay…”

“She’s gotta be, sure as sunshine,” said Apple Bloom in reassurance, only a slight tremble in her reply betraying her true fears. “Big sis and the rest of their friends are together. They’ll be back any day now.”

“Yeah,” agreed Scootaloo with a nod, reassuring herself. “Rainbow Dash wouldn’t let anything bad happen to them either.”

“She promised…” Sweetie Belle sniffled. “They all promised they’d help stop the war.”

“If only it were that easy.”

BOOM.

Scootaloo flinched, clenching her ears shut. The ground shook wildly, causing several books to topple off the shelves around them with a loud crash.

“Eek!” shrieked the fillies, clutching each other ever more tightly.

Scootaloo spared a quick glance around the dark library. They were underneath the table in the center, far enough away that the books didn’t pose a serious threat. But it was still frightening.

Everything was frightening.

“Please make it stop…” whimpered Sweetie Belle.

“Sun and Stars protect us,” prayed Apple Bloom.

Scootaloo gritted her teeth. Rainbow Dash told her that she needed to be brave for her friends. So she tried to be brave.

It didn’t matter that they hadn’t gotten any sleep or food in hours. She tried to be brave.

It didn’t matter that any of those shells could hit them next. She tried to be brave.

It didn’t matter that she and her best friends could be incinerated in an instant. She tried to be brave.

“We’ll be okay,” she whispered, more to herself than the others. “We’ll be fine.”

She had to be brave for her friends. Even if she was scared out of her mind.

Scootaloo did not rest easy that night.

– — T H I S W A R O F O U R S — –

With a start, the sirens began blaring, tearing into Ponyville’s peaceful afternoon atmosphere.

“Eek!” Sweetie Belle’s milkshake slipped off the table, some of it spattering onto her pristine white coat.

“Ugh, seriously, another drill?” Scootaloo grumbled, shooting a deathly look at the siren pole that stood only a few meters away, almost directly over the dining patio of Sugarcube Corner.

“This is the third one this week!” growled Apple Bloom despondently.

Scootaloo glanced around, noticing that everypony had stopped in their tracks to stare at the pole, and she silently wondered why they even cared at this point. Ever since Rainbow Dash and the gang had left for Canterlot to help with negotiations, they had been running these drills more and more.

“Well, better finish these fast, I guess,” said Scootaloo in resignation.

“But my milkshake…” sniffed Sweetie Belle glumly.

“Hey, wait a second…” said a pony at a nearby table, suddenly standing up and staring at the pole. “Where’s the drill announcement?”

“And…” Sweetie Belle quirked an ear. “…What’s that noise?”

Scootaloo strained her ears. An odd, piercing whistling sound slowly became audible through the silence. She had never heard that before…

“ALERT,” boomed a sudden voice from the pole. “WE ARE UNDER ATTACK. THIS IS NOT A DRILL. SEEK SHELTER IMMEDIATELY.”

Scootaloo stared at the other Crusaders.

“…Oh no.”

BOOM.

A low, loud rumble reverberated in the distance. As one, the Crusaders’ heads snapped in the direction of the sound, and they saw a plume of smoke rising just over the houses to the east.

There was only a moment of cold silence as everypony in the patio slowly registered what had just occurred.

And then, in an instant, everything descended into chaos.

– — T H I S W A R O F O U R S — –

“SCOOTS!”

Scootaloo woke with a start, and was instantly blinded by light. She jumped to her hooves and—

BAM.

“OWWW!” Scootaloo gripped her temples as pain lanced through her head. “Ergghh! Sweetie Belle? Apple Bloom! What happened?!” she shouted, frantically shaking her head to clear her vision. “Is everyone okay?! Did we get shelled—”

BAM.

“OW! Sun damn it!”

“Scoots, calm yer knickers!” came Apple Bloom’s shout, and Scootaloo felt hooves on her shoulders. “We’re okay, everything’s fine! And for land’s sakes, get out from under the table!”

As her vision resolved, the scene around her came into view.

The first thing Scootaloo noticed were the panicked expressions of the other Crusaders, apparently startled by her short outburst. Aside from their disheveled, ashen appearances, they looked no worse for wear.

“Everything’s… okay?” she finally asked, somewhat incredulous.

“We’re fine,” reassured Sweetie Belle gently. “The shelling is over for now.”

For now.

Scootaloo let out a relieved sigh, dragging herself out from under the table. “Thank the Stars.”

“How’s yer head?” asked Apple Bloom with concern, helping Scootaloo to her hooves.

“Feels like I got hit with a train,” she replied, holding a hoof to the side of her head. “But I think I’ll be— ack!” She winced, pulling back her hoof to find it reddened with blood.

“Uh-oh, lemme look at that real quick,” said Sweetie Belle, moving closer to examine the side of Scootaloo’s head. “Looks like a big scratch. Wait one sec, I’ll go grab the bandages.”

As Sweetie Belle turned around and trotted off to the bathroom, Scootaloo glanced around the damaged interior of the Golden Oak Library. Books and debris were strewn everywhere, and she could see light from the morning sun filtering through several holes in the walls and ceiling, but somehow, it was still miraculously intact.

“Wow,” she said in awe. “I’m surprised this thing is still holding up.”

“The tree did get a mite battered this time,” said Apple Bloom, “but not too much. Don’t think we got hit with anythin’ super big.”

“Yeah, I was scared it was gonna catch fire or something,” said Sweetie Belle, returning with a first aid kit in hoof, “but I guess Twilight was right about it being pretty tough, thanks to being grown with magic and all.”

Several cracks echoed in the distance—gunfire, most likely, from who knows what. It rattled the two fillies to the core.

“Glad we took her advice to come here then,” said Scootaloo with a nervous glance to the door.

“Yeah,” agreed Sweetie Belle with a nod, shaking herself from her reverie. “Now sit still so I can patch you up.”

“Yes, mom.”

As Sweetie Belle set to work on Scootaloo's wound, she sat and basked in the momentary silence. After the chaos that she had been through these last several days, it was a welcome respite.

It had been nearly a week since the war with the gryphons had reached Ponyville’s borders. There had been months of buildup, during which the entire town had doubled-down on war preparation and safety courses, and Twilight had left town with Spike and the rest of the Elements to hopefully help with negotiations in Canterlot.

Before leaving, Twilight had advised the trio to seek shelter in the Golden Oaks Library if anything happened while they were in town, despite her reassurances that everything would be okay. It was thus that, immediately after the first several shells had hit the town, the trio had galloped straight to the library, somehow managing to avoid getting blown up in the process.

Every day had been the same since—occasional shelling at night, random gunfire during the day. At this point, Scootaloo had no idea what state Ponyville was in—the fillies had peeked out the door once, on the first morning, only to see several distant houses still ablaze, and soldiers frantically scurrying about the streets and exchanging fire with an unseen enemy. Upon spotting the fillies, one soldier had immediately rushed to the door and shoved them back inside, ordering them to barricade every opening and stay put.

Scootaloo glanced at the door, which had been blocked with a bookcase and some other furniture. After that day, the fillies had been too afraid to venture outside. Throughout the week, a few ponies did try to force their way in, but the fillies hadn't recognized any of their voices. They had been too scared to open the door, worried that it might be a gryphon or some other bad pony they didn’t know.

Thankfully, the barricade had held up, and nopony had tried to breach the windows or any of the other ground-level openings in the treehouse, which had been tightly boarded up since before the war had hit. They were as safe as could be… for now.

The Crusaders still held onto the hope that somepony from one of their families might show up, but no such thing happened. Scootaloo merely figured that it was simply too dangerous for anypony in town to venture outside, and occupied herself with that thought… rather than the dozens of other horrific possibilities that might have come to pass.

Scootaloo shuddered as the silly, derpy-eyed expression of her aunt and caretaker invaded her psyche.

“I hope everypony’s okay,” she muttered out loud.

“Worried about yer godmother?” asked Sweetie Belle, tearing off a piece of bandage and slowly roping it around Scootaloo’s head with an aura of mint-green magic.

“Yeah. Her and Dinky. I really hope they survived…”

Sweetie Belle paused, opening her mouth as if to say something, before quickly shutting it.

Just as well—there really wasn’t anything to say in response to that, not even an, “I’m sure they’re fine”. After all, as horrifying as the thought was… there really wasn't any way to be sure, was there?

“…Well, at least your mom is fine, right?” Sweetie Belle finally offered.

“Yeah. I mean, unless the gryphons suddenly declared war on Saddle Arabia and ran over whatever digsite she’s excavating. Which I doubt.”

“Yeah…” Sweetie Belle paused for a second. “I wonder if she knows that Ponyville got attacked.”

“I hope not. She'd be going bananas right now.”

“Hehe. Bananas. It's funny 'cause she's in a jungle.”

“Uh, nope. Wrong continent, Sweetie.” Scootaloo smirked. “And here I thought you were supposed to be the smart one.”

“Says the idiot who didn't pay attention during first aid training,” she retorted with a silent raspberry.

“…Touché."

As the last of the bandage wrapped around Scootaloo’s head, Sweetie Belle’s magic faded and she stood up. “All set, Scootaloo.”

“Thanks, Sweetie. I’m glad someone was awake for this crap when I wasn’t.”

“I’ll bet we’d all be dead meat if ya hadn’t been,” came Apple Bloom’s voice as she trotted back into the room, balancing a tray of hastily-made sandwiches on her back. “Gather ‘round, time fer lunch!”

“Finally! I could eat a horse,” rejoiced Scootaloo, trotting over to Apple Bloom and snatching a sandwich.

“And today, we learned that Scootaloo is secretly a pony-eating gryphon in disguise~” sing-songed Sweetie Belle.

“Hey, that's actually kinda 'propriate,” quipped Apple Bloom as they sat down to tuck into their food. “Ya know, what with her bein' a chicke—”

“Apple Bloom, I swear, if you finish that sentence, I'm gonna shove this sandwich so far down your throat you'll be in the bathroom faster than I can fail flight school.”

The other two giggled lightly. Scootaloo grumbled, but smiled nonetheless, glad that her two best friends were here to keep her company in these dark times.

