„Hey, wake up!“ A snout hit his shoulder several times. The mare's voice sounded hoarse like the one of a lentil chewer. The Princess sickness. Having a few nice hallucinations for a small period of time. For the Earth Ponies, the poorest of the tribes, it was often the only way to escape their miserable lives.
Trickled Prize opened his eyes. The brown stallion yawned. He looked like a disgrace. His fur was long and filthy, the mane thick like barbed wire and his legs were always covered in dirt and mud from working on the fields.
The stallion laid on his small hay bed. The light of the sun shone dull through the fabric of his brown tent. It was as large that he, his mother, father and brother could live in it. Together with their five sheeps. The rough blanket scratched over the fur of his back and Trickled Prize threw it off. He yawned and stretched himself.
„Couldn't I sleep longer?“, he asked Blossom Flower. The green mare shook her head. She had a smaller head then him and thinner legs.
„Your brother Breathing Soul is already out with the sheeps.“ Blossom Flower walked to the tent entrance and pushed the cap open. The sun stitched into his black eyes and Trickled Prize closed them by instinct.
Through the slits he caught sight of the other hay beds and the small boxes, in which his family kept their private things. It was not that they had much. A few clothes, mostly outworn from their hard work, bowls, in which they boiled rice and hay. Tin bottles, in which they kept water and sometimes honey. Also three knives, Breathing Soul needed to shear the sheeps.
Trickled Prize sighted. He knew that the other tribes were much richer. How were they able to do that? The Pegasi controlled the weather, which gave them the ability to outmatch the Earth Ponies for they depended on good weather to have a rich harvest. The Unicorns with their filthy rich royality could raise the sun and moon with their magic. And the Earth Ponies needed the sun light, so their plants could grow. It seems like we are the underdog in every situation! Trickled Prize gritted his theet. This just isn't fair. If I could rule the world, I would make everything better for my kind.
Blossom Flower had already prepared his breakfast. Rice and a bit of hay. Also some drips of honey to make the meal sweet. Trickled Prize ate it slowly. It tasted nice, but when you had eaten this for most of your life, even the honey started to taste dreadful. Trickled Prize had heard that the other tribes could place thick sugar on their bread. He snorted at the thought and almost choked on his jealousy.
Blossom Flower did not realized his bad mood. She said: „You should work especially hard today. After all, tomorrow will be the Feast of the Great Harvest.“ He nodded, grumbling and put his ears back. The Feast of the Great Harvest. How could he forget that? Every once in a year the Earth Ponies would burn parts of their harvest as a gift for the Creator.
Every tribe believed in that being. The Creator was the goddess of this world. Trickled Prize had seen figures and pictures of her. The mare with the unicorn horn and the pegasus wings. The mare with the red mane and eyes of pure rubies. She had created this world with her special powers and now watched over it. And the ponies praised her for it.
„Sure.“ Trickled Prize swallowed the last rest of his meal. „See you tomorrow, mother.“ He softly touched her neck with his dirty, ugly snout and walked outside.
Blossom Flowers stood in the entrance of the tent, her limongreen mane a perfect knot and she smiled. „Good-bey, my sons.“
***
The field was a large, dark ground. The earth had been dried out from the sun and was full of rocks and roots. Not the best conditions for growing hay and wheat. But the other areas had been even worse. Trickled Prize was wearing a heavy, uncomfortable crockery. It went around his neck and formed a long line over his back. The keel stuck deep in the hard ground. Around his hips Trickled Prize was wearing a pair of saddle bags, filled with the seed for his new harvest.
The stallion was pulling the plough over the ground. He greethed his theet as he walked step by step. His massive head danced from side to side. This work was very hard. His fur fumed from the heath. The sun burned in his neck as if it was mocking him. Trickled Prize was walking up and down over this dry field, making lines in the ground, in which he threw the seeds.
Next to him was the field, which he had been preparing for the harvest the last few months ago. The wheat shimmered golden in the sun and danced in the wind. Above him the pegasi moved some clouds. But of course only that much, it still would not protect him from the heath. Egoistic, arrogant bastards! His brow furrowed. Not that the unicorns were any better. In his eyes they were nothing more then pompous, vain smart-arses, that boasted about their magical abilities.
No, his race was not like that. The Earth Ponies were the most determined, self-sacrificing and arduous kind of ponies on earth. No one was selfish, no one was arrogant or vain. They helped each other. They were equals. Trickled Prize was proud to be an Earth Pony. The other races had no right to treat his people like that!
