Unsound

Chapter |||

The silhouetted trees swayed peacefully on the horizon, the soft murmurs of the breeze soothing in the early glow of morning. Marble lay nestled in her blanket, whilst I gazed out, towards the horizon and the gentle contours of the dust's subtle flanks.

The land itself seemed to slumber, my mane spindling lightly in the slight, sleepy breeze. It was in these moments that I wanted to cease; to lay my anxieties to rest.

But it could not be so.

What little I could grasp from my tenuous slumber settled - troubling, cancerous tumours of the mind.

(I watched, compassionless, as it burst into flames.)

Gradually, I lowered my head, allowing it to rest heavily upon the windowsill.

Flames. Yes, that was it. Fire.

Fire, and screams.

Dust. It settled upon us always. Within our mouths; upon our tongues - our hooves, our eyes. In a way, it was a relatively comforting aspect. For no matter how it blew, how the winds gusted it would never fade. There would always be dust.

I inhaled, my muzzle lowered to the earth. The scent of rocks was almost ripe with a moist, tasteless odour. Sedimentary, then. I grunted as my hind leg clenched in wariness. It was a pitiful sight as I hauled the boulder to Marble's cart, my muzzle chafed and my eyes raw. I was the only one to have such a hue; a kindling, faded indigo. It felt little a privilege as my body swayed in the midday sun, my head heavy and my legs weak. My crippled limb was no charity as I grasped another rock, heaving it as I had the first.

My breath caught, and I chuckled - it sounded thin and wavering. What would Grandmother Surprise have thought? Although long-legged, I was strong in stature. My chest was deep, my legs strong and my neck had the distinct curvature of a carthorse. If that was what they called us. So hearing myself, so weak, so frail rose a flurry of small, quaking impulses that burst in my chest. They hurt.

I had limped as such as long as I could remember - the tissue on my leg melded into a mess of warped skin and rivulets of flesh, masked by little of my fur.

Ma and Sir had refused on their part to offer any explanation - and so it remained that way. The very bone within my crippled limb seemed malformed and twisted. In the whole it was a pathetic visage.

No matter.

From afar, I gleaned the ashen silhouette of Sir, his curt, arrogant strides trailing small blooms of dust in his wake. He was headed towards the well, I realised. Ma, as per usual, took residency in the barn, sheltered from the heat, the sun and the dust. Her eyes were a veiled blue; pale and frigid. Only Pinkamena had inherited her icy glower, though hers had glimmered a warm summer-blue.

I raised my muzzle to the heavens as a wet splatter struck my flesh like alcohol. The skies were knotted and congested, and gradually they began to leak.

I smiled.

Sir needn't go to the well.

I staggered into the barn, my mane sodden and my fetlocks slick with grime. The occasional patter had become a downpour in the time it had taken for the moon to languidly rise, and Marble had disregarded the stray boulder she had carelessly abandoned as it had stolen from her cart.

She had been enwrapped by warmth within walls as I ambled back into the wasteland, darkened by the sudden lapse in the drought. And then became the onslaught.

Marble had already retreated to her bed as I stumbled into the barn, dripping and shivering. Sir barely allowed me a glance as I picked at my rations.

His eyes were lidded and weary, the skin beneath tainted to a deeper shade by sleepless nights and whiskey.

Perhaps it was this that loosened my tongue, but his features rendered dampened surprise as I spoke.

"We'll have fresh water tomorrow?"

"...Yes." He breathed with a slight nod.

A small, chiming augury sounded as I glanced to his grizzled mane, his blanched coat and heavily-lying features. And within me, rang a strange, primal fear for him.

"What was farmed here before?" I looked at him as he gazed nonchalantly at the tankard cradled in his hoof.

"I don't know. Nobody knew. Wheat, barely... They say it went down in flames. Nothing to set alight to any more.

"That's what he said. What did he know. He... They said, we shouldn't come. You and little Marble and... You were only three."

The whiskey smelt rank on his breath and his eyes were fevered; devoured by memories tearing, raging, bedimming his vision with the smoke of their fires.

"... Limestone." His rant had taxed him. "I... I think you should..."

"Yes, Sir."

My voice was little but a sigh as I limped from his mournful gaze, my hoof abrading the first step unsteadily. Gritting my teeth, I tediously, step-by-step, climbed to the mount of the stairs, my crippled limb aching testily as I limped down the hallway.

My brow furrowed, as I neared the doorframe. A flickering, calescent hue emanated into the hallway. I stood, my eyes dark as the candle flickered weakly, illuminating a figure crouched upon the bed before me.

Marble gazed at me blankly as her forelimb oozed blood, black in the meagre light. Her maw was spattered and stained in a ghastly array, her jowls glistening. And as I stared, she smiled. Slivers of flesh caught between her teeth, the rare gleam of ivory sparsely gleaned beneath the blood. And her eyes - they were half moons - almost at rest beneath her mane, illuminated an ethereal silver.

Tears caught amber in the candlelight, trailing down her flesh. As one reached the matted blood, it hesitated, the droplet of such purity seemingly aghast, before it launched once more, cutting swathes through the darkened crimson.

My hooves clopped steadily as I padded forth, leaning my shoulder reassuringly against hers.

Marble's withers shook as she sobbed silently, raising a shaking foreleg to her mouth.

I halted her hoof with my own.

"You... You were always this..."

She merely moaned in response. It wasn't a question; the simple knowledge seemed almost crude - awoken on an instinctual level only once it was a little too late. I had always known - but as a foal will not recall her first steps, I did not remember the cuts, the fragility; the knowledge that I had possessed as an infant had but slipped away by the hooves of time and maturity.

"Hush."

She grasped my shoulder, gasping for breath in the midst of the choked sobs quaking her body, until they finally subsided. I lay her slumbering figure down gently, my steps light as not to waken her. Ma sat rigidly, her own rations half-consumed as I called for her gently.

She cantered to Marble's bedside, but I needn't have worried - she was bloodless, sunken to the depths of unconsciousness, and the gouged wound glistened wetly in the candlelight.

"No no no, not another..." Ma muttered fervently as she leant close to touch Marble's forehead.

I shuddered.