“Urk.” Scootaloo flinched from the stale taste of the month-old vegetables. She shuddered for a moment before forcing herself to swallow.

“Heh, sorry ‘bout that, Scoots,” said Apple Bloom apologetically.

“Nah, not your fault that the fridge hasn’t been restocked since Twilight left.”

“What I wouldn’t give for a fresh leaf of lettuce,” sighed Sweetie Belle wistfully.

“Don’t complain too much,” replied Apple Bloom. “This is the last of it.”

“…Seriously?” Scootaloo stared incredulously at the yellow filly. “I thought you were rationing what we had left!”

“I was,” she grunted in response. “The rest of it’s gone bad. This is the last bit that’s remotely edible. Better enjoy it while it lasts.”

“...Just great,” groaned Sweetie Belle. She took another bite out of her sandwich without further complaint. With a sigh, Scootaloo followed suit, taking extra care to draw as much pleasure out of the dried-out mungy lettuce that she could.

Two weeks ago, a fresh leaf of lettuce would have been nothing. Hay, at this point in her life, Scootaloo couldn’t imagine eating a sandwich without it. Just trot on over to the market, throw down a few bits, and you had an entire head of it, maybe two. Easy peasy.

It was sobering how much they had taken for granted.

Staring at her sandwich, Scootaloo felt her mood drop slightly at this realization. The lack of fresh lettuce seemed like such a small thing… yet, like everything else in her life, it had changed. Fresh food, a steady supply of water, even things to do for fun. They couldn’t step outside, they couldn’t play with the other fillies and colts in their class, they couldn’t even share a proper dinner with their families after a long day of work or school.

Instead, every day was filled with anxiety. How much longer would it be until they were completely out of supplies? How much longer would it be before they drove themselves miserable from boredom? How much longer would the tree withstand the bombardment?

How much longer would they even live?

A sudden musical chord sounded throughout the hollow tree, shaking Scootaloo from her reverie and causing her to turn around. Apple Bloom had apparently finished her meal, because she was sitting on the floor by the table, a guitar in her arms. Slowly, she drew her hoof across the strings, humming a mournful tune.

Sweetie Belle stood up and trotted over, sitting down and resting her head on her friend’s shoulder. Her eyes closed and her expression softened as the melody began to form.

Scootaloo rarely listened to music, but whenever she did, she usually only tuned into the radio channels that played fast, energetic, awesome stuff like rock and metal, rather than whatever folk thing Apple Bloom was playing right now, or whatever showtunes that Sweetie Belle usually listened to.

But with no power, there was no radio. And with no radio, there was no rock.

Another luxury lost.

Slowly, Scootaloo came to her hooves, and she joined Sweetie Belle by Apple Bloom’s side. Of course, she didn’t lean on Apple Bloom like Sweetie had—touchy feely stuff wasn’t really her mojo—but she sat there nonetheless, offering the comfort of her presence as she herself indulged in the companionship of her very best friends.

She closed her eyes and smiled. Even if it was all they had... it was more than she could have hoped for.

– — T H I S W A R O F O U R S — –

“I said OPEN UP!”

With a start, Scootaloo was forced awake by the noise. She stared around frantically, her eyes adjusting to the darkness.

“What the—”

“Shh!”

An ivory hoof covered Scootaloo’s mouth. She turned and saw Sweetie Belle’s frightened eyes, the filly holding another hoof to her own mouth and slowly shaking her head.

The banging at the door became more insistent.

“OPEN UP, DAMNIT! We know you’re in there!”

It wasn’t any voice Scootaloo recognized. The trio stared at the door with bated breath.

A moment of silence passed.

“Alright, then. If you wanna play fuckin’ hardball, then let’s! We’ve got grenades! Open this door or we’ll blow it up!”

Scootaloo’s eyes widened. “Oh no.”

“Just blow it, boss, they ain’t answerin’.”

“Please don’t!” shouted Sweetie Belle, before clapping her hooves over her mouth.

“KNEW IT! Open this door RIGHT NOW!”

“Horseapples…” swore Apple Bloom. “Girls, what do we do?!”

“I’m givin’ ya to the count of ten!”

I gritted my teeth. “Looks like we don’t have a choice.”

Author's Note

For those of you who think this is too depressing or dark... I promise, there will be happy things and badass things. Yeah!

DAY SIX

“One!” came the growl of the mare behind the door.

“Girls, help me with the furniture!” Scootaloo frantically urged the other Crusaders to their hooves, and they all scrambled to the door.

“Two!”

Apple Bloom grabbed a hold of a chair and threw it out of the way. Together, she and Scootaloo got on either side of the cabinet.

“Boss, just blow it already.”

“WAIT!” Scootaloo shrieked. “Wait! Hi! Hey! Um, how are you? Please don’t blow up the door! We kinda need it!”

“If you don’t want this thing busted down, then open it already!”

“We’re opening it!” cried Sweetie Belle. “Please, just give us a moment, it’s barricaded!”

“You got one minute! Hurry it up!”

Together, and with some frantic use of Sweetie Belle’s magic—“Ow! Sweetie, watch the head!”—they managed to clear the rest of the furniture from the doorway.

“The night ain’t getting’ any younger!”

“Just a second!” Apple Bloom waved a hoof at the other two, who took a step back from the door. She reached for the knob and opened it a crack. “Umm, howdy, what can we do ya fer—“

BAM. The door flew open, sending Apple Bloom flying and crashing into her friends.

“Eek!”

“Ow!”

“What the hay—“

“Fuckin’ finally, that didn’t take all day!” snarled the mare as she stepped over the threshold, several other ponies following in her wake. “Sharp Quill, guard the door. Hap, hit the kitchen. Forest, see if there’s any medicine for Dusk.”

As the fillies disentangled themselves from each other, they heard a telltale mechanical clack. Scootaloo slowly looked up at the mare, only to come face-to-face with the barrel of a shotgun.

“So here’s how this is gonna work,” snarled the mare on the other end. “You pipsqueaks answer my questions, and you won’t have your brains splattered all over the floor.”

“P-please don’t—“ stammered Sweetie Belle in terror.

“We’ll answer whatever ya want,” Apple Bloom said placatingly.

“Hey, Scarlet, they’re just fillies—“

“Nopony asked you!” the mare named Scarlet shouted at the stallion, who flinched. “Shut up and stay on that door!” She returned her attention to the Crusaders. “Is there anypony else in this tree?”

“N-no one!” answered Scootaloo. “Promise!”

“You got food?”

“Well, a lot of it’s gone bad—” started Apple Bloom.

“You. Got. Food?” she growled, leaning in with her shotgun.

“Y-yes, we’ve got food, there’s some in the kitchen…”

“Morphine? Aspirin?”

“More-what?” asked Sweetie in confusion.

“Painkillers, you stupid foal. Fever pills. Medicine! Anything!”

“I-I’m not sure, if we have any it’ll be in the cabinet in the bathroom…”

“Good.” She turned to the others. “You heard the whelps! Get moving!”

“Listen, we don’t have much—“ Scootaloo started, standing up.

“SIT DOWN!” the mare shouted, batting Scootaloo on the head with her shotgun. “Do not move, or it’ll be your last mistake.”

“Why are y’all doin’ this?” sobbed Apple Bloom, who clinged to Scootaloo.

“Ponies gotta eat,” she replied coldly.

“Well we're ponies too!”

BLAM.

Scootaloo jumped back from the sound of the gunshot, which echoed throughout the interior of the treehouse. She spun to her friends, who... thankfully, were okay. The shotgun blast had gone straight over their heads.

Another click-clack.

“Then I'll force-feed ya lead if you don't shut up.”

They obliged and fell silent.

A few terrifying minutes passed as the looters rummaged through the library. Occasionally, Scarlet would shout orders to them, but not once did she ever aim the shotgun away.

“Um... beggin yer pardon, err, Miss Scarlet…?” ventured Apple Bloom, cautiously breaking the silence. Scootaloo and Sweetie shot her a look as if she were mad.

Luckily, the mare merely grunted, quirking an eyebrow.

“Er, if you don’t mind me askin’ somethin’…?”

Scarlet didn’t move.

“I… I just wanted to know… what’s goin’ on outside…? Are we winnin’ the war?”

“…You wanna know what’s happening outside?”

“Yes, please…”

She spat to her side. “Horseshit, that’s what. The damned turkeys marched into town a few days back and already took part of Ponyville. The EAF is on the other side, and whenever they push back, an entire row of houses gets shot to shit. Meanwhile, all of us are sitting pretty in the middle, barely scrapin’ enough to eat each day, waiting for our turn to bite the bullet. I’d say it’s the Halls of Tartarus outside if it weren’t gettin’ colder every Sun-damned day.”

“…Will the fighting die down anytime soon?” asked Sweetie Belle.

“Doubt it. They’re entrenched harder than a tapeworm.”

Another uncomfortable silence followed at that news, and Scootaloo despaired at the thought that the Equestrian soldiers hadn’t made any progress in kicking the gryphons out.

“This sucks,” she grumbled.

“No shit,” said Scarlet.

“Umm… Miss Scarlet, if I can—”

“What is it now?” she glared irritably at Apple Bloom.

“Eep! Umm… I just wanna know if my family’s okay…? They’re over at Sweet Apple Acres…”

Scarlet chewed on her lip for a second. “That place was pretty much a forest fire day one. Dunno about the house, but the orchards are nothin’ but ash for acres. But it’s not like any of that matters, since the turkeys marched through there days ago.”

Apple Bloom grew very pale. “B-but, what about my family? Are they okay? What about Mac, and Granny, and—“

“Look, I ain’t here to play twenty questions. They’re probably dead, so shut your trap already.”

The room grew deathly silent, but it took only a few moments for Apple Bloom’s horrified look to transform into one of pure despair. Hugging herself tightly with her forelegs and unable to restrain her tears, she began silently sobbing. Sweetie Belle slowly moved over to hug Apple Bloom, shooting a glare at Scarlet in response.

“Shit happens,” grunted Scarlet callously.

All lay silent. It was only another dozen or so minutes before the looters gathered their spoils together. Jewelry, food, bottles of medicine, toilet paper, even a revolver and a box of cigars—they had stripped the library clean of anything that could potentially be useful or valuable.