Alone in his dark thoughts, he only caught sight of his brother, when that one booped him on the nose. „Morning, Prize“, he said, smiling. Breathing Soul was a silvery blue stallion with a handsome face and a long curley mane. Unlike Trickled Prize, whose Cutie Mark was a shovel, he had a little tornado and a flower. His perfect brother.
But that was not the greatest aspect about Breathing Soul. By some miracle, no one really understood, he had a pair of feathered wings. Anyone, who did not knew that they were relatives, would think they were two different races. Which they partly were. But Trickled Soul tried to ignore this.
„Where are the sheeps?“, he asked.
„Oh, over there, old pal!“ Breathing Soul laughed and pointed at the herd, which was grazing on a hill nearby.
„What do you do, if a timber wolf comes? You are supposed to guard the sheeps!“, answered Trickled Prize sharply.
The pegasus laughed. „Calm down!“
He was flapping his wings and flew upwards. „I could see any threat within a mile, duh!“ Breathing Soul turned his head and waved with his pinion feathers. „After all, that's what these guys are useful for!“ Trickled Prize watched his younger brother, who was shooting through the air. He made loopings, flew on his back, flew backwards and shot towards the ground, before he rose into the sky once more with a joyful laughter.
Trickled Prize could not help but feel a sharp stitch of jealousy. Although he was the oldest, the other Earth Ponies had always looked at his brother. The younger ones especially. Maybe they dreamed of flying. That was not what bothered him. It was something else: His parents, they too adored Breathing Soul. The perfect son. Although they never mentioned it, Trickled Prize knew that they were thinking this. After all, what was he, compared to his brother? The miracle? The flying Beauty? Just the dirty, ugly worker on the field!
Breathing Soul called out: „Have you actually choosen your best pieces of the harvest for the Feast of the Great Harvest?“
„Not yet!“, answered Trickled Prize. He had finished to place the seed into the field. Now he walked towards the field of wheat. „I have thought about choosing a few apples too.“
„Oh, wait!“ Breathing Soul dashed towards the nearby apple trees and flew a feast circle around them. Due to the wind they all dropped down. Trickled Prize stopped. He buried his hoof in the ground near his field. Those apples were his! And Mister Perfect was taking them away from him!
Trickled Prize lowered his head to hide his angry look. „Thank you“, he growled with a forced smile on his face.
***
The Feast of the Great Harvest was celebrated at the figure of the Creator. She was there shown as a triumphical winner over a not visible enemy, risen to her hindlegs, her head thrown backwards with a caring smile on her face, her wings spread. In front of the figure were several Lord tables, one for every family. There they placed their gifts for the Creator and hoped they may be accepted.
Trickled Price had placed several strands of hay and wheat on the Lord Table. The richest and fertilest pieces of his harvest. He waited and send a pray into the sky. Would his offering be accepted? Nothing happened. It might have been nice, if there was a joy once in my life. His eyes gloomed as he smelled smoke and caught sight of his brother. Breathing Soul had given the coat of his youngest sheep together with the apples. And they had been accepted by the magical fire of the Creator.
Of course, Trickled Price thought bitterly as all ponies gathered around the pegasus, who laughed in joy, why shouldn't it have been different? The perfect brother! Look at him with his fancy fur and stupid wings! He is not even a true Earth Pony. And the Creator had accepted his gift. Why did he had to be the one, who got all the praise? What was so special about Breathing Soul? Trickled Prize stared in the direction of the field. He had cursed this place of earth, full of treacherous rocks, so many times! But now they might render a service to him.
***
Trickled Prize made sure, he woke up before everypony else the next morning. He walked over to his brother, who laid there lazily on his bed, his wings spread. The brown stallion stared down at his neck with cold fury. Soon enough he would have gotten rid of his brother! And then he could finally take his rightful place. After all, he was the eldest!
„Breathing Soul“, he hissed between his theet, „wake up!“
The pegasus stretched himself and yawned. „Trickled Prize“, he babbled, still sounding tired, „It is before sunrise.“
Trickled Prize replied: „Now, who had drunken to much Cyder the last night, eh? Besides, the sheeps are waiting. And I wanted to show you something. I discovered it on the field and it looks like it is worth something. But it is too heavy, so I cannot get it out on my own. I need your help.“
Breathing Soul flapped his wings „What could possible be too heavy for you?“, he mocked, „You, the strong stallion, who can pull a plough through a dry ground.“ He softly booped him in his sides.
