Chapters The hum of the trucks engine was loud enough to be unsafe for some of the operations it was used for. The sound of a jeep in front of the truck hurred into the ears of the soldiers in the back of the truck.
Siemowit sat at the further most corner from the exit directed to the back. Holding his service rifle and his rosary beads in hand. He uttered prayers for safety, lo not for him but for the other soldiers, albeit was possibly going to cost him dearly.
The crunch of the gearstick being switched from gear to gear reached the soldiers ears. Some let out moans of displeasure, some just stayed silent. None spoke.
Our father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name, protect the men around me and allow them safe passage through this war, allow them place by your side and allow them into your embrace, Siemowit prayed through his mind while holding his rosary beads, Allow them to return to their family’s and let not death come to them this day or any other, allow them all to live life of fullness and plenty, in the name of the father, son, and holy spirit, amen.
He continued to repeat the prayer through his mind and mutter it lightly. He was known to be one of the best of the army, but also one of the most religious and scientific. Sometimes other soldiers alienated him for being so pious. But other times they would embrace his scientific ideas.
A soldier offered a flask of vodka and whiskey to Siemowit, he looked up at the soldier. The man in question looked rather worn by age, he had wrinkles from age and possibly worry.
"Drink some boy, it's the last chance you will have," he said, shaking the flask softly from side to side.
Siemowit reached a hand forward and grabbed the other side of the flask, then pulled it slowly back towards himself. He'd tasted the liquid inside before, whiskey and vodka weren't all too nice together.
He placed the flask to his lips and took a drink. He then passed the flask back to the soldier in front of him.
"Thanks," he muttered.
The soldier smiled and nodded but once, he then offered another soldier the flask. It was sort of a custom among the soldiers, if you have a drink you might as damn well share it, because it may just be someone’s last drink.
Siemowit leaned back on the cold piece of wood that was used as a seat for everyone in the back of the truck. The hulking vehicles engine coughed and spluttered to a complete halt.
The soldiers alongside Siemowit moaned as they picked up their rifles and kit and exited off the back of the truck. The pain of walking the next fifteen miles to camp through burnt villages and towns was annoying to any soldier.
“I hate this Blyat!” one of the soldiers shouted.
The crunching of the snow underfoot was slightly annoying. But the feel of the cool breeze was wonderful. It made some of the soldiers upset when they had to walk for so long but the nice breeze might have loosened their mood.
Siemowit sighed when he looked around. The army was informed that they had switched sides and were now fighting the axis about two months ago, and boy did Germany and Hitler do a number on the towns nearby the border.
Burnt buildings that were bare standing where they were built were a haunting reminder of what had happened to the people, how they suffered and what caused it.
Siemowit shivered in his boots from the thought, before this war was because a world power wanted to stop the pain of this world, and create a Shangri-La. But then they started an unstoppable war.
Each crunch was accompanied by the ever present feeling of a gun being pointed directly at the person who took said step. A soldier let out a shaky breath, he ran his hand down the barrel of his gun and gripped it.
"Keep walking, there's nothing to see men," The soldier at the further front of the group called.
Siemowit looked down the street as the fifteen or so soldiers passed it, a sniper shot rang out. The man in front of Siemowit fell.
"Sniper!" Shouted one of the soldiers further in front of Siemowit.
Another shot rang out as Siemowit ran back to the end of the other side of the street mouth. More shots broke the silence of the icy place they were in. Five men were down, this guy was good.
Two others had managed to get to Siemowit's side, the rest had reached the opposite part of the road. The whole world went quiet, the sound itsself had died.
The soldier most visible waved his hand at Siemowit, motioning him to hold something out to see if the Sniper had a twitchy finger. Siemowit nodded and turned back to the two soldiers behind him, he pointed to one.
"Give me your helmet," He said.
The soldier removed his helmet and passed it to Siemowit, although the pious and scientific soldier was more trained to shoot first and ask questions later, he was an excellent thinker. He was a planner of sorts, way out of his element as a foot soldier. Most of his superiors had told him that he should have enlisted as an officer rather than a foot soldier.