“Hey, check this out,” said a red-maned stallion—or was it a mare? Scootaloo couldn’t really tell—as he held up a sparkling gold pocketwatch, engraved with the six stars of Twilight’s cutie mark. “Fancy as tits.”

“Not important, Forest Feather. Did you find the meds?”

“Just a bottle, but it should be enough for Dusk.”

“Good. At least we have something. The kids weren’t kidding about the food—a lot of it is spoiled.”

“Between dying and a night of the shits, I’d rather the latter.”

“Point.”

They quickly began packing it up into rucksacks, which they slung over their backs.

The sound of gunfire echoed from the distant night outside.

“Boss, we gotta get moving,” came Quill’s voice, looking back into the room worriedly.

“We're set. Go,” said Scarlet, waving the other ponies out the door. “I’ll deal with the runts.”

She turned back to the fillies.

“Well, I doubt you kids are gonna survive another fortnight.” She cocked the shotgun again. “Might as well put you out of your misery.”

“W-wait, what?!”

“Yer yankin’ our chain, right—?”

“Don’t, please—“

“Shit happens.” She raised the barrel, and the fillies clenched their eyes shut.

BLAM.

Scootaloo flinched as she felt a strange warm sensation all over her coat. A few seconds passed, and… nothing else happened. Slowly, she opened an eye.

Scarlet stood before them, staring off into space with a shocked look, a fresh red wound having appeared just over her eyes. Almost in slow motion, she toppled to the ground, blood pooling around her body.

Behind her stood one of the looters, a smoking revolver in his outstreched hoof.

“Yo… Forest…” came the hesitant voice of the stallion at the door. “Don’t tell me you just—“

“Don’t even start,” he growled. “The bitch had it comin’ to her, and all of us know it.”

He trotted up to Scarlet’s body, picking up the shotgun that had clattered to the floor. He then glanced at the fillies, who sat in silent shock, horrified by what they had just witnessed.

The stallion dropped his rucksack. Out spilled a bottle of medicine, several cans of food, the revolver, and a few other trinkets. He snatched up the bottle before glancing at the Crusaders once more.

Nopony spoke.

He grunted softly, then turned around and galloped out the door without another word.

A few seconds passed.

Then a sniffle.

Scootaloo slowly turned to her friends, and in the darkness, she could barely make out Sweetie Belle’s pearl-white coat, now spattered with red. She was still staring at the unmoving body of the mare that had been Scarlet, her mouth agape, her pupils the size of pinpricks.

Scootaloo glanced at her own coat, also speckled with the mare’s still-warm blood.

There was a rustling and a clopping of hooves, and as Scootaloo looked back up, she saw Apple Bloom rush to Sweetie Belle’s side, just in time for the other filly to begin weeping openly.

“Hey. Hey, it’s a-alright,” she whispered softly into her ear, hugging her tightly and struggling to suppress her own tears. “It’s okay. W-we’re alive. We’re alive, and that’s all that m-matters right now.”

Sweetie Belle did not answer. She merely curled up against her friend and began bawling into her coat.

Scootaloo moved next to her friends and wrapped her wings and arms around them, saying nothing. Together, the fillies cried in the darkness.

Author's Note

* ForestFeather throws a rubber chicken at SwanSong
wtf
what
Don't make me write you into my story as a bad guy
I swear I will
Swan: Most people IRL consider me a bad guy and I cosplay bad guys.
IN OTHER WORDS IM USED TO IT
Good. You'll be one of the looters that breaks into the library looking for loot.
Make sure I take a pocketwatch. Because pocketwatches.

DAY FOURTEEN

“C’mon, Sweetie, you hafta eat.”

“…I’m fine.”

“Sweetie, you ain’t fine! Ya haven’t had a lick o’ chow all day!”

Sweetie Belle stared at the bowl of soup. Her magic lit up, and slowly the spoon rose to her mouth… before clattering back to the floor.

“Aw, c’mon, what the hay!”

“I… I can’t… I—” Sweetie turned green for a moment, before she stood up suddenly, sprinting to the bathroom.

“Horseapples,” muttered Apple Bloom, as retching noises emerged from across the way.

“Don’t even bother,” Scootaloo muttered. “If she wants to starve herself, let ‘er. More food for us anyways.”

“Scoots, don’t be mean,” pouted Apple Bloom in response. “Filly’s just… a little shaken up, is all!”

“Yeah, to put it lightly.” Scootaloo sighed miserably. “Look, she didn’t eat before, she isn’t gonna eat now. Just leave her alone. She’ll figure her own deal soon enough.”

Scootaloo wondered if her friend would ever break from her stupor. It had been a week since the looting incident, and she hadn’t been the same since.

Then again, none of them really had.

Sweetie Belle was, obviously, dealing with it the worst. The first few days after it had happened, she hadn’t said a word, or even eaten. She had just stared silently into space most of the time, only getting up to maybe barf or use the bathroom. Apple Bloom seemed to be handling it better than both of them, and continued to go about her day as if nothing had happened, even after learning that her entire family might be... well, dead.

Scootaloo couldn’t help but be somewhat jealous of Apple Bloom’s mental fortitude; almost every night she would wake up in a cold sweat, dreams haunted by the face of that scarlet mare, empty eyes staring at nothing as blood and brainmeal poured from her forehead.

She glanced at the red stain on the floor. By the time they had finally worked up the courage to touch Scarlet’s body, flies had already begun swarming around the decaying corpse. Scootaloo and Apple Bloom had dragged it out the front, tossed it over the threshold, and slammed the door shut—but not before Apple Bloom had a chance to purge her lunch in the bushes.

They had then spent the rest of the day trying to clean the blood and guts from the floor, and while most of it had come out, some had seeped into the wooden flooring, staining it permanently. Now, that red splotch in front of the door was all that remained from that evening.

Scootaloo shuddered again as she glanced at the door. Nopony had come knocking since—probably because of the corpse lying out front. If there was a side benefit to that night, it was that they now essentially had a supercharged scarecrow to freak out anypony that might be entertaining another break-in.

Knock.

…Or not.

Scootaloo glanced up, eyes wide with fear. “What the hay…?

“Shh. Hang on a sec.” Apple Bloom stood up, donning her sister’s Stetson as she rose.

“Whoa there, cowgirl, don’t forget the gun,” said Scootaloo, pointing at the revolver on the table.

Knock knock.

“Hey, anypony home?”

“…Right, good thinkin’.” Apple Bloom gingerly picked up the pistol, readying it before trotting over to the door. She peered through the crack just underneath the curtain of the door’s window.

“Who is it?” Scootaloo whispered.

“I dunno,” Apple Bloom replied. “Somepony with a gun and a huge rucksack.”

Scootaloo tensed. “A gun?”

“Yeah, a big one, like a Whinnchester or somethin’, but… it ain’t raised. Doesn’t look like he wants to fight or anythin’. He’s just standin’ there, leanin’ against the side of the door. Looks plum tuckered out, too.”

Scootaloo stewed in her thoughts. Maybe he just needs help or a place to rest?

But if he was dangerous…

Knock knock.

“I just wanna trade. That’s a library, right? If you need any supplies or food, I’m willing to spare some for a few stacks of books.”

Scootaloo looked around the room, where tomes lay strewn everywhere. She spared another glance at the kitchen, where she knew their remaining stock of food had dwindled to near-nothing thanks to the break-in.

So it’s not like they had anything to steal.

“…Answer him.”

“Really? What should I say?”

“I dunno, just ask him what he wants.”

Apple Bloom turned back to the door. “Um, hi mister?”

“Well howdy there, missy! Say, you mind lettin’ me in for a spell? It’s mighty cold out here, and I’m a tad worried about the snipers. Also, I think this dead mare is starin’ straight at me. Givin’ me the willies.”

“Listen, we have a g-gun, and barely any food or anythin’ left to spare.” Apple Bloom warned, raising the weapon. “Don’t think you can fool us if you wanna get inside and steal what we’ve got left.”

A moment passed.

“…I promise I ain’t here to make trouble. I’m just lookin’ to trade for some kindlin’, and maybe water if ya have any.”

Apple Bloom stared at Scootaloo, silently asking what to do.

Scootaloo merely shrugged in response.

“…Okay, mister, we’ll let you in. But don’t try anything funny! We have a gun!”

“Heh, as you’ve informed me, little miss. I’ll behave, promise.”

Apple Bloom slowly opened the door, and in stepped the stallion, a large earth pony with a turquoise coat and a white mane. As she had mentioned, he was carrying a gargantuan rucksack, which he barely managed to squeeze in the door.

“Howdy there, kids!” he said with a jolly grin, staring around the library with a low whistle. “Mare, that’s a lotta books! Jackpot.” He glanced at Scootaloo, who narrowed her eyes at him. “Err… say, where are your parents?”

“They ain’t here,” said Apple Bloom, slamming the door and leveling the gun at him. “Drop yer rifle.”

“Err, whoa!” He raised his hooves in alarm, turning around to face the other filly. “S'alright, no need for any hostilities!” He dropped his weapon, as requested.

“The bag too,” ordered Apple Bloom.

“Well sure, hafta if I’m gonna look through it for anythin’ to trade!” He dropped that too.

“…Girls, who is this?” came a voice to their right. They turned to see a shaky Sweetie Belle stumble out of the bathroom, eyes wide with fear. “Is he… is he here to kill us like the other ponies?”

“So that explains the dead body outside,” the stallion thought aloud.

“He says he just wants to trade,” replied Apple Bloom, staring at the other filly. “…Say, Sweetie, you alright there? You look a li’l under the weather…”

“I… I don’t trust him,” mumbled Sweetie deliriously, and Scootaloo just now noticed that she wasn’t quite looking straight ahead. “Tell him to... to take a…”

She toppled to the floor.

“Sweetie!” shouted Scootaloo, rushing to her. “Sweetie, what’s wrong?! Are you okay?”

“Mm… so cold…” she whispered, hugging herself and shivering.

“Uh-oh,” the stallion muttered. “Bad time?”

“Scoots, what’s wrong with her?!” asked Apple Bloom worriedly.