Trickled Prize rolled his eyes. „Well, if you do not want to come, then I will get all of this for myself. It looked shiny and golden.“
The brown stallion had already stepped a bit out of the tent and acted like he was making his way to the field. „Hey!“, shouted Breathing Soul and dashed after him, „Wait for me, old pal!“
They soon stood on the field. The pegasus looked around curiously. „So“, he asked impatiently, „Where is it? What you wanted to show me?“
Trickled Prize did not replied first. He just walked over the field with his back to his brother. His hooves went over the dry ground as he digged tiny holes after holes. „It has to be here somewhere“, Trickled Prize mumbled evasively, „I just got to find it. It was over here. Somewhere....“
His eyes were narrow as he kept digging. Finalley Trickled Prize had found what he had been looking for. A sharp shaped stone, not too large, but still heavy. „I am sure, it was over here“, he kept talking to his brother, while he started to dig this stone out, „Somewhere here. You will like it, I am sure.“
„Oh, come on!“, shouted Breathing Soul. His wings were flapping as he flew a few inches over the ground on one spot. „You are searching here for half an hour. Are you sure, it was here? Trickled Prize?“ He lifted a brow, because his brother seemed to pull something out. The pegasus landed on the ground. „Trickled Prize“, he asked once more.
„I told you that, what I had found, was worth something“, said Trickled Prize slowly as he eyed the stone in his hoof, „And it really is worth something. Something, you probably could not even understand. Because it means nothing to you.“ A maniac smirk passed his lips. „For you already have it and you are about to loose it.“
„Trickled Prize...?“ Breathing Soul took a step backwards. His ears twitched nervously. „This isn't funny“, he stammered. Trickled Prize whirled around and struck after the pegasus. He knocked him on the ground and pinned him down. In one of his front hooves he was holding the sharp stone. The sun broke keen on its edges.
Breathing Soul's eyes widened. Trickled Price had a weird grimace on his face, full of hate and madness. „Congratulations“, he whispered, „You just found the treasure. Your life.“ And with these words he slammed the stone against his brother's head and throat.
***
The brown stallion was breathing heavily. He took a step back and looked at the pegasus. Breathing Soul answered his glance with blanc eyes and an opened maw. Blood ran down his forehead and transformed into a small pond on the ground by the throat.
I did it.....I just killed my brother. I just killed another pony! Trickled Prize's eyes widened as he rested them on the stone. The edge was covered in dark blood. He quickly threw the weapon away. Terror and shock marked his face. He did not regretted his action. No, he knew, that he just had done a very great crime. Never before one pony had killed another pony. And no one would listen to him.
I have to get away. Far away from here. One might think that Trickled Prize wanted a war with the other tribes. But maybe that was just what he desired. But could this be right? He did not know. Trickled Prize took a step away from the corpse. Maybe it is time for a rebellion. If I just find the right ones, who will listen to me. He then turned around and ran off, disappeared in the forest behind the hills.
***
In the meantime the sun shone on the dead pegasus. He was laying on his side, his wings lay like dry leaves over his flancs. The air around Breathing Soul smelled of death and in the distance a few timber wolves showed up. But they did not dare to come closer. Nor did the flies, which circled around the head, but hesitated to sit down in the eyes and nostrils. For they felt a very special guest was about to arrive to pay her last respect to the fallen stallion.
A bright light exploded over the dead one and its strands were shooting through the air. For a short moment it looked like the sun herself had come down to mourn. Out of this light an alicorn appeared. She had a long neck, a small beautiful face, her swan-like wings caressed the air and her green eyes were full of sorrow.
The mare landed and as she lowered her head, her long, red mane caressed the pegasus' neck. „I am so sorry, my friend“, the Creator whispered, „I had loved you more then your brother and therefor you paid a terrible price. I should have threaten my ponies equal, but I saw the evil in Trickled Prize's mind.“
She sobbed. Her horn started to glow cinnamon. The soul of the pegasus was circling around her, before it transformed itself into a wind and flew towards the nearby forest. „May you reign over this place and may everypony hear your voice, for now you are the wind of the Everfree Forest.“ The Creator lifted her head. She cried louder and mourned. Tears flowed down her face and dropped down. Finally the alicorn spread her wings and rose into the sky. A last flash of golden light and she was gone.
The tear of the alicorn was mixing itself with the blood on the ground near the throat. The pond still did not seem to dry out. It refused to do so as if the bloodguiltiness of Trickled Prize was keeping it alive. Dawn creeped over the sky and was haunted by the up-coming night. The sky turned black and the stars blossomed.
