Changed

by 2XDEAD

Rating: teen
Tags: Romance, Original Character, Adventure, Wonderbolts, Sex, Applejack, Gore, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Soarin, Rainbow Dash
Length: 15244

Soarin finds himself imprisoned in a new land. Meanwhile, an imposter takes his place.

Soarin of the Wonderbolts finds himself in an unfortunate situation. Attacked while traveling home, he is imprisoned in a land far from home in the hands of a curious mare. Soarin must find a way to escape and return to safety, despite new circumstances arising.

Meanwhile, an imposter takes Soarin's place, but finds himself questioning his decisions as he discovers friendship and even love amongst normal ponies. Soon this imposter must make a choice, which will affect his future and perhaps Equestria's.

(This may have been done before, but I'm just writing for the lulz. Characters are tentative at this point. Minor errors may occur. Coverart is lame, I know, but I feel like people like something to catch the eye before they read a story.)

Published 2012-05-18 00:34:01 UTC
Last updated 2013-09-13 01:01:18 UTC

Prologue: The Switch

“Ooookay, maybe I took another wrong turn. Didn’t I do this last time?” Gently gliding over a darkly forested area, a young pegasus stallion carefully considered a map open in his hooves, squinting at it suspiciously. He’d bought the thing at a cheap souvenir stand, and it gave only the laziest of potential landmarks. As much as he was excellent at flying, Soarin was not precisely the best at geography. In fact, he was fairly certain he’d failed that part of his schooling. Unfortunate in this situation, in which he was trying to find his way back home.

The trouble with home was that Cloudsdale had an annoying habit of being moved about. This was all too common, especially in the rainy seasons during spring. Cloud movement wasn’t his favorite thing, but Soarin had been on that duty quite often before he became a Wonderbolt. Now he was often exempt from such tasks, to his great delight. Soarin didn’t consider it beneath him, per se, but he found performing acrobatics and racing were much more, well, fun.

But despite the pleasure he got out of his work, Soarin every now and then needed a vacation. This one, he took in Las Pegasus. A cousin of his happened to be working the slots, and Soarin loved a good gamble. There were plenty of times when he found his ear nearly ripped off by Spitfire for trying a stunt a little too risky and nearly breaking a leg. Or a wing. Or three of his ribs. Okay, only the last one actually happened. Soarin was, after all, an elite flyboy. But on the rare occasion he did crash, it was quite spectacular, at least. He was certain Spitfire had been impressed, even if she scolded him worse than his mother.

At the moment, being out from the supervision from his captain gave Soarin a distinct feeling of relief. He certainly didn’t want to be rescued from a situation he was perfectly capable of getting out of on his own. Probably.
“Useless map,” he sighed, tucking it into his pack. At that moment, an irate rumble came from his stomach. Despite being a little lost, Soarin’s eyes brightened at the prospect of a hearty meal. Nothing would clear his mind up like a little picnic in the woods below. They were dark and a little dreary, sure, but he was certain it couldn’t be as bad as the Everfree Forest. And he was also positive it wasn’t the Everfree Forest itself; he hadn’t even passed Ghastly Gorge, which he remembered from his trip on the way to Las Pegasus.

Banking slightly left and down, Soarin executed a sloping dive down into the trees. He flared his wings before hitting the tree line, slowing his descent until he gently landed on the forest floor. Perfect landing. His feathers ruffled with pride, though it was dampened a bit by the fact that he was without an audience to admire the effect. No problem, it simply meant he could eat without disruption. With a less graceful thump, his bottom landed within a pile of decaying leaves and squished, yellow grass. His saddlebag was promptly removed, and he greedily rummaged within, shoving aside the trinkets and hastily tossed in Wonderbolt uniform in order to grab a brown lunchsack. Soarin was a pony of very humble tastes, to say the least.
With surprising reverence, he pulled from the sack a hay-salad sandwich, with extra mayo on each slice of bread. It was beautifully crafted, with his own loving hooves. But such admiration was quite sort lived, as Soarin began demolishing his work with great exuberance, mayo running down his muzzle and dripping slightly onto the ground. He greedily licked the condiment from his lips, and almost stooped to eating it off of the shriveled leaves it had fallen on. He thought better of it, however; the leaves didn’t look like they’d taste that good, even with mayonnaise lathering them. Soarin considered himself a connoisseur of leaves (much to the tolerant groaning of his teammates).