“I dunno! She just fainted!”

“Is she sick?!”

“Looks like she’s comin’ down with a fever,” the stallion offered. “Was there anything out of the ordinary with her over the last few days?”

“She… she’s been eatin’ very little, and throwin’ up a lot,” explained Apple Bloom frantically, all signs of distrust evaporating in an instant. “We didn’t think much of it, somethin’ bad had happened just a few days ago…”

“Yeah, I can tell.” He glanced at the door again. “Well, if you get her into a bed, give her some medicine, and keep her warm for a few days, it should pass.”

“We don’t have any medicine,” growled Scootaloo angrily. “The looters took it all.”

“And the only bed’s upstairs,” added Apple Bloom. “Don’t think it’s safe up there, on account of the bombs.”

“…Have you all been sleeping on the floor or something?” He stared disbelievingly, before shaking his head. “Never mind for now. I… might have some medicine on me. Let me check.” The stallion trotted over to his rucksack.

“Please, if it’ll help Sweetie…”

“Mm, sure, but I’m afraid I can’t part with it unless I get a little something in return… Ah, here we go.” He held up a little plastic bottle. “Should be enough in here for a week or so. All I need is some kindling for a fire. There’s a lot of books in here that’ll do the trick.”

Apple Bloom glanced around. “But these are all Twilight’s…”

“Oh c’mon, Apple Bloom. Sweetie Belle’s sick. She needs medicine a heckuva lot more than a bunch of stupid books.”

“I dunno. I mean, if it were our stuff, I’d toss ‘em in a heartbeat, but… it ain’t our stuff…”

The stallion sighed. “Listen, there’s a cold weather front closin’ in fast. Nopony knows what it might be, but it ain’t slowin’ down. My people are gonna need somethin’ to keep warm, and I’m pretty darn sure you kids will too, if you know what’s good for ya. I’m bettin’ these books will be a part of a roarin’ fire in here in a few days time.”

Apple Bloom gave him a flat look. “You know we’re in a tree, right? We can just burn the wood.”

Scootaloo was about to remind her that the tree was "magical", but thought better of it.

“Yeah, I doubt you want this thing tumblin’ atop your heads after stripping it for wood,” he rebutted anyways. “Look, I got some food too, if it helps. Canned beans 'n fruits. And I’ll help ya drag the mattress from upstairs down here too. All I want is any books y’all can spare.”

Scootaloo and Apple Bloom shared a look, before turning back to him. “Fine,” declared Scootaloo. “Medicine first. Then bed. Then food. Then we’ll help you pick out some books.”

“Deal. Now let’s get to work.”

As Apple Bloom and the trader went upstairs to drag the mattress down, Scootaloo tended to Sweetie Belle, who had knocked out in the minutes that they had been conversing with the trader. It didn’t take much effort to coax her awake long enough to take one of the pills, but she immediately fell back asleep afterwards.

A few minutes later, they had gotten the mattress and a few blankets onto the floor downstairs. With Sweetie Belle tucked in, the two fillies began combing through the library to see what could be given away.

“I’m pretty sure most of these are just reference material,” the trader explained as he began stacking food cans from his rucksack. “I doubt the librarian kept anything too personal down here.”

“I dunno, I just found a first-edition Darin’ Do,” Apple Bloom piped up, pulling the book from the shelf. “And it’s signed, too. Doubt Twilight would wanna part with somethin’ like this.”

“Whatever, I could just ask my mom to sign her another copy,” Scootaloo grumbled, tossing a bunch of books nonchalantly into the growing pile in the middle.

“’Mom’?” The trader glanced up from the pile of food. “You mean your mother is A.K. Yearling?”

“Not important.”

“It don’t matter anyways, yer missin’ my point.“ continued Apple Bloom. “My point is—“

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. Some of these may be important to Twilight. I’ll keep an eye out. But seriously, I’m pretty sure she’d understand if it meant making sure Sweetie Belle got better.”

“…Yeah, fair enough.”

A few minutes passed in silence as they separated more books from the piles on the floor.

“Say, um, mister trader?” asked Apple Bloom.

“Yeap?”

“Ain’t it dangerous outside? How’d ya even get here?”

“Heh. Luck, really. I found a path that snuck between buildings, from where I’m holed up to this clearing. Made a mad dash for the tree. Some of the upper branches fell off, so there’s some cover between me and the snipers.”

“Snipers?”

He sighed. “Yeah. Perched all over town now. Some are ours, some Gryphosi, some are bandits having fun.”

“That’s… kinda morbid,” muttered Apple Bloom.

“Tell me about it,” he replied darkly. “Regardless, they’re pretty much shooting anything that moves now. Even for our soldiers, it’s hard to tell who’s a bandit and who's just another pony. Lots o’ bodies in the streets. Ain’t a pretty sight.”

Apple Bloom shuddered at the thought, while Scootaloo did her best to shake the disturbing mental image from her mind.

“And you decided it was worth risking getting sniped to come here?”

“A lot of ponies are relyin’ on me. We’ve got plenty of food where we’re holed up, but the insulation there’s pretty poor, so it gets real cold at night. I’m surprised you kids haven’t felt it yet. Guess this tree’s pretty hardy.” He clopped a hoof on the floor, as if to test it.

“Yeah, it’s done us pretty good so far,” agreed Apple Bloom. “Hey, listen… why not have your folks join us here?”

“Apple Bloom…” warned Scootaloo.

“No, seriously. It’s warm, and there’s plenty of room, and, hay, it’s a bit lonely in here…”

“Can’t agree to that, unfortunately,” replied the stallion as he set one last can on the floor and began piling books into his rucksack. “I’d love to, but we’re a bit grounded in. Couple ponies we can’t really move—pregnant and whatnot. Plus a lotta supplies, and equipment that’d be hard to tear down.”

“Oh… I guess that makes sense.”

“You could always join us, hmm?” he said with a warm smile.

“I… don’t think so,” replied Scootaloo. “Rainbow and Twilight told us to stay put here. Said it’s the safest spot in the entire town.”

“Hmm. Well, alright then. Can’t say I blame ya, this tree’s pretty hardy.” The trader stood up. “But hey, offer’s still on the table. And if you end up not changin’ your mind, it’ll be good to have someponies here keepin’ watch on the books.”

“Heh. That we can do.”

“Grand!” He stepped out the door. “I’ll be back in a few days, in case either of us needs supplies, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Apple Bloom followed him up to the door. “Hey, Mister… thanks. We were startin' to think there weren't nopony out there left to trust.”

He patted her atop her Stetson. “Any time, kiddo. Some of us are still tryin' to get by, just like you.” He smiled sadly at the fillies. “Stay safe, ya hear?”

She nodded, and as he left, she closed the door.

“Well. That wasn’t so bad!” grinned Apple Bloom.

A shot rang from just outside.

“Horseapples!” Scootaloo rushed over to peer out the window.

The trader was still there, taking cover behind a large piece of fallen debris. He glanced back at the door, waved his hoof once towards the Crusaders, then quickly dashed out of sight.

“Wow,” said Scootaloo in awe. “Sure moves fast for somepony with a metric flankload on his back.”

“I hope he’ll be okay…”

“Yeah.”

They turned around and gazed towards the bundle of blankets on the mattress, within which dozed their sick friend.

Thanks to that trader, maybe things wouldn’t be so bad after all.

DAY TWENTY-SEVEN

Scootaloo poked the rainwater collector—it responded with a resounding warble.

“Any luck?” asked Apple Bloom, carefully walking up the stairs with a bundle of wood slung over her back.

“Nothing.” Scootaloo sighed, growling at the thing. “No rainfall at all last night.” She banged again on the tank again—as before, it rang hollow and empty.

Her stomach growled loudly, almost in concert with the tank.

“Not the only thing hollow and empty,” she grumbled.

“Figures. Now I’m wonderin’ if we’ll even get snow with this kinda weather— ow!” There was a loud bang as Apple Bloom tripped on a step coming up the stairs, some of the wood slipping off her back.

“Jeez!” Scootaloo rushed over to Apple Bloom. “Here, lemme help with that.” Together they brought the planks upstairs.

“Thanks, Scoots,” replied Apple Bloom with a weary sigh. “Sorry ‘bout that. Stayin’ up keepin’ guard last night’s made me a lil’… geh.” She rubbed her bloodshot eyes.

“All good, AB. Hopefully once we get all this boarded up, we can sleep in proper beds tonight.”

“Yeah, fer sure.”

They approached the shattered upstairs window, from which a cold wind was blowing. Scootaloo shivered—even as a cold-resistant pegasus, she still felt the chill in her bones.

As the two fillies began boarding up the window, Scootaloo couldn’t help but stare longingly towards the desolace of her hometown. After nearly a month of fighting, Ponyville was in ruins, battered houses as far as the eye could see. While the shelling had mostly stopped, gunfire still rang out occasionally in the far distance, at pretty much all times of the day.

That being said, they had been lucky. While the fighting had come much, much closer to the Library, ponies had realized that the vast clearing that surrounded it was a death trap, being watched by snipers at pretty much all times.

Hay, Scootaloo could even see one of them, right now. The mare, who sat on the upper floor of a building just across the clearing, was scoping out the area in front of the treehouse, just waiting for anypony to cross into her vision. She was well-concealed, but Scootaloo had spotted her days ago.

Suddenly, the sniper turned her rifle on the filly. A red beam appeared, landing squarely on Scootaloo’s forehead, just above her eyes.

Scootaloo raised a hoof and waved enthusiastically.

The laser pointer made an arcing motion just above her head—which she had long come to interpret as a reply wave from the sniper—before it winked out of existence once again.

“Scootaloo… yer crazy, you know that?”

Scootaloo giggled, but said nothing in return. She took comfort in the fact that, even in this absolutely chaotic environment, there were still ponies out there who just wanted to be friends.

They all needed friends right now.

Scootaloo turned her gaze to the rainwater collector, which the trader had helped them build on one of his return visits. Although he had become a regular visitor, after about a week he simply stopped visiting. Scootaloo couldn’t help but wonder if he was still alive.