Siemowit held the helmet out a little, just at his head level, to make as though he was leaning out to get a look at the street. Siemowit made sure to quickly jolt the helmet back for a second, as though he was being cautious. He then leaned it out. A shot rang out.
The bullet pierced right through the helmet, the sniper wasn't a fool with a nervous twitch. Siemowit signaled for one of the soldiers across the road to give him cover fire, one nodded.
Siemowit took a moment to think of how exactly he should move down the road. He was planning on taking down a sniper, elite too and that was not going to end well if he had no plan. The man that was going to cover him had brackish chestnut hair, it looked well clean, washed even combed. If he wasn't in his uniform you could never have told that the man had taken more shrapnel to his torso, arms and legs than there are metal casings in four clips of a Kalashnikov, Type 56. The sheer determination in that man to live through having his friend blown up just three meters in front of him, and taking most of the metal was just amazing.
The semi-auto the man was holding still had the safety on, it was hard to tell from the distance but it seemed 'slacker Joe' had missed the fact his gun wasn't going when he leaned out of cover. Luckily the sniper had missed the shot, hitting the wall and blowing a piece of bricking off the wall and kicking up a large amount of snow.
The gun must've been massive, at least a .303, a monster of a gun, in the war these guns were overpowered, sometimes they’d cause a man to have his entire head to explode, but a sniper with a .303 was unheard of. The round blew a hole the size of a man’s head in the wall, one of the causes the hole was so big was probably because of the fire damage to it.
"Holy Blyat!" The soldier shouted.
A snicker could be heard very lightly from one of the soldiers behind him, he stood back up and switched the safety off. He was about to do a blind fire when a thought struck Siemowit. What if there are two snipers? He raised his hand to stop the soldier from possibly making a most likely fatal mistake. He then signaled for him to remove his helmet.
He then mouthed the words "Do exactly what I do."
The soldier removed his helmet and copied Siemowit, holding it as though he were leaning out slightly. The bullet almost blew the helmet to pieces. Siemowit's helmet had less of an effect, but he also had another thought.
How on earth are they that dumb? How is it possible to fall for the same trick twice?
His suspicions were confirmed there were more than one sniper, one had a higher powered rifle than the other. Siemowit signaled the soldier to get ready to cover him, the man was a little more careful this time, Siemowit dropped his pack so he could move faster.
"Vincent, cover me," Siemowit said.
"I got your back," Vincent replied, readying himself.
Siemowit tensed his shoulders, he was about to do something possibly insane, and deadly. Siemowit dashed for the other side of the street, the two soldiers leaned out and fired their weapons, Siemowit ran to one of the buildings that were still standing. He kicked the door in and scrambled into the entrance way.
He was safe for the moment, but he was in more danger than when he was in the street. When he had scrambled into the building he had tripped and landed on his belly. He slowly stood, the building he had entered looked to be a bakery. It had a glass counter, broken and everywhere. A cabinet hung half open, the door was on its bottom hinge, hanging on for dear life on to the string of safety it had left.
One of the strange things about this particular cabinet was the fact it had a half smashed backing. It was obviously false, but it had a safe behind it.
Why on earth would you put your safe in a place like that? Siemowit thought.
He turned around, meeting face to face, a Nazi special operative. The German was dressed in a leather coat and mask. He hit Siemowit over the head with a bottle and grabbed his back, then rammed him into the wall.
When Siemowit regained his composure he swung at his attacker who had managed to get the drop on him. The blow was too quick for the German to dodge. It connected solidly with his temple. The German stumbled back a few steps holding his head. He hadn't expected that. The crunch of broken glass revealed the second one in the building.
Siemowit spun around and smashed in the German’s nose with his elbow. He then kicked up the small stool nearby, the first one lunged. Siemowit used the stool to smash the special operative square in the head. He fell to the floor limp.