Being a one-pony-sandwich-apocalypse, his sandwich was quickly devastated and resting humbly in Soarin’s digestive system. Patting his engorged stomach appreciatively, Soarin stretched slightly, gave a satisfied belch, and began rummaging into his bag in search of more snacks to devour.

Quickly, quickly, skitter, slip, leap. The shadows shifted through the Darkwood, as trees sighed and leaned on one another wearily. A thin body weaved itself through the upheaved roots and huddled trunks, each hoofstep as light as a moth’s landing. There was always great danger in leaving the Swarm. Even just the act of departure had its risks, especially without the blessing of the Queen. In this case, he was certain that he’d probably be given a curse if Her Majesty had known. A long stallion made his way carefully, squinting at the sky above, which seemed to gleam with a brilliance he was quite unaccustomed to. It was especially unnerving to consider that he was in the domain of a being far more powerful than he, and no doubt far less benevolent towards his existence.

Irrelevant. If he desired to continue said existence, it was far better to penetrate deeper into the land of Equestria, and to brave the dangers. As if there weren’t enough of dangers already. With a hissing exhalation, he pressed forward into the wood, giving no more consideration of what he was getting himself into. There was no doubt for self-doubt; only for movement, and for opportunities awaiting somepony who was willingly to snag them in his fangs.

The trees were the safest way, he reasoned. He could hide in the bushes and in the long darkness cast by the towering deciduous forest. While it would be swifter to take to the sky, the day was not his friend. It was better to take the fewest chances possible. Chitin had never taken many risks in his life, and he wasn’t planning on extending himself on more than need be in this case.

With a quick humming of his wings, he had gently placed himself across a rather suspiciously colored stream when he heard a rumbling noise nearby. The young male froze, his bulging eyes seeming to push themselves out further as he held his breath, ears turned forward. His intent listening was rewarded with noises of rustling and… munching? Silent as a spider, he crept forward, leaning against a dark oak and peering around the thick mass of the trunk to examine the source.

Sitting with blissful obliviousness in the middle of a small clearing was a brightly colored blue pony. The hue of the stallion’s coat was as intense as the sky itself. His mane was windswept, and a much darker color. Oddly, the fellow was adorned in a brightly colored shirt with flowers all over it. Tacky. Chitin gazed in genuine curiosity, and not a little contempt. The rumbling noise was made again as the stallion belched after swallowing a great deal of some liquid from a flask at his side. He appeared to be traveling to or from somewhere, just as Chitin was. But it was obvious that this pony had no need to be as obtrusive and shifty as his counterpart. Nonetheless, Chitin realized, this could be just what he needed.

He tapped his chin with one forehoof in thought, and then nodded. The poor fool was going to realize the dangers of this particular wood extended far beyond the occasional chimera.

Soarin had finished his chips and his muffin. Swallowing down the last of the apple cider in his canteen, he gave a great sigh of contentment. Honestly, it didn’t really matter if Soarin was home or away, a good meal was enough to make his day enjoyable. He sat for a few moments, eyes closed, enjoying an afternoon breeze, before he began to grab his trash and stuff it back into the now deflated lunch bag. He was bent to his task when he felt a very abrupt impact on his side. Soarin staggered slightly, and flared his wings in surprise. He whirled to face whatever had hit him, on full alert. All he heard was a buzzing noise nearby, flickering movements from the corner of his eye. But no matter where he turned, Soarin couldn’t see who (or what) exactly had given him a thump in the ribs.

Warily, he began to turn in circles, uncertain of whether there was any true threat. “Hey, uh, whoever is out there… uhhh, I don’t have any food, so, you know. Sorry. I mean… if you’re out there.” The extended silence gave him pause. There didn’t seem to be any response at all, not even the sound of wind in the trees. The dead quiet was unnerving, as if all life was holding its breath, and watching these few moments with a judgmental eye. “Okay, well, I guess that’s settl – “ This time it came from the left, and he felt his pinion feathers crackling a little. His cry was more startled than pained. The figure he saw skittering back into the shadows was quick and insectile, but disturbingly large and pony-shaped as well. “Celestia’s knickers!” Soarin decided that he would do far better to get the hay out of Dodge.