She didn’t stew on the thought for long, gazing back out towards the clearing around the library, where a half dozen corpses were within their line of sight. Death was such a common thing these days that it almost didn’t register in Scootaloo’s mind anymore, at least not since they had received confirmation from the trader that Granny Smith and Big Mac had almost certainly lost their lives when the invasion happened.

That had been worth one more good cry… and then, after that, nothing since. The bodies continued to pile up in their mind, and… it just didn’t mean anything anymore. Scootaloo’s thoughts wandered to her godmother, and a sharp visual of the gray mare lying in a pool of her own blood formed in the filly’s mind.

She closed her eyes, expecting to feel a pang of sorrow at the mental image.

But instead, there was just a void.

…It made things easier, at least.

“Bit fer yer thoughts?” asked Apple Bloom, apparently noticing Scootaloo’s sudden mood shift.

“Nothing.” Scootaloo gave a heavy sigh. “I guess I’m kinda still blown away that we’re alive.”

“…Yeah. Me too.” She chuckled grimly. “Well, we will be until we actually get blown away, a’course.”

“Heh. Yeah.”

Scootaloo stared back out towards the town. It was weird how morbid their humor had gotten lately…

“Uh-oh,” said Apple Bloom suddenly.

“Hm?”

“Look.” She pointed out the window.

Scootaloo blinked, then noticed the flakes of white that were beginning to sprinkle down upon the town.

“Oh.” Scootaloo blinked again. “Shit.”

– — T H I S W A R O F O U R S — –

A single pill tumbled out of the plastic bottle.

“That’s the last one?” asked Sweetie Belle.

“…Looks like it,” said Scootaloo glumly. She turned to the filly and handed it to her. “Here.”

“Thanks, Scootaloo.”

Sweetie took the pill and swallowed it with a big gulp, along with a tiny bit of water from the last bottle they had.

“We can’t go on like this,” Scootaloo muttered, staring at the near-empty water bottle. “The trader hasn’t been here for days, and we barely have enough supplies to last. How are you supposed to get better?”

“Well… I feel like I’m getting better,” replied Sweetie in a cracked voice, her low tone having lost all of the squeak that had defined her so well.

“You sure don’t sound like it,” said Scootaloo with a chuckle.

“Hehe—” Sweetie Belle broke into a fit of coughs.

“Whoa, hey. Don’t over-exert yourself.” Scootaloo pushed her back down on the bed.

“Yeah. I’m sorry I’m so useless right now,” muttered Sweetie Belle. “I hope I can make it up to you soon.”

“You can make it up to us by getting better, yeah?” Scootaloo gave her a hug.

“Careful… I might pass on the fever.”

“I’d take it off your hooves if it meant you’d be better.”

There was a moment of silence.

“…That was really cheesy, Scootaloo.”

“Just shut up and sleep.” Scootaloo hugged Sweetie Belle tighter.

“…Okay.”

A few minutes later, Sweetie Belle was dozing softly.

“Aw, she asleep already?”

Scootaloo glanced at Apple Bloom, who had come out of the kitchen with three bowls, which she set down on the floor beside Sweetie’s mattress.

“Yeah, out like a lamp.”

Apple Bloom stared at the third bowl.

“…Well, I guess on the bright side, that means we still have one more meal after this.”

“What do you mean?”

“Whaddaya think?”

“…Oh. Shit.”

“Yep.”

Silence returned once more. As Scootaloo slowly emptied her bowl, the frustration at their circumstances began to rise, and she felt her body heat up slightly…

…only to have that be pushed back by a sudden drop in temperature.

“Horseapples.” Apple Bloom shivered—apparently she had noticed it too. “I’ll go throw some more books in the furnace.”

“Do we have anything left?”

“Not much. Think I’m gonna have to toss in the Daring Do book yer on right now.”

“Aw mare, seriously?”

“Yep, s’either that or I start on Twilight’s stuff upstairs. Kinda wanna save those, yanno?” She walked over to the shelf, pulling off one of the few books that remained.

“Yeah, I gotcha.” Scootaloo stewed in her frustration. “Damn, I was just getting to the good part.”

“Heh. Sorry, Scoots. Guess you’ll have ta wait ‘til after the war.”

“What if we die before then?”

Apple Bloom shrugged. “Then it won’t matter.”

Scootaloo blinked. “…Point.”

As Apple Bloom disappeared into the utility room, Scootaloo began mentally checking off their supplies.

That it took less than five seconds to do so was not a good sign.

“Books for days,” she thought aloud. “But no medicine, no water, no food. Maybe two dozen revolver rounds.”

“One dozen,” said Apple Bloom, re-emerging. The room felt considerably warmer. “Remember the bandits we had to scare off the other night?”

“Oh. Right.” Scootaloo sighed heavily. “And no sign of the trader, either.”

She gazed back out towards the town, noting the bodies scattered around the library. Maybe the trader’s was out there, as lifeless as the rest of them?

She blinked, then squinted.

Next to some of the corpses, there were scattered objects, dropped by the ponies that had fallen in the crossfire. A shotgun. Some pistols. A few rounds of ammo. Mechanical parts. A half-full bottle of water.

She stared back out at the town, the battered roofs extending for miles. Certain buildings started to stand out. Barnyard Bargains. The hospital. The Town Guard barracks.

Somehow, in her mind, she had always known that there was an entire town’s worth of resources just sitting out there, ripe for the picking.

But only now had she really considered venturing forth to harvest.

She glanced at the table. An array of supplies remained there, including a suit of armor that Scarlet had been wearing and a switchblade she had hidden in one of the pockets.

Making up her mind, Scootaloo stood up.

“I’m heading out tonight.”

“Wait, what?!” yelped Apple Bloom. Sweetie Belle stirred under the blankets.

“Shh.” Scootaloo leaned closer to Apple Bloom. “Face it. We won’t last another day at this rate. We need medicine, water, food, ammo, and Sun knows what else. It sure as hay isn’t coming to us, so I need to go out there and get it myself.”

“But what about the snipers?”

“Meh. If they get me, that’ll at least be one less mouth for you to feed.”

Apple Bloom stepped back, aghast. Scootaloo shrugged nonchalantly, then trotted over to the table and began suiting up.

She felt a hoof on her shoulder.

“Scootaloo, c’mon, that’s stupid… why don't we just wait for—”

“Sorry, AB, but I’m done waiting.”

“But… I can’t…” Apple Bloom sat down in the middle of the floor. “If ya… I can’t… Scootaloo, please…”

Scootaloo paused. She stared at the despondent filly, who had agony written all over her face.

“I’ve… I’ve lost so much… Granny, Big Mac, maybe even Applejack…” Tears began streaming down her face. “I can’t bear to lose you too. I just can’t.”

An ache bubbled to the surface in Scootaloo’s chest. Despite all that happened, despite how numb she had become to all the death and destruction that now formed the foundation of their day-to-day lives… there were stirrings in her heart that nearly made her sick.

Scootaloo slowly walked up to Apple Bloom and took her into a hug.

“I can’t bear to lose you or Sweetie Belle either. The thought… it hurts. It hurts so much, and after everything that’s happened, I didn’t even know I could hurt like this anymore.”

Apple Bloom didn’t respond. So Scootaloo kept talking.

“Sorry, Apple Bloom. But I’m gonna have to be a little selfish here. I’d rather get killed out there than watch you girls die in front of me.”

Apple Bloom sniffed. Scootaloo wiped a tear from her face, then patted her on the shoulder.

“Keep Sweetie Belle safe, okay? I’m counting on you.” She turned around and trotted towards the door, opening it and staring out into the darkness beyond.

“Scoots…”

She turned around to the yellow filly, who had approached the door. “Yeah?”

“…Just be safe, ya hear?” She gave her one more hug. “Don’t do anythin’ stupid.”

Scootaloo gripped her friend closely, basking in the warmth of her friend for what could be the very last time.

“Don’tcha know? Stupid is my middle name.”

There was a silence.

“…Scoots.”

“Yeah?”

“Ya can’t have a middle name without a family name.”

Scootaloo grinned, and let go.

“My point exactly.”

And she turned around, stepping forth into the dark night of Ponyville.

DAY FORTY-ONE

Scootaloo took a deep breath, picked up the small cup, and downed its entire contents in a single second. With a monumental effort, she swallowed the pungent liquid, and was duly rewarded with a sudden coughing fit, her throat burning as if she had consumed a mouthful of pure fire.

“Aggghhhh!!” Scootaloo dropped the empty cup, which bounced off the hardwood flooring with a harmless clink.

All of the girls in the room burst into laughter.

“Oh Stars almighty, that was so worth it!” said Apple Bloom, choking back her giggles.

Despite the raging inferno in her throat, Scootaloo couldn't help but manage a smile at the atmosphere of the room. For the first time in a long time, the Crusaders were actually... happy. Thanks to the trader, who had resumed their route once again—and begun bringing all sorts of interesting components, to boot—Apple Bloom had managed to gather enough scrap to set up a small distillery for brewing moonshine.

It had become a brilliant investment—not only did it raise everypony's spirits by giving them something to keep busy with, the product had become incredibly popular throughout wartime Ponyville. After all, ponies wanted to drown away their sorrows, and what better way to do it than by sharing in a good ol' cup of mind bleach?

At this point, the Crusaders' output had become high enough that they could basically get anything they wanted, just by having Scootaloo drag around a sack of moonshine to trade—which meant that, for the first time ever, there was no longer any shortage of supplies. Even looting activity had died down, ever since the product had been introduced into the streets. After all, a drunk bandit was a merry bandit... and also a terrible shot.

All in all, it had worked out wonderfully for the Crusaders. There was only really one downside to the whole deal.

Apple Bloom needed taste testers.

“I hate both of you with an undying passion,” growled Scootaloo coarsely, grabbing a glass of water and downing it voraciously.

“Don’t hate the mare, hate the dare!” said Sweetie Belle with a grin.

“Yeah, great.” She coughed again, clearing her throat. “Can we try not to make the dares eat into our own merchandise though?”

“Aw, c’mon, it was just a shot,” reassured Apple Bloom. “We’ve got plenty o’moonshine, and we can always make more when the trader brings by more sugar.”