The other one grabbed Siemowit's pistol and aimed it at his head. Siemowit had no time to react. The German pulled the trigger.
Click.
Siemowit's hand had been resting on a magazine on his waist, he grabbed hold of it to give his punch extra force. It almost destroyed the man's head. The German dropped the on the floor as he fell backwards with a caved in face.
Siemowit wasn't too strong, but he was able to break a man’s neck as one would break a branch of a tree. It wasn't too hard, but still it was hard enough for him to fight and win. But the punch he had delivered had all his force plus room and a magazine full of rounds of ammo.
That all equals to the amount of force it took to cave that man's face in with a single punch. Fortunately there was only a few other Spec Op Nazi soldiers within the building.
The creak of a board in the hallway assured him that there was more than two. Siemowit looked at the hallway.
One He thought.
The man was carrying a large metal pipe, about as long as his arm. He bolted towards Siemowit. The Russian soldier dodged the swing with ease, and retaliated with a kick to the man's pelvic area. He fell down and coughed a few times.
Siemowit had studied several languages in school before he had joined the war effort, and before the war even began. He had learned Spanish, English, French and even German. So when the man insulted him, he knew what he was saying.
Siemowit loaded his pistol and fired three rounds into the man's head. Five more came out of nowhere, they were dispatched as easily. Just empty the magazine into the soldiers and watched them fall. The casings tinkled on the ground.
Siemowit then reloaded the magazine, he'd managed to think of there being more soldiers than just two snipers at the end of a street. Now all he had to do was get to the snipers.
But the fact was when dealing with snipers you were dealing with some pretty well equipped individuals that could turn your head to pink mist at a hundred paces.
Siemowit cracked his neck and walked to the other side of the counter. The second Special Operative was there, lying with a spattered face. Blood pooled around him. The man was definitely dead.
Siemowit crouched down and opened the man’s coat, it had a small slip in it. Most likely orders, a map, several times and how long the stay would be. Nothing too important. But enough to get a location on the snipers into a more narrow slip.
Siemowit opened the finely written letter, it wasn't orders, this wasn't the man in charge. Usual Sneak attacks have the man in command attack second, rarely first and never after third. Two was the lucky number in most cases.
The letter was written in German, most likely something of great sentimental import.
Heh not anymore Siemowit thought.
He placed the letter back in the man’s coat. He then walked over to the first, no luck with that one. Finally he walked over to the third, still nothing. It was odd, and on the off chance the one in command was a sniper. But it was more unlikely than it would be if Siemowit was Santa Clause.
Siemowit walked over and searched the other bodies until he found one with orders on him. They were written in German, Siemowit may have taken classes in speaking German, but reading it was another thing entirely.
"Herr Operatives, You are assigned to the town of," Siemowit scratched his head, it was harder to read the town name in German, "There are to be two snipers, place them in a discreet location, Failure to protect the contents of the package within is not optional, Burn these orders after you memorize them."
Siemowit pocketed the orders, and searched the man again, he had a small note in his opposite pocket with two numbers on it.
"Thirty seven, twenty five," Siemowit memorized the numbers.
The numbers were addresses of buildings that Siemowit assumed to contain the snipers, they may also just be numbers scribbled down on paper. But the likely was the former. Now the only problem was getting to the snipers.
A semi automatic weapon went off. Seems another soldier was to go to a building nearby. The automatic weapons halted as the sound of the soldier crashing through a door was heard. Followed by a few loud and profane words.
"Siemowit!" The soldier whispered louder than he had shouted.
Siemowit crouched and moved silently to the doorway, the soldier had run from across the street and into the building opposite.
"Siemowit!"
Siemowit waited for a moment in case the soldier was about to be assaulted before replying.
"I'm over here, Vladlen," He whispered loudly.
The soldier turned around to look at Siemowit.
"There you are!" He said.
"Hold your tone, there are more soldiers here then our first thoughts, they may be mounting an attack on the motherland."
The soldier froze up for a second.
"What was that?" He asked loudly.