With expert technique, Soarin shot off the ground with a few energetic swoops of his wing. He found himself tilting slightly, and the struggle was greater than he was accustomed to. With his pinion feathers crooked, one or two even falling off, he found that taking to the air (and staying in it) presented an entirely new challenge. Despite this, Soarin managed to get himself off the ground and in flight. He was a decent height above the forest when he let himself look back down warily, wondering what exactly he had seen. That is, until the very creature burst from the treetops with surprising speed and made a beeline right for his hindleg.

Soarin yelped in surprise and horror as the creature sank needle teeth into his haunch, buzzing furiously and shaking its head with all the enthusiasm of a pitbull. In the frenzied kicking he applied towards his assailant, Soarin was able to recognize what it was. He recalled distinctly from the wedding he’d attended in Canterlot a great swarm of these things. They’d caused a horrendous panic, and Soarin had attempted to aid the royal guard in beating back the intruders. He’d not expected at all to find one of these beastly Changlings trying to gnaw on him in the middle of nowhere, so many months later.

The aerial struggle caused Soarin to lose his own center of balance. He tipped dangerously left then right, trying to maintain altitude. The creature had moved its attack from biting to kicking at him, darting around with surprising bursts of short speed. The build of the Changling allowed it to perform quick changes in direction and it possessed a certain agility to its movements. Soarin remembered these general observations from his brief encounter with the swarm over Canterlot. This was to his own great disadvantage for midair battle, where his wing was already hampered. Twisting to avoid a kick to the nose – the only part more sensitive was probably located on his lower abdomen – Soarin found himself wide open to a hit to the solar plexus. Immediately stunned, the pegasus dropped like a stone into the treetops below, gasping for air as his diaphragm spasmed painfully. He felt the delicate feathers and skin of his wings scraping painfully on angry branches that slowed his ultimate descent to the forest floor. The world spun up and down as he fell.

He hit the ground on his side. His head was knocked angrily into the hard earth, leaves crackling in surprise as they tangled up in his mane. Soarin’s vision was slowly tunneling, as darkness edged over him, warm and comforting. He was dimly aware of the softest hoofsteps approaching him. A pair of bulging cyan eyes narrowed coldly were the last thing Soarin remembered before losing consciousness.

Chapter 1: What Goes Up

It was definitely a bit different to fly with feathered wings. Chitin found himself flapping awkwardly often, and swaying unsteadily at the slightest headwind. The aching bruises covering him attested to the failed test flights. Now he was beginning to get the hang of this craziness, which surprisingly involved a lot less energy than he was accustomed to expending.

A Changling had precision control over its flight pattern, due to the light structure of its body and the high speed of each wing beat. It was quite optimal for accuracy of movements, but not for endurance flights, certainly. Another reason why making the journey on hoof was preferable to taking to the sky before he’d acquired his disguise.

That is, when he finally managed to get a basic idea of how to move this confounded body. The pegasus pony was bulkier and more clumsy in shape that Chitin had anticipated. Each wing stroke was highly overpowered, which compensated for what seemed to Chitin to be the extreme sluggishness of his new appendages. There were some techniques that seemed to crossover from the Changling’s natural form, however. In fact, they were taken great advantage of in the pegasus body. Angling his wings forward gave him greater lift, and he could sacrifice his height for velocity in a swooping motion before he regained altitude. The greatest peculiarity that aided him, he discovered, was heated updrafts that could cause him to go soaring high in the sky. These thermal drafts gave him this height for little energy in return.

If he possessed a more scientific mind, perhaps Chitin would have marveled at his discoveries. As it was, it was simply the utility of flight he was more concerned with. Now that he had adjusted, he was concerned more with covering ground and putting a good distance between himself and the Hive. In that respect, he actually felt sorry for the pony he’d ambushed.

After discovering that poor fellow on the ground, twitching as he was from that painful descent, it seemed to be in Chitin’s best interest if he made certain that whoever this stallion was, he didn’t follow Chitin and cause problems. There had been a serious moment where he’d even considered outright killing the pony. But he shied away from the thought in the end, even feeling a twist of shame that it actually had its appeal for a few seconds. While practical to the bone, even he felt some moral boundaries had to be put in place. He decided that assault was as far as he was willing to go. For the time being.

On the other hand, he couldn’t simply leave the pony there, where he might easily figure out how to get home. It made him very uneasy, but honestly he had no choice but to pull the pony deeper into the Darkwood – perhaps even bring him within throwing distance of the Deadwood. The idea of retracing his steps made Chitin swallow thickly. But… the other options were just too ugly to contemplate. He would make sure the stallion lost his way, before continuing on his own.