The moon slowly came out behind a cloud. It was a very full moon and it seemed to be larger then usual. Its light shone on the crime scene and touched the pond of blood. Suddenley the Creator's tear seemed to be burned away. The pond became thicker and fringy. It was like the sludge of a swamp, deadly for anyone who stepped into it. It thickened more and more and suddenley a low sound could be heard. The sound of something breathing.
***
Where was she? Was she alive? She listened. Silence around her. Only the whispering of the nearby wind, rustling in the gras. Together with her own breath. Fragile, but steady. And with every breath she took, she smelled this horrible scent. It burnt her nostrils and skinned her throath. Sharp, cold, sludgy, bitter-sweet and of a weird aroma. As if all despair, all hate, all sadness, all cruelity had been combined into one scent. And over it like a weary breath of air the perfume of life.
She kept listening, because her ears were the only organ that was working at the moment. Her eyes were shut close. No hearthbeat. But how can I live without a hearthbeat? Doesn't every being has to have a hearthbeat? Maybe she was not an ordinary being. Maybe it already was enough that her thoughts hold her together. I am thinking, so I must exist!
Her hooves went over the ground. It was hard, but something soaked into her fur. Wet and disgusting. And it had this scent she already had experienced due to her breath. What was this liquid? It felt wonderful. On a weird way. She tried to stand up, but those fragile legs did not allow her to get up. She collapsed and hit something with her chin.
Something massive, stiff and cold. She sniffed and ran over it with her hoof. It was a flanc. A long hill of fur, heavy and cold. By instinct she tried to find a source of energy, but there were no tits. No milk for her. But did she even need milk? She did not have a hearthbeat. Open your eyes! This despair choked her and made her feel helpless. So helpless.
But this smell around her. It was a like a drug, like a guidance for her. Something to cling on. She took another deep breath and felt the scent together with her magic floating to her. Maybe this liquid, in which she was laying could help her. Give her the energy, a foal found in its mother's milk. It would rescue her form the cold air and this despair.
But first she had to open her eyes. She concentrated herself. The lids felt sticky and muddy. As if another liquid was dripping out of them. They trembled as if they wanted to protest against the order to open them.
Finalley they shot open. Liquid and tears ran over her eyeballs. Her iris was turqouise and surrounded a pupil as small and slitlike as a snake ones. She even had no white around this iris, but instead a fair cyan tone. But of course she could not see those dragon eyes now.
She kept laying where she was and looked around. She laid on a field next to a dead pegasus, in whose blanc eyes her small, threatening looking, fragile face was reflected. She could see, that she had a horn. Long and sharp, but beautiful. Her dark coat was made of a smoke-like fabric and she seemed to be like a ghost.
The liquid, in which she had been laying all the time, was a pond of blood. The moon send silver shimmers over it. Nearby the field was a forest. She could see the tops of its trees. The wind howled in them and told her about the murder and the victim, who still laid next to her. She came on her shaky hooves and stared at her reflection in the pond.
She was a tiny mare with dragon-like eyes and a small, long face. On her back laid a pair of feathered wings. She tried to open them. They were wet from the blood. The ravenfeathers gave them a bit the shape of a dragon or bat. Her wings did not look like the one of the dead. Her mane and tail seemed to be parts of the sky above her. A majestic dark blue, over it tiny, white dots. The mane had a smog-like fabric.
Her tiny stomach rumbled and she hated her weak appereance. As she opened her maw to drank the blood, she spotted long, sharp fangs. The fangs of a predator. She closed her eyes and dipped her snout in the blood and drowned her tongue in its wonderful taste. She drank and drank, feeling every swallow together with her magic, which started to boil like hot water.
As soon as the pond was gone, she rose her head. She was taller now, in fact had the creator's size. Her mane danced around her and her dragon eyes rested on the corpse. Now she knew that she had to thank this crime for it had given her the elements of her birth. And the crime also told her, that the ponie's lifes were full of despair and negative emotions. Dark emotions, she could feed on.
She slowly opened her wings. I need a name. A glance in the sky. As dark as her coat and her hearth. „Nightmare.“ As the word rolled over her tongue it filled her with joy and praise. Her purpose was clear: To bring the evils out in those ponie's hearths and cause despair in their lifes. Nightmare laughed evilly, before she flew away from the corpse, away from the place of her birth, until her silhouette was painted sharp against the moon. And with a violet flash she was gone.
Author's Note
I am from Germany and my english is actually pretty good. I still appologice for any upcoming mistake. I reread it now and tried to correct all mistakes I could find, so please do not always comment on spelling mistakes. I am aware of those.
This story is partly influenced by the biblic story of Kain and Abel.
The Creator was designed after Lauren Faust's OC.