"Don't move, I'm coming over!" Siemowit whispered.
He then bolted towards the other side of the road.
A shot rang out in the silent street. It tore through the crisp air and right into Siemowit's shoulder, simultaniously a special operative soldier grabbed Vladlen from behind and slit his throat.
Siemowit was trapped, if he tryed to go back he'd be sniped, if he went forwards he'd be murdered.
Siemowit heard the bark of an automatic machine gun muzzle from down the street where he had come in.
It wasn't one of the guns his platoon would have used. Meaning it was one of the Germans. Siemowit was screwed no matter what.
He dodged side to side heading towards an unbroken display window. Another shot from the sniper rang out, then one from the other sniper. Another from the first, another from the second.
Again and again in almost machine like motion the shots from the snipers fired. Siemowit dived through the window shattering the expensive burnt glass. He hit the floor with a thump.
Siemowit managed to land just behind the wall in cover. Snipers can't hit what they can't see. Siemowit had learned that from experience. Several rounds hit the wall but it was too thick to be pierced.
Siemowit sighed with relief. He was safe, theoretically not literally. He quickly assessed his situation.
Squad down.
He counted backwards from three as he shifted away from the window. He had no cover under that window and if he opted to stand up he would be shot immediately. He needed cover. Part of basic training was to learn what cover was, be it snow or hay, if you can’t be seen you can’t be shot.
Siemowit rolled over to get into a position to stand. The floorboards creaked under the stress. This building was badly damaged to say the least. Slowly the Russian soldier lifted himself to his feet. He didn’t want the floor to buckle and collapse under him.
Siemowit was out of the line of fire from the snipers. He quickly moved some burnt furnishings and upended them to make a wall, he only had a short time to do anything. He worked fast to create a wall of cover.
It may not stop bullets nor anything that was fast enough, but it was enough to hide something. Siemowit quickly opened the storage closet and slipped in, closing the vented door.
The cover was only a distraction. Siemowit was hoping that if any enemy’s entered the room, they would think he was there.
Siemowit's shoulder was pouring blood now, only did he notice it because of the amount of red slush that was poured over his uniform. He needed to patch his shoulder and fast.
Quickly he searched himself for a bandage of some item of that magnitude. Unfortunately he had left his pack at the end of the street.
Shit! he thought.
"Fuck!" he cursed.
Slowly Siemowit removed his boot and one of his socks. It wouldn't be comfortable but still, a sock is a bandage to the right man. Quickly he cut it into a long strip.
He then removed his shirt and located the wound, then used his knife to pry the bullet out. It luckily hadn't gone very far in. Siemowit gritted his teeth and grinded them together as he removed the bullet.
He then wrapped the makeshift bandage around his shoulder. It took some doing with the use of only one arm but he still managed to do it. He then put his shirt back on and rebuttoned it.
He listened carefully as he waited for a group of soldiers to enter the room. He was a dead man one way or another. He wanted to take one or two enemies with him and he was sure he would get at least one.
The floor creaked under the stress of four or more men, they were all obviously special operatives. Siemowit readied his rifle against his shoulder. Lucky the bullet didn’t go through the shoulder he used to fire his gun.
Siemowit ran his and down the rifle’s stock, the name Ellena carved into it. Siemowit had named his rifle as many soldiers do. Ellena was a sturdy well-built service rifle. With enough kick to put a soldier who held it wrong when firing. It also had enough punch to burst through a brick wall and kill anything on the other side.
He checked the magazine, then held it back to place at his shoulder. Siemowit Saw the shadow of a man. Trick worked.
Siemwoit squeezed the trigger, a loud bang followed by a thuck sound a squelch and another thuck sound signaled the fate of two potential combatant's. Siemowit dropped his rifle and pulled out his bayonette and kicked the door out.
He kicked it hard enough to launch it off it's hinges and onto one of the three remaining men. Siemowit then threw and empty magazine of pistol ammo at another and used the Bayonette to finish the one who wasn't distracted. He quickly dropped down and sweeped his leg under the one he had thrown the magazine at.