Chitin thus went about stripping the pegasus of his pack and his shirt, before dragging him with grunts and wheezes of effort deep into the forest. He hadn’t quite been able to fathom such weight on another being before. While the stallion was a bit bulkier than Chitin, he felt like a sack of stones flopping around on the ground. From the way he’d seen his mysterious pony friend eat, Chitin spitefully speculated he carried that extra weight in his stomach. Eventually it was more his exasperation at the effort of hauling around a limp pony than anything else that caused Chitin to unceremoniously dump the blue stallion in a heap next to a stream. At least the fellow would have water. Not that he lacked for moisture – Chitin could see a line of drool slipping out of the corner of the pegasus’s mouth. Chrysalis’s horn, Chitin felt actually a bit sorry for him. He just looked mightily pathetic, lolling around on the ground like that.

Chitin shook his head. No, this was the way it had to be. The pony had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, but he’d make it okay if he had any sense in that head. Chitin wasn’t quite certain on that account, but he shook off his doubts by quickly jerking away from the unconscious pony. He had more important things to attend to.

The tree – yes, he remembered where it was. Not too far from where he’d put his treasure for safekeeping. It was a tall, withering oak, with a large hollow that might have made for a nest of avian creature. Or worse. When he found it, it had not been occupied, however, and Chitin had carefully placed the object within, until it was safe to return and retrieve it. He had not quite expected the opportunity to arise so quickly, but since he’d found a better mode of transport, he supposed he’d best take it with him. Having traveled a moderate amount of times in the area on patrol, he had a decent map back to the tree in his head. Worry struck him that it might not be there; there was always the possibility some fool scavenger might come along and take away what seemed like just a shiny bauble.

But this was more important than some mere trinket to Chitin. He carefully pulled a slightly gleaming, round object from the hollow before hastily shoving it into the stallion’s saddlebag, which he had brought with him. It nestled itself neatly into what looked to be some sort of uniform within. At least it would have something soft to be wrapped in, in case of being jostled around during the long journey. He treated it with some reverence, like a holy object. The actual fragility of his prize, along with the meaning of its very existence, made Chitin quite cautious.

Then came the two hours of flying practice. Only afterwards did he put on the ugly shirt and strap on the saddle bag. He’d already decided on a destination. It was time to find the city in the sky.

The ground was cold. That, for some reason, was quite puzzling. That is, before the massive headache set into his skull. Soarin groaned and cracked his eyes slightly, before squeezing them shut. The world seemed suddenly over bright. The light cut right into his head like a knife. Suddenly just laying there for a few minutes seemed like a good idea. It certainly gave Soarin some time to think and take a quick inventory of everything.

It appeared that he was, most importantly, not dead. That seemed like a silver lining to the whole situation. It certainly cheered up Soarin quite a bit. On the downside, the reason he knew that was because his body was aching in numerous places. A movement check affirmed that no bones were broken, though his wings had taken a bad smashing. If flying had been shaky before, he figured gloomily that his wings had no doubt been effectively clipped by this catastrophe. Looked like when he did when he got up off the ground, he was going to be hoofing it.

To most pegasus ponies, it probably wouldn’t be more than a disappointing inconvenience. To an athletic pony like Soarin, the idea of not flying for a month of recovery was definitely upsetting. He reminded himself, again, that at least he was alive. Then again, he wasn’t certain why. He remembered distinctly that ominous face directly over his, about ready to strike. That thing – that Changling – had no doubt been moving in for the kill before Soarin had blacked out. It seemed to him quite lucky that he wasn’t torn apart and eaten by this point.

With the good and the bad sorted in his head, Soarin tried his luck once more at cracking an eyelid to suspiciously examine the world around him. After forcing himself to adjust, he began to realize he was definitely not where he remembered being before. Opening his eyes fully, he carefully raised his head, wincing as his skull screamed in protest. Shut up in there. Rubbing his injured temple gingerly, Soarin pushed himself into a sitting position. So far so good. And now for the standing. He was wobbly, but Soarin managed to get himself upright soon enough, looking blearily around.