“Yeah, but we won’t have anything to trade for any more moonshine supplies if we drink all the moonshine.”

“Oh Scootaloo, quit being such a wuss,” giggled Sweetie Belle.

“Oh yeah?” Scootaloo whirled on Sweetie Belle, vengeance in her eyes. “Well guess what, missy? Now it’s my turn.”

Sweetie Belle gave her a devilish smile. “Do your worst, you stone cold killer, you.”

– — T H I S W A R O F O U R S — –

“You killed her,” said Scootaloo in a low growl as she advanced on the mare cowering before her.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t know!” the mare cried, scurrying away from Scootaloo and backing into the far wall of the Doo family kitchen.

Pain surged into Scootaloo’s heart, threatening to overtake her. It was a pain that she thought she would never feel again. She had been wrong about that, of course. Right now, she felt more pain than ever before.

“You killed her,” Scootaloo repeated, stomping towards the mare.

“She had a gun! I thought she was a bandit!”

Luckily for Scootaloo, she learned something valuable about pain.

It’s a fantastic way to fuel the flames of fury.

“You KILLED HER!” roared Scootaloo. “YOU KILLED DITZY DOO! YOU KILLED MY GODMOTHER!”

Scootaloo leveled the Gryphosi pistol at the mare.

“And now I’m going to kill you.”

“...NonoNO, WAIT, PLEASE—!“

The world went white as Scootaloo screamed into the night, her voice a wretched howl of misery and rage, bullets loosing from the barrel in an endless stream of hellfire.

The pistol clicked empty. The air was filled with the burning smell of smoke and lead.

Scootaloo waited.

As it faded, the mare's body slowly swam into view. She was curled up on the floor, lying perfectly still, her face frozen in a look of abject terror. A pool of liquid formed underneath her body.

The smell hit Scootaloo’s nose. It reeked of urine. She wrinkled her muzzle in disgust, but grinned almost manically.

“Heh.” She spat. “I think that alone was worth wasting my entire magazine on you.”

She stepped closer to the motionless body.

A long, dead silence hung over the room.

“…Get up.”

The mare blinked, her ear twitching.

“Get. Up.”

She blinked again. She turned around slowly, jaw agape, staring at the halo of bullet holes on the wall above her head.

“GET UP!” Scootaloo kicked the mare, who yiped in response. “Get up. And just go. Get out of here.”

“You… you—”

“Go,” she growled. “Move, and get the fuck out of my sight before I change my mind.”

She scrambled to her hoooves.

“Thank you, thank you, I’m so, so sorry, I promise I’ll be careful next time—“

“ONE.” Scootaloo slapped a fresh mag into the pistol.

“Eep! Sorry! I’m sorry! I’ll go! Thank you— eek!” She tripped over herself, faceplanting on the floor.

“TWO!” Scootaloo racked her gun with an intimidating click-click.

“EEP!” She scrambled back to her hooves. “Sorry! Going!”

She rounded the bend and disappeared from sight.

After a moment of silence, Scootaloo released a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Slowly, she turned to the fresh corpse on the floor, just a few feet away.

The body of her godmother, Ditzy Doo.

Scootaloo closed her eyes.

The fury that had overcome her had dissipated. And it had taken all the pain with it.

She opened it again, staring at her godmother. Even in death, she looked at peace. Her eyes were closed, and—aside from the gunshot wound—it merely looked like she was asleep. Scootaloo hoped that her death had been as tranquil as it seemed.

“I’m sorry. I'm so sorry I couldn’t save you sooner.” She sniffed. “Rest in peace, Miss Doo. And thank you... thank you for looking after me for all these years.”

Scootaloo bowed her head, holding a curled hoof to her heart, and prayed.

“May the Sun and Stars protect you evermore."

Without another word, she left the room.

– — T H I S W A R O F O U R S — –

Outside, the night was quiet. The town blanketed in snow. Not a single gunshot. No signs of battle.

Just a few meters away from the door sat a small pony. While her eyes bore signs of tears, her face was dry, and her gaze was fixed to a point in the distance. Scootaloo turned to follow it, and caught the tail of the mare from before as she rounded a corner and disappeared from sight.

With a sigh, Scootaloo turned back to the filly.

“Dinky,” she intoned dully. “I’m done.”

The filly sniffled, not moving her eyes from the alleyway.

“You… you didn’t kill her.”

“No,” said Scootaloo with a sigh. “No, I didn’t.”

"Why not?"

"Because I'm better than that."

There was a moment of silence.

Suddenly, a bright flash lit the street. “Shit!” Scootaloo raised her weapon. “Dinky, get behind—”

"Wait, Scootaloo, look at yourself!" the gray filly gasped, pointed a shaking hoof at Scootaloo, who blinked in response.

"Huh? What? What about me?"

"On... on your flanks," she stuttered in awe.

Scootaloo's eyes widened. Slowly, she turned to look.

"...Huh." She blinked. "Well... there we go, then, I guess."

Another moment of silence passed.

“C’mon, Dinks,” she said, turning to her cousin and pulling her to her hooves. “We can’t stay outside. Let’s go. I’ll take you somewhere safe.”

“…Okay, Scootaloo.” A sniffle. “Thank you.”

“Anytime, cuz.”

Silently, they walked off into the night. Dinky turned back, staring at their old home one last time, before they turned a corner and it vanished from their sight forever.

DAY SIXTY-THREE

“HELP!” shouted a voice from the streets below.

“Dinky, ammo!” shouted Sweetie Belle. “NOW!”

“Got it! Catch!”

A magazine soared through the air and was immediately snatched by a green aura of magic. Sweetie Belle slammed the fresh mag into her rifle.

“Suppressing fire!” she yelled downstairs.

“On it!” Apple Bloom stuck her assault rifle out the window and began firing madly, causing the aggressors to duck behind the makeshift barriers they had set up in the street.

Sweetie Belle stuck her rifle through the gaps in the railing, swiveling the barrel on the bipod to the streets below. She eyed the scope, focusing on a piece of cover. A sliver of hair stuck up from behind it.

BLAM.

The shot echoed throughout the town as a bullet tore through the flimsy piece of cover. A spray of blood surged from behind it—she had hit her mark.

“Alright, Scoots, sniper’s down! Get the last one!”

– — T H I S W A R O F O U R S — –

“Got it!”

Scootaloo stepped out the front door, decked head to toe in makeshift armor and hefting the Gryphosi pistol in her foreleg.

“Behind the barrel!” came Sweetie's voice from upstairs.

Scootaloo swiveled, acquiring her target. With a mad dash of speed and a pump of her wings, she blazed straight towards the barrel.

The stallion behind it stood up, grinning maniacally as he raised his rifle.

BRATATATATAT.

He fell to the floor with no further ceremony.

“Too slow,” said Scootaloo with a grin.

“I think that’s the last of ‘em!”

“HAH!” Scootaloo grinned. “Crusader Citadel sixteen, Stupid Bandits nil!”

“Actually, I hate to admit it, but Stupid Bandits one!” shouted Apple Bloom from the doorway. "Remember the first time?"

“Will you two morons shut up and get those ponies in here already!” yelled Sweetie Belle from upstairs.

“Right!” Scootaloo cupped her hooves to her mouth and called out. “Diamond! Silver! Mister Filthy! Miss Sterling! It’s all clear, come on over quick, while it’s safe! We'll cover you!”

“I PREFER RICH!” yelled a voice in reply, as several figures emerged from cover and hastily made their way to the Library.

Scootaloo quickly gave them a once-over as they approached—the former high-society ponies were a ragged mess, covered head to toe in dirt and muck.

“Thank you, Miss Scootaloo,” said Mister Rich, his bloodshot eyes glimmering with grateful tears. “You’ve well and truly saved our necks, you have.”

“We can’t thank you enough,” agreed Miss Sterling, bowing politely.

Scootaloo smiled back. “Just doing what I can. Go on. Get inside to safety.”

He and Silver’s mother stepped inside. Sweetie Belle then turned to Diamond, who was in an utterly wretched state of uncleanliness.

“Nice,” she said with a grin. “Love the new look.”

“Oh shut it, blank flank,” she spat back at Scootaloo.

“Actually, err…” Scootaloo said, holding a hoof to her chin and feigning indecision. “Naaah, maybe I’ll tell you later…”

Diamond’s eyes widened. “Oh, don’t tell me—“

With a wide grin, Scootaloo hefted her armor up. The two fillies peered at the mark that adorned her haunches: a radiant circle of light, with a sword and a rifle crossed together upon it.

“What is it?” asked Silver.

“Beats me,” admitted Scootaloo. “Sweetie Belle thinks it has something to do with ‘courage and restraint with the use of force’, or something wordy like that.”

She leaned in and stage-whispered loudly.

“But, I like to think got a cutie mark in being totally badass.”

A moment of silence passed.

“…It suits you,” said Silver Spoon finally.

Scootaloo’s eyes widened disbelievingly, and she opened her mouth to respond—

“SCOOT!” came a panicked from above. “There’s more coming!”

“Oh crap oh crap! Girls, get inside and keep your heads down!” Scootaloo unceremoniously shoved the two fillies through the door and slammed it shut, before running into the field and sliding behind a fallen tree branch.

She loaded a fresh magazine into the Gryphosi pistol.

“We’ll be ready for ‘em.”

“Hang on… something’s strange about this one!”

“Huh? Why, what’s wrong?”

“One sec, it looks like… wait… oh my Stars…”

“C'mon, what is it?!” Scootaloo yelled, starting to lose her patience.

“Scootaloo. Apple Bloom. Just look.”

Growling, Scootaloo stood up and peered into the distance. From the eastern approach, a solid wall of multi-colored objects was advancing on the Library.

“What the…”

Scootaloo squinted her eyes even more, and slowly, the mass of color began resolving itself into individual objects.

Tanks. Huge, hulking tanks. And besides them, ponies. Uniformed ponies. Soldiers, marching down the street en masse.

“Scootaloo,” came a voice to her right, and Scootaloo turned to find that Apple Bloom had stepped up next to her, staring towards the sky, her sister's Stetson resting in a hoof. The other one was pointed upwards. “Look. In the sky. It’s a zeppelin.”