Then quickly he stabbed the one he had kicked the door onto. Then whipped out his sidearm and fired off three shots into the first and second. He then shot around as another enemy approached quickly.
Siemowit fired off six rounds into the man's chest, he clutched the six rounds all placed on the right hand side of his chest. The Spec op then pulled out a grenade from his belt and pulled the pin.
Siemowit couldn't stop him, the man was not only too far from him, but he was also out of ammo. Siemowit though, was always a fighter, sometimes his father would tell him that even when he was born he came out fighting.
He charged as the man removed the grenade. But before he could tackle him and wrestle the grenade off him the man had pulled the pin. Siemowit ripped the grenade out of the man's hand and threw it at the window, but it was too late.
It exploded.
The initial explosion wasn't what killed him, it was the shrapnel from the grenade.
___________________________________________________________
Chapter Three: Awakening. ___________________________________________________________
Siemowit sat up with a gasp, his vision blurred. The coppery taste of blood in his mouth. He shifted about and coughed out the mucus blocking his throat. His ears rang from the sound of the explosion.
His vision slowly returned, albeit at a rate much slower than when one is hit with a flashbang.
Siemowit curled up a bit, his back and legs felt like someone was driving white hot needles into them. He gripped the back of his neck with his hand, he rubbed it. Scar tissue had formed exactly where the shrapnel had pierced his skin.
He ran his hand down the side of his neck and let it drop down onto the ground. He lifted himself off the ground and onto his feet. He hunched into a crouching position, bringing his knees up under himself.
He then forced himself to begin to stand. However long he was out it had degraded his muscles to the point where it hurt to move. Siemwoit thought he died.
Oddly there was grass under him instead of snow or flooring. It was lucious beautiful green grass. Siemowit had only ever seen in children's books and on postcards from family overseas. Before the war.
He sighed, standing in the small field. Little poppys and dandelions littered it. Siemwoit hadn't seen real flowers before, only imported fake ones. When the war was only beggining.
He reached down and picked one, he examined the small flower. Every detail, it's petals, it's stem, the little leaf that was begging to grow near the very top. The wrinkles in the flower petals that seemed like veins.
Even the little black pieces of the poppy that was in the center. The little fibours that seemed like hairs on the flower. He picked off a petal and examined the little green bit at the bottom.
He dropped the flower and rubbed his hand over where the sniper round had gone through. The shirt was repaired and scar tissue was where the round had gone through.
"What the hell?"
Siemowit then unbuttoned his shirt and examined his shoulder and what he could of his back. It seemed scar tissue had formed where he had been hit by the shrapnel.
He then spun around and looked at where he was laying down previous. The spot was covered in dried up blood, clotted all over the ground. His pistol was laying a little to the left of it.
Siemowit ducked down and scooped the gun up. It was filled with clotted blood. He pulled out a magazine from his pocket. It was his second last one.
"Blyat," He swore in clear russian.
He then looked up to the sky, the clouds seemed like big sugary moutains that just floated there. Siemowit spat into his hand, his saliva was frothy like when someone normally spits.
He rubbed off the saliva into his open shirt. He then quickly rebuttoned the shirt and looked around a bit more.
There was a rifle about three yards up the hill, a small pile of ammo for it just stacked around it.
This was strange.
Far, far too strange to be coincidence.
Siemowit cautiously walked towards the rifle, it looked a lot like Ellena. It was a damn strange sight. Siemowit squatted and slowly moved towards the rifle. He picked up the rifle and ammo.
The rifle was a blank slate, fresh off the assembely line. Not even loaded. It even had the little tag on the side for where it was supposed to go.
This one was to be sent to Shipping.
Siemowit gripped the corner of the tag and peeled it off, he then picked up one of the loose bullets and examined it. It looked like a .303 round from the length of it.
Siemowit held the bullet next to the rifle, it seemed like a .303, quiet a bit too much like a .303.