No, it was definitely not the gloomy and grey trees he’d been flying over… recently? Had it been a long time? He didn’t know if it was even still the same day. Well, that was an unfortunate thought. Therefore, Soarin decided to simply not even think about it. Instead, he looked curiously at these new trees. They all looked to be quite barren and dead, as if it were autumn when everything when to hibernate, instead of late spring – the rainy season. But instead, the trees seemed to be resolutely grey and black, limbs twisting about in violent outrage of the intruder. Soarin thought this place more hostile than the forest from before. Surely he couldn’t be that far away from there, though. After all, it wasn’t like one simply magically transported or something. Soarin knew he wasn’t the brightest pony in the bunch, but even he knew that. Or so he hoped, anyways.

Soarin became aware at that point of a trickling sound. Looking around, he followed the noise until the earth became moist under his hooves. There was a decrepit little stream gently winding itself along. Without thinking, Soarin gratefully dipped his head in and drank heavily. The water was a bit grimy, but otherwise passable. He slurped noisily and happily, feeling quite refreshed now that he had some liquids in him. It was then that he looked down and realized – “No!” Soarin wailed. “My lucky shirt!” Whoever or whatever had dumped him here had stripped him not only of his saddlebag, but his favorite lucky shirt as well. He once won a Black Rabbit tournament wearing that shirt! And now it was gone, as good as dead wherever it was. This had Soarin far more upset than waking up battered in the middle of nowhere; he could take care of those problems. The shirt, however, was lost forever.

Suddenly forlorn, Soarin sat abruptly on his haunches, the full gravity of the situation hitting him. He didn’t know where he was, where he was going, and wasn’t really in that fit of a state to travel anyways. This was presenting a bit of an issue. He tried to think about it, but his head just pounded harder in response, as if his brain were telling him to stop bothering it. Deciding his brain probably would be able to think more clearly later, Soarin got to his hooves, picked, a random direction, and started walking. Moving his head too much caused lances of pain to shoot through him. “Ow. Ow. Ow.” He whimpered in tangent with his headache, though plodded on dutifully all the same.

The forest didn’t appear to vary much in appearance as he traveled on. Each weak bush of dead grass looked as same as the next, and the trees didn’t appear to have any variance in species other than dead and deader. Is deader even a word? He looked left and right but nothing seemed to change. The path he had set off on followed close to the little stream, but he didn’t seem to be seeing any hint of a path, or even a little bit of civilization. He wouldn’t mind having somepony show up to point him the way home, or even offer a little bit of dinner. He was feeling quite famished. He supposed being attacking and laying unconscious for a few hours really worked up the appetite. Soarin wasn’t being rewarded with any such luck however. There wasn’t even a scrap of life in the area to snack on.

Ahead, however, he finally began to see a bit of change in scenery. It looked like, from his angle, a possible pond. If there was anything living in the area, surely it might show itself here. Soarin approached eagerly. Under his hooves, he heard a curious snapping sound. There was one moment for him to look down at the ground in confusion. And then he was suddenly lifted into the air, bouncing slightly when he started coming back down. The world was a disorienting whirl of ugly monotone colors and shapes before he finally seemed to settle. His head officially felt like it was about to fall off at this point, and he was honestly sick to his stomach. But now he could see, from a very inconvenient angle, that he was stuck in some sort of netting. A trap. Of course.

“Celestia, why have you forsaken me?” Soarin’s voice was a moan of frustration more than anything. He couldn’t believe that, of all things, he’d been caught in some sort of net. His body was twisted in an awkward U-shape, his hindlegs practically shoved over his head. His wings were especially crushed into the net, feathers sticking out in a haphazard manner. Soarin supposed he’d already lost a decent amount, why not snap off a few more? It wasn’t like he needed them at the moment. It was apparent he was going nowhere; not until someone came along and decided to take him down.

“Could things. Honestly. Get. Any. Worse.” That was when he heard a rustling of movement below.

The city in the sky. It was not like anything that Chitin had quite anticipated. He had flown for some time before spotting it; it was quite hard to miss, considering the veritable swarm of pegasus ponies popping in and out of the clouds at any given moment, off to visit the world below or returning back to the city. Chitin had heard of Cloudsdale, although he was quite certain most of these ponies heard little and less about the Hive. The ways of the Changlings were very secretive and tightlipped. It made things quite easy when one’s targets were quite unaware of the true potential of their unspoken enemy. Not that Chitin exactly considered himself an enemy. He was a visitor, although he’d come with a different purpose than collecting energy from the positive emotions of the pegasus ponies.