As Scootaloo looked up, she spotted a grand airship, swiftly approaching Ponyville from overhead.

“What the hay is going on...?” she said in awe-struck disbelief.

With a crackle, a voice emanated from the zeppelin over its loudspeakers.

A very familiar, scratchy voice.

“…is Colonel Rainbow Dash of the Equestrian Armed Forces!” it echoed, carrying throughout the whole town and for miles around. “By the power invested in me by Princess Twilight Sparkle of the Principality of Equestria, I hereby declare martial law upon the township of Ponyville and its surrounding regions!”

She blinked. She blinked once more.

“No friggin’ way.”

“In accordance with the terms of the Equestrio-Gryphosi Ceasefire of 1104 AC,” continued the voice, “all EAF and DPRG troops are now ordered to lay down your arms! Repeat: The Equestrio-Gryphosi war is over! Lay down your arms, surrender peacefully, and you can return to your homes and families!”

There was a moment of silence, before the speaker crackled again, and it began to repeat the announcement the hawkish language of the Gryphosi.

As the zeppelin zoomed overhead the Golden Oaks Library and disappeared from sight, Apple Bloom slowly turned to Scootaloo.

“Scoot… is this real?” said Apple Bloom breathlessly.

Scootaloo slowly turned to look at her. The Gryphosi pistol slipped from her hooves and clattered to the floor.

“It’s over,” she whispered in reply. “We’re done.”

– — T H I S W A R O F O U R S — –

Scootaloo, Apple Bloom, and Sweetie Belle stood in the doorway of the Golden Oaks Library. Across from them, several meters away, were Rainbow Dash, Applejack, and Rarity. They stood at the foot of the boarding ramp leading to the zeppelin, which had finally landed in the clearing just in front of the Golden Oaks Library.

Compared to the Crusaders—who were decked from head to toe in armor that had been clearly been thrown together from whatever various scrap and debris they had scavenged over the last several months—the three adult mares wore cleanly pressed military dress uniforms, bearing the colors of the Equestrian army.

The two groups of ponies couldn’t have looked more different.

And yet, by the hardened, tired looks on the faces of the three sisters that stood before them, Scootaloo knew that they had been through as much of Tartarus as the Crusaders had.

It was only mere seconds before the two groups had broken into a run, sprinting towards each other. Together they met in the center, leaping into each other's arms in a moment that had been far too many months in the making.

“It’s over,” cried Scootaloo, losing all of the bravado that she had built up over the months as she bawled into Rainbow Dash’s unblemished dress uniform. “It’s finally over.”

Rainbow Dash hugged Scootaloo tightly.

“Yeah. It’s over,” she replied in a tired, cracked voice. “By the Sun and Stars, it’s finally over.”

Rainbow held Scootaloo out.

“You look like you’ve been through the Halls and back.”

“Heh… yeah… and you look like you're about to ask me to the Gala.” She snickered, then sighed in exhaustion. “I guess we’ve changed a lot, haven’t we.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess we have.”

They released their embrace.

“Shit, sorry,” said Scootaloo, chuckling. “I just got snot all over your fancy clothes.”

“Hah!” Rainbow Dash ruffled Scootaloo’s hair. “I may be a changed mare, but I ain’t Rarity!”

Scootaloo and Rainbow Dash giggled lightly.

“I see you did exactly what I told you, kid,” Rainbow Dash said with a grin, staring at the cutie mark now visible on Scootaloo’s flank.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Rainbow Dash smiled. “You were brave.”

Scootaloo smiled. Then, tears formed in her eyes again, and Rainbow Dash moved to hug her as she began bawling once more.

Everything that had happened. All the death. All the sorrow. All the pain. The sleepless nights of shelling and bombs, the gunfire that peppered the sky. The evil and the greed and the selfishness that had torn Ponyville’s streets apart.

And they had survived.

“It’s finally over,” she whispered once more, her voice muffled through Rainbow Dash’s dress coat.

“…Yeah. It’s over.”

Author's Note

What do you do when you feel like your story is filled with way too much misery and death and sadness?

Turn it into fuckin' Red Dawn, that's what.

Okay. Now that I'm done with this story, it's time for me to bitch about how much I hate it. Incoming blog post...

DAY TWENTY-EIGHT

“I am so, so stupid,” she muttered to herself, hiding in the darkness under a desk, as ponies trotted just nearby.

“That little shit’s gotta be around here somewhere,” grunted one of the bandits as he scoured the room next door.

“How much did she run off with?” asked the mare.

“She broke into the medicine cabinet!” growled a stallion back. “And our fridge! Cleaned ‘em both out!”

“How’d she even get into there! It was locked tight!”

“Fuck if I know! Musta used our crowbar or somethin’.”

Scootaloo nervously tightened her grip around the crowbar in her wing.

“Our crowbar? Who in Sam’s Halls left our crowbar in the kitchen?!”

“Probably Sam,” he grunted in reply.

“It’s always fuckin’ Sam.”

“Always.” He spit. “I’ll go search the kitchen. You take the bedroom, love.”

“I’d take you into the bedroom,” she purred in a sultry voice.

“Heh, we’ll see who takes who,” he replied seductively. Scootaloo almost retched, but held her tongue as the mare cantered into the room.

Panic overtook her psyche. The bandit was waving around an assault rifle, glancing here and there as she scoured the room.

“Heeeere, little filly,” she sing-songed. “Come on, I just wanna talk…”

Scootaloo knew better. She was gonna get killed right as the mare found her. Her heart thudded rapidly, beating so hard she could barely hear.

The mare stepped closer with a clop clop clop—her hooves were almost in front of the desk. A bead of sweat trickled down the filly’s neck as she gripped the switchblade in her hoof and raised the crowbar in her wing. The edges of her vision were fading—all she could see was the pale blue hoof of the mare in front of her.

“Grrrrrr… oh, for Sun’s sake, you little shit, give us back our food!”

Now.

Scootaloo leapt out and drove the switchblade deep into the mare’s foreleg.

“AAAAAAGHHHH!!”

BAM-BAM-BAM!

Shots rang out behind Scootaloo’s head, causing her ears to ring, but she didn’t stop to think. She pulled the switchblade out of the mare’s leg, jumped, and whirled around, smashing the flat end into the mare’s face, causing her to topple against the wall. Scootaloo landed and immediately charged at the mare, who threw her hooves up protectively.

“Wait, stop—“

The switchblade dug deep into the mare’s neck.

Scootaloo breathed heavily as the adrenaline rush faded. As the pulsing red faded from her vision, light began seeping back in.

She stared into the sharp pink eyes of the mare before her, widened in terror.

She felt hooves sweep up past her body—the mare began clawing at her neck, making wet gasping noises as she struggled to pull air back into her lungs. She coughed, blood seeping out of her mouth.

The reality of Scootaloo’s actions slammed into her like a tsunami.

“…Oh shit. Oh shit oh shit oh shit.”

Scootaloo tore the knife out of the mare’s neck, which, to her horror, immediately caused a fountain of blood to stream out of the open wound. In a panic, Scootaloo threw her hooves onto the mare’s neck, applying as much pressure as she could to stem the bleeding.

“No, no, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…!”

CRACK.

Something snapped under Scootaloo’s hooves. She gasped in horror, and slowly her eyes traveled back up to the mare, whose expression had frozen in a statuesque look of pure terror and pain.

Scootaloo stumbled back, and the mare keeled over, falling to the floor, her eyes forever a vacant stare.

“Strike?” came a voice from outside the door to the room. “Hey, Strikey, I heard some gunshots, did ya get her?”

Scootaloo snapped back to reality. She scrambled to her hooves, glancing wildly left—there was a window, the curtains swaying softly in the breeze.

“Strike, where are ya love?”

Frantic, Scootaloo dashed over to the sill, climbing up and leaping out the open window—only to realize too late that the ground below had been two stories down.

"GaaAAH—!"

CRUNCH.

“AGH!” She collapsed to her feet as a bolt of searing pain leapt up her haunches. She tried scrambling to her hooves, but as she put pressure on her rear leg, it responded with another lance of pain as sharp as a whip.

“Hey, Strike, wha— no, NO! STRIKE, WAKE UP!”

“Crap, crap!” Scootaloo ignored the pain and began limping down the alley as fast as she could. Her heart hammered in her head like a jackhammer.

Behind her, she heard a bestial roar.

“You… you little SHIT! I’LL GET YOU FOR THIS!”

There was a crash behind her, but Scootaloo didn’t dare look, straining to pick up the pace and nearly stumbling over her own hooves as she fought the pain—it overwhelmed her senses, nearly causing her to black out.

“I SWEAR TO THE STARS I WILL SKEWER YOU DOWN THE THROAT!”

She stumbled into the open street, and made it only a few more meters before faceplanting on the cobblestone road. Lights erupted in her vision, blinding her.

“Aagghhh!” The pain seared through her body.

“I will skin you alive for this!” came a voice behind her. She flipped onto her back, and as her vision cleared, she saw the form of the angry stallion stepping from out of the alley, machete in hand. He advanced, his eyes sparkling with rage. “You… you—!”

CRA-CRA-CRACK!

Several shots rang out in quick succession, and the stallion instantly crumpled to the ground.

Silence settled over the scene. Scootaloo gaped for a few moments, blinking, uncomprehending, before a strange pitter-patter compelled Scootaloo to turn her gaze to her left.

Three strange creatures were advancing on her position… big, hulking, winged—

“N-no… no! Wait!”

She stumbled backwards, the pain in her leg nearly blinding her. The gryphons strode quickly towards her, sharp beaks and angular eyes glaring daggers in her direction.

Gryphons. Predators. Carnivores. They would tear her apart, rip her to shreds, devour her alive.

“Wait, please—“

She held her hooves up as their sharp talons… swept past her.

“…Huh?”

The gryphons knelt down at the body of the slain stallion. One of them grabbed his knife—the other seemed to check his pulse, before turning his body over and rummaging through his clothes.

The one on the left chirped something in a deep, guttural voice. It was met with a nod and a reply from the lead gryphon in a feminine, hawkish voice.

She turned to Scootaloo, who flinched.