"How on, and where on Earth am i?"
Siemowit scratched his head, he looked at the little bullet and to the rifle, then to the field around himself. It all seemed too.
Real.
Siemowit cracked his neck and hefted the rifle to his shoulder. It felt like a big gun, didn't look like much, but that was the inner workings that made it big. Not neccisarily the area of the gun, more the volume.
Siemowit pulled back the slide and made sure the firing pin was in there. Sometimes it wouldn't be with the actual rifle rather than in a packet with the rifle.
It was in there, clear as day and more silver than a piece of foil. Siemowit pushed a magazine into the mag slot. He then released the safety. He pushed the slide back in and ensured the rifle butt was against his shoulder firmly.
He then slowly squeezed the trigger.
A Loud bang followed by the sound of glass shattering and wood splitting was the wake up call for Twilight Sparkle. Followed by the sound of a little dragons scream.
"Twilight, Twilight!"
The lavender unicorn rolled over in her bed, still partially asleep.
"Yes Spike?" Twilight asked.
"Something just blew a massive hole in the wall!" The little wyrm squeaked.
"Oh, that's nice."
The drake's face grew to one of confusion. It wasn't like the student of the ruler of the sun and land of Equestria to be this, nonchalante.
"Twilight?"
"Mmmh?"
"Get up, you honestly can't expect to help investigate whatever just shot through half of the town's buildings while in bed!"
Twilight moved a little bit further to the edge of her bed. The drake was extreamely loud and preventing her from getting back to sleep.
"This is the only day i don't have anything schedualed, so please Spike, just, piss off."
"But Twilight, whatever it was blew a hole in the wall the size of my head!"
Twilight shifted just a little further to the edge of the bed.
"Spike, I'm not getting up, come high heaven or hell, i will not leave this bed today for any reason other than food or to go to the lavatory."
"Lavawhat?"
"Toilet."
"But Twilight!"
Twilight moved again but this time it was not towards the edge of her bed, seeings as the baby dragon had take the incetive to leap apon Twilight's bed Twilight had moved much father than she had thought.
Twilight fell off of her bed and landed on the ground with a loud bump. She groaned in pain from the unexpected fall. Usually she'd cast a levitation spell and take a step away from the average pain of landing on the floor, but this time she didn't expect it.
Siemowit pulled the slide back, letting the empty casing fly out, the pumped the slide forwards then placed the rifle back to his shoulder and pulled the trigger again.
He then pumped the slide back in a split second and slid it forwards in less than a second, he placed it back against his shoulder and fired again.
He continued at this mad pace until all the remaining eight shells were out.
Hmm, rather a good fire rate with this one. He thought.
Another bang followed by the shattering of glass, followed by another bang and another and another hailed on the town of Ponyville. Ponies ducked for cover under furniture and behind low objects to try and prevent the objects from hitting them.
Some ponies had been hit by the projectiles but it only grace them, whatever these tiny things were, was going fast as hell. Fast enough to take wood glass and flesh with them.
Twilight used her magic to try and follow the trajectory of the tiny objects but they were going far too fast for anything like that to work. They were breaking the speed of sound and sight without effort.
After about eight loud booms the comotion stopped.
Everypony stayed low for a little bit, making sure the hail of strange projectiles stopped.
Hopefully they had.
Siemowit was sat on a stump just a little ways from where the rifle and ammo had been. He was smoking a ciggarette that was in the jacket on this stump.
The jacket was a standard airforce leather jacket with seven pockets. Three on the outside, four on the inside.
Enough to hide a gun, knife clip for ammo and pack of ciggarettes. Possibly a bottle of scotch whiskey.
Siemowit was only so lucky. A whole bottle of vodka, a ciggarette lighter and a bottle of scotch was on the stump. With a little news article and a few clips of ammo for Siemowit's pistol.
Plus a big fat cigar.
The news article seemed to be from just after the war.