And oh, were the emotions flying just as fast as the ponies. He could almost taste the bubbling joy coming off a particularly self-engrossed couple that was rubbing noses together. It was a bizarre ritual that Chitin hadn’t seen before, but was knowledgeable enough to guess the purpose of the odd behavior. It seemed that a lot of things were done different in Equestria than at home. Or, he realized suddenly, he supposed it wasn’t home for him anymore. Chitin didn’t have any plans on returning, and that filled him with a small sense of regret. At least the Hive had been familiar, even if he had decided to make himself something of an outlaw. And here, he could not drop his guard, could not lower his disguise even for a moment.

Nonetheless, he couldn’t help an expression of wonder that covered his face as he absorbed all of the sights. The cities looked just like he’d heard they would. Everything up here was brilliant and shining, the perfect opposite of whatever it was Chitin was comfortable with. While he wasn’t entirely compatible with the place, he couldn’t help but be fascinated with the workings, and compare it with his own home. It was strange, to see so many varied ponies passing. Sure, they were mostly pegasus ponies (although he spotted a hot air balloon floating past with what looked like earth pony tourists), but nonetheless, the amazing variety of color and style each one exhibited was enough to impress the Changling. He’d never actually left the Hive on many occasions before, and certainly not to here; it was not his particular, well, destiny as prescribed by the Queen. Not for a drone like him, anyways.

It was very carefully that he placed his hooves on his first cloud. He wasn’t quite certain his transformation magic would provide him with the powers of walking on the clouds that these ponies seemed to have, or if perhaps his own innate powers would let him cloud walk anyways. Regardless of the actual answer, he found his hooves comfortably nestled in the soft white fluff. Strange indeed. Wandering through Cloudsdale wasn’t an experience all that different from the Hive Center, he found out shortly afterwards. Here, many ponies were just as quickly to be on their way to whatever business they had in mind, and they frankly barely glanced twice at him. It was less these encounters between strangers than the absurd good natured behavior they seemed to exude in other circumstances. When two ponies that knew each other crossed paths, they stopped and chatted with easy familiarity.

Chitin felt a light touch on his shoulder. He practically leaped out of his tacky topwear in surprise. Turning to face the offender, body tense, he found himself looking down at a wizened pegasus who was watching him with what seemed to be general bemusement. “Errrr… good… hello?” Chitin fumbled with his words slightly. His voice sounded different to his ears, as it did with a full transformation. He supposed he sounded just as fumbling and bumbling as whomever that stallion was that he had replaced. Even so, he felt a bit like hitting himself for not even thinking of a proper greeting. Now he was looking awkwardly into the eyes of this old pony, who seemed torn between amusement and apprehension.

“Well, hey there. Sorry if I, er, startled you son. It just seemed like you were a bit lost here. Newcomer, huh?”

“Uh, I guess that’s a word for it.” Chitin looked warily down at his unwanted companion. The pegasus had shoulders sloped forward with age, and wings that looked like they could barely flap, let alone keep that rickety body in the air. The pony’s mane was thinned almost to nothing, just a few wisps of straggly white hairs that clung stubbornly to the scalp. His general color was a muted orange – perhaps washed out as the years flew past. Nonetheless, there was a sort of concern that Chitin felt around the pegasus. It was almost palpable to his innate sense for affection and love. While not at all equal to such feelings in strength, there seemed a sort of passing camaraderie he was projecting towards Chitin. His inborn empathy (as a matter of finding sources of “food”), Chitin acknowledged, would provide a sort of defense against possible bad intentions.

“Well,” the aging pony continued uncertainly. “My name’s Flicker Top. And no, before you go asking, it’s not cause all the mares flick their tops off when I walk past.” He gave a toothless chuckle, and Chitin felt his eyebrows split in different directions as one practically hit his hairline, and the other plummeted until his right eye was squinting. The elder stallion seemed to realize that Chitin was not actually enjoying the joke only a few moments later. Coughing slightly, Flicker looked at him with a lop-sided smile. “I apologize, son, still got the old sense of humor, you know. Anyhow, what do they call you?”

Oh, right. A name. He still didn’t know it. He’d looked through all of the random objects (mostly snacks) in the saddlebags of his victim, but nothing contained any identifying information. Not even a penned in name on the tag within the strange body suit. Chitin thought it might have been a bit childish, but at least it would have been helpful in finding out who he was supposed to be. Thinking fast, he looked around. Inspiration, think, think. “Umm… Nimrod!” Okay, probably not the best answer. Resisting the urge to smash his hoof into his mouth, he cleared his throat. “That is, um, Nimbus Rod. But, er, my friends call me Nimrod?” He smiled weakly, trying not to feel pathetic.