“How you? Dead?”

A moment passed.

“Um… huh?” came Scootaloo’s shaky reply. She gave the gryphon a quizzical look, wondering absently why she hadn’t been sliced to ribbons by those talons yet.

The gryphon brought said talon to her temple, scratching it. “Ach… You.” She pointed. “Dead?”

“I… N-no? I don’t think so?”

The gryphon walked over and wrapped a claw around Scootaloo’s forehoof.

“Up.” She pulled her to her hooves.

“Wait, I— gaaah!” Scootaloo stumbled back, falling to the ground as her rear leg seared in pain.

“Ach!” The gryphon pulled back a bit. “Leg bounce. Bad.”

Suddenly, Scootaloo found herself wrapped into a fluffy, feathery wing and lifted off the ground. As the wing closed around her, she was shrouded in darkness.

“Whoa, um, wait a sec—“

“Leg bounce. Fix,” came the broken reply of the gryphon, in a voice that clearly demanded no quarter. “Little pony quiet, dæ?”

“…Okay. P-pony quiet.”

Scootaloo’s mind buzzed with confusion, blankly gazing at the darkness of nothing as she was carried away.

In moments, she found herself unfurled onto a cot, staring up at the canopy of a tent.

The gryphon gave her a cursory inspection before turning to another, much smaller one, whom she began chirping to in what Scootaloo assumed to be Gryphosi. The shorter one saluted, then approached Scootaloo, scrutinizing her closely.

“Umm… hi there— hey, wait!”

The gryphon tugged at the straps on Scootaloo’s armor, and the filly immediately moved her hooves to block the gryphon. In an instant, a talon shot up to the filly’s neck—the razor-sharp exerted a tiny amount of pressure on the bare skin.

“Nackte,” said the gryphon. “Stop. Let me fix you.”

There was a moment, before Scootaloo carefully nodded, careful not to skewer herself on the extended talon. It lifted, and the gryphon resumed unbuckling the straps on Scootaloo’s armor.

“Ach. Little pony has leg… bounce? Spring?” The gryphon paused, puzzling over the word.

“Um… sprain,” Scootaloo corrected cautiously.

“Dæ. Sprang.” The gryphon nodded, clearly self-assured.

“No, sprain,” she insisted. “No ‘guh’ sound.”

“Su… pray-ne?” Her face scrunched in confusion as she enunciated the foreign syllables.

Scootaloo gave a resigned sigh. “Close enough.”

A moment passed.

“Name?” she asked as she began examining the leg.

“…Scootaloo.”

“Skou-tae-lou.” She tongued the foreign name with her beak. “Pony has weird name.”

“Gee, thanks,” grumbled Scootaloo.

The gryphon gave her a strange, hawkish chuckle. It was fierce, but… also somehow warm.

For several minutes, Scootaloo sat in silence, blinking at the gryphon's deft claws as she splinted the leg. Why was she not dead yet? Why wasn’t she being roasted alive?

“…Why are you helping me?”

The gryphon paused. She blinked at Scootaloo, then pointed a talon—they seemed to like pointing a lot.

“You. Pony. Dæ?”

Scootaloo nodded slowly.

“Me.” She pointed to herself. “Pony.”

“…Huh?” Scootaloo gave the gryphon a blank stare.

“Ach.” She clicked a beak, which Scootaloo realized was a sign of confusion. “Me. Big hawk. You, little hawk.”

“…Hawk?”

“Dæ. Pony is pony. Hawk is hawk. But pony… also hawk. Yes?”

“I… think so? Pony is hawk. Hawk is pony.”

“Dæ. Same.”

“…Same.”

The gryphon nodded in satisfaction before returning to work. “Little pony smart.”

Scootaloo said nothing, staring at the gryphon and marveling at what she had just learned.

“Little pony like little chick,” the gryphon said suddenly.

“…Huh?” Scootaloo worked that statement over in her mind. “…Oh! You have a kid?”

“Dæ. Smart. Like you.”

“That’s… cool.” Scootaloo pondered that for a moment, imagining a small gryphon, about her age. She had no idea what one looked like… and for some reason, she hadn’t even considered the possibility that any such thing existed. “I’d like to meet her someday.”

The gryphon was quiet for a little bit as she tightened the rope around the sling on Scootaloo’s leg. “Someday. Hope.”

Hope.

Such a strange word.

“Say, what’s your—“

Several shots rang out outside the tent, and a flurry of panicked hawkish voices. “Questræn! Questræn!” one shouted.

Scootaloo paled.

“Ach!” The gryphon stood up suddenly. “Little pony stay.” Without another word, she snatched up a rifle leaning on the bed and darted out of the tent as gunfire began to pepper the air.

“…Crap.” Scootaloo looked left and right, then her eyes caught the body armor. She quickly leapt off the cot, testing her leg on the splint—there was a tiny ache as she put pressure on it, but it wasn’t enough to distract her—before quickly slapping the oversized armor back on, lifting the rucksack that had her looted supplies, and holstering her weapons once again.

As she made for the opening to the tent, she noticed a pistol lying on the side. It was strange and angular—one of the gryphons’ more advanced firearms.

Without a second thought, Scootaloo snatched it up and made her way out.

It was chaos. Bullets soared overhead, and several voices rang into the night. Turning to her left, she saw a group of gryphons taking cover behind a reinforced sandbag wall, currently being peppered with gunfire from further down the street.

On the floor behind the bags sat the gryphon who had dragged her off the street earlier. She clutched at a wound over her abdomen, which the gryphon from the tent was quickly trying to bandage. The gryphon on the floor spotted Scootaloo, who rushed forward.

“Are you okay?!”

“Fine! Fine!” she waved a dismissive claw at the filly. “Go! Pony go!” She pointed a claw to the side towards an alleyway that exited the camp through the buildings on the side.

Scootaloo stared around at the encampment as it was besieged by bullets. She watched the gryphons, many of who seemed utterly terrified, but were returning fire as best they could.

“Pony is hawk," she whispered under her breath. "Hawk is pony.”

She turned to the medic, who stared back at her.

“Hope. Dae?”

The gryphon’s eyes widened, but then she slowly nodded.

“…Dæ, little pony. Hope.”

The one on the floor glanced back and forth between the two, with a look of total incomprehension.

Scootaloo turned to her, then bowed her head slowly. “Thank you.”

The gryphon nodded in return, then pushed Scootaloo away with an open claw. “Pony go. Now.”

Without another word, Scootaloo stood up and made for the alley, limping in as fast as she could.

She did not look back.

– — T H I S W A R O F O U R S — –

As Scootaloo limped through the streets towards the Library clearing, she heard several shots ring out in the distance.

“Oh crap.”

She put on an extra burst of speed and leapt into the clearing. Several ponies were lying behind pieces of cover, firing potshots at the tree. Scootaloo spotted the tip of Apple Bloom’s Stetson sticking over the upstairs window's barricade.

Scootaloo ducked into nearby cover. She pulled out the weapon that she had stolen from the Gryphosi camp—it looked mostly like a pony weapon, with a typical trigger.

Drawing the switchblade in her other hoof, she slowly snuck out into the clearing towards the ponies that were firing at the tree.

“Gah. It’s just one filly!” one growled. “How can we not hit her!”

“Tiny little thing,” grumbled the other looter. “Hard to hit.”

“Yeah, well we’ll nail her eventually. She’s just got one dinky little revolv—”

SQUELCH.

The first pony fell to the ground, and Scootaloo quickly brought the Gryphosi pistol up to bear against the second one, who quickly snapped to her with wide eyes and—

BRRRAAATATATATATAT.

The pistol spat six rounds into the pony’s head almost immediately—“Holy crap!”—shredding it into a shower of guts. Scootaloo nearly lost her grip on the weapon, but managed to steady it.

The other pony dealt with, Scootaloo turned to the tree.

“Apple Bloom! It’s me! You okay?!”

“Scootaloo?! Wait, be careful, there’s—”

“I got ‘em, I got ‘em!”

“Huh? Seriously?“

“Yeah! Don’t shoot, I’m coming out!” She brought the pistol to bear and stepped out of cover, galloping quickly to the door, hoping the cover of night would be enough to shroud her from any snipers.

It was. The door opened up, and Scootaloo quickly leapt through, skidding to a stop on the floor.

“Phew! That was a close one.” Scootaloo panted, out of breath and setting the rucksack down. “Hey gals, check it out, I got a ton of stuff. There’s plenty of food, and meds for Sweetie, and—“

“Scootaloo…”

“Hmm?”

“Yer… yer covered in blood.”

Scootaloo froze. She slowly turned to Apple Bloom, who stood, frozen, staring in disbelief.

“…Did you kill ponies?” she asked hesitantly.

There was a moment of silence.

“The ponies outside,” she continued. “They were shootin’ at us. You said ya killed ‘em. Did… did ya really?”

“…Yeah, I did,” Scootaloo replied. “They were shooting at you. What else was I supposed to do?”

“Ya… ya killed ponies.” Apple Bloom sat down, staring at the floor. “Yer a killer.”

“…Seriously, Apple Bloom?” came a voice to their right, and they turned to Sweetie Belle, sitting up in on the mattress and staring. “They were shooting at you. If Scootaloo had to… kill ponies to protect herself and us, then… then it’s okay.”

A moment of silence fell upon the group.

“Yer right,” Apple Bloom said with a sigh. “I get it. Ya had to. They’d have gotten us otherwise… right?”

“…Yeah,” Scootaloo said finally. “Yeah. They’d have killed us. I did it to protect us.”

“Right…” Apple Bloom took a deep breath, then stood up again. “Right. Okay. Long as it was to defend us.”

“Yeah,” agreed Sweetie Belle with a confident nod. “Scootaloo’s a good pony. She wouldn’t do it unless she had no other choice.” She slowly turned to Scootaloo with a smile. “Right?”

Scootaloo stared at her friend. A mare’s face flashed in her mind. Foaming at the mouth. Eyes wide in terror, filled with tears. Agonizing gurgles as she struggled to breathe through the dagger in her throat.

“…Right,” Scootaloo finally replied, unconsciously lifting a hoof to her own neck. “No other choice.”