"Allies win World War Two," Siemowit smoked a little bit of the ciggarette, "Berlin captured by Ruskies, Frenchies, Brits and Americans, City devided between nations."
Siemowit then poked a little hole in the paper where the american flag was with his ciggarette top. He then took a drag on the ciggarette, he had about half finished it.
"Heh, The ancient Jewish people gave the new world a vision of eternal peace, of universal disarment, of abolishing the teaching and learning of war and we started a war for all the same reasons."
Siemowit let his head hang back as he looked at the sky. He sighed letting out a puff of smoke as he watched the sky.
A rainbow streak passed overhead.
I wonder what that is?
Siemowit picked up the Binoculars that had been left for him by the stump by whoever put him there. He looked at the rainbow streak for a moment, at first it didn't seem like much. It was too fast moving for him to view it properly.
But slowly, ever so painstakingly slowly did the image turn to one of clearness. It looked like a minute horse, much like some of the ponies Siemwoit's father and grandfather raised on the farm. Except this one had wings, was colored cyan and had a rainbow colored mane and tail. Possibly the cause of the streak behind it.
Whatever it was it seemed to be heading somewhere.
Siemowit slung his rifle over his shoulder and put out the rest of his ciggarette. He hung the Binoculars from the strap they had on them around his neck. He walked quickly occasionally looking through the binoculars to see the Pegasus of sorts.
Siemowit knew Pegasi were mythical so there was no way. Absolutely no way in hell that there could be one there.
The Russian soldier jogged after the streak, slowly over the way a town of sorts appeared on the horizon. Roughly a mile or so away.
In the exact direction Siemowit had been firing.
"Shit," He cursed.
Progress was slow from this distance, the occasional piece of foresty grassland made Siemowit uneasy. Shadows moved within the foresty pieces as he passed by. Unknowing of the things that lurk all over the land.
"What Isss It?" Spat one changling.
"Thisss one doessssn't know, but it lookssss dangerousss," another hissed.
The two changlings watched the creature jog in the direction of the accursed place known to changlings and ponies as, Ponyville.
"What if we capture it and bring it back to the queen?"
"Not sssafe.
"Sssure?"
"Completely."
"Damn it."
"But the queen will be pleasssed to know we have found an easssy victim for her, quickly go and inform her, i will watch thissss thing."
The other changling nodded and shot off like a bullet. It vanished out of the forest, making sure to go away from the potential prey and up out of sight, then head towards the badlands.
Meanwhile the other changling watched the strange creature closely, gauging the situation to the possibility that if this creature were to encounter a talking creature of any kind it would possibly attack.
Siemowit looked left and right, there was a mountain directly to his left and to his right was a foresty out cropping followed by mountains, each covered in undisturbed snow.
He sure as hell wasn't in Russia any more. But he wasn't anywhere on Earth, he could recall, that had this form of geographic landscape.
He was truly, truly lost. He'd pored over map, after map after map after map. He spent his early years training himself, his elder brothers and father always wanted him to be a buissnesman or civic planner rather than a farmer or a soldier.
Siemowit wanted to be an adventurer. He'd checked every map that the library had, he looked everywhere to find places on Earth that hadn't been mapped or explored.
By the time he was eleven he had more knowledge of the world around him than even his teachers. He then went onto repairing things such as wagons and at one point a man's car.
He fixed his first car when he was fourteen, it had broken down in the street and Siemowit had seen a few schematics on how vehicles worked. The wheel pistons had broken.
It wasn't easy to fix but Siemowit was able to repair the vehicle in a matter of almost an hour. The man offered him cash for the repair but he declined it. Siemowit was too kind in some peoples eyes, but he was a saint in the eyes of others.
He continued to jog after the streak, but to no avail. It was moving far too fast for him to even hope to keep after. It would be gone in a matter of moments.
He squinted to see the town, it was much further away than he expected. He had begun to feel oddly weak, as though he had lost a large amount of blood.
It was probably nothing just a lack of movment that caused him to be so tired. He had jogged a fair distance.