“Eh? Nimbus Rod, huh?” Flicker thought about it for a moment. “Yeah, I like it. A strong name. Nimrod, it’s real good to make your acquaintance. You seem like an interesting young fella, and I’ve got nothing to do since I retired. So why don’t you and I go see the sights, huh?” Chitin might have refused, if he didn’t realize that it might actually be helpful. With a guide, he might actually be able to figure the place out, find out what he was doing here, and maybe even get himself a vague idea of a battle plan. Honestly, he knew that it was better to find a way to store up some power, and then find somewhere safe he could place the orb.

“Er, alright Mister Top. I guess.”

Seemingly unable to recognize reluctance when he heard it, Flicker Top gave an enthusiastic whack of Chitin’s back. “That’s the spirit! I’ve always wanted to be a tour guide!”

Uncertain what exactly what a tour was let alone someone who guided it, Chitin followed Flicker anyways. The pegasus pony generally seemed content to do most of the talking, while his Changling companion trailed behind, listening and observing. Commonly Flicker Top interjected with jokes, especially perverted ones. “I remember in my day when I canoodled a waitress in the backroom of this restaurant,” Flicker Top said with a wink at Chitin as they passed a respectable enough café. Chitin spent the next couple of minutes attempting to remove that image from his mind, all while Flicker Top cackled. This stallion was an outright pervert. Chitin couldn’t imagine why he’d chosen the lost looking blue pegasus out of the crowd to make friends with. It seemed more like he was more interested in scoping out the mares than anything, so why not hit on them instead of drag Chitin around?

Unable to penetrate the mysteries of Flicker Top’s mind, he plodded along, dutifully looking wherever it was that Flicker Top was gesticulating at wildly. “I don’t suppose you’ve ever been to the Wild West, eh?” Flicker Top asked after noting a pegasus pony with a cowboy hat and spurs that could probably gouge someone’s eye out.

“Don’t suppose I have,” Chitin thought, getting annoyed and bored by this point. No tone he took seemed to faze his guide, however. At least he was trying to include Chitin in a bit of the talk this time instead of recounting a weird story about a cloud raining pies after an unfortunate accident at the cloud factory.

“Hooo, boy, I got a grandson out there. I swear to you, it’s the only place exciting left in the world. All sorts of craziness with the natives and the pioneers.” Chitin said nothing, thinking about how he’d rather just have a home than an adventure on his hand. “Honestly, if I were just a decade younger, I’d want to be just like that fella, a proper cowpony. Wouldn’t you?”

“No, not really,” Chitin flatly stated.

Surprised at the outright denial, Flicker looked at Chitin curiously. “Well, why not Nimrod? What more would you want?” Chitin couldn’t find a response to that.

“Er, I’m more of a stay in one place kind of person.” Flicker Top tilted his head to the side uncomprehendingly.

“Then why are you here in Cloudsdale?” Oops. Right, he was traveling. Chitin ran a hoof through his mane. This was seriously starting to fray his nerves.

“Ugh, it’s… it’s family business. Listen, I don’t have time for this.” He’d gotten absolutely nothing to accomplish any of his goals from this stallion. It was definitely time to move on. He felt suddenly uncomfortable when he saw Flicker Top’s face fall.

“Oh… right. Places to be and such. Sorry, Nimrod, I didn’t mean to hold you up by talking so much.” Chitin looked away, unable to meet Flicker Top’s gaze. The pegasus stood looking balefully for a few moments longer before he turned and slowly plodded away in the other direction. Chitin stared down at his hooves, uncertain at his own discomfort from the very brisk farewell.

Taking a circuitous route now, Chitin resumed his solo wanderings. It felt much quieter now without all that talking. If only he could – wait a moment.

Backtracking several paces, Chitin stared at the display case of a small music store. There, hung a poster. And on it, there, the same blue mane, the same crazy outfit, the exact marking that rested on his flank even now. It was a poster for the Wonderbolts.

And Chitin’s new face was on it.

Chapter 2: Must Come Down

Helpless in the treetops, Soarin’s gaze was riveted on the shadowy movement below. The net kept twisting a little in the wind, annoyingly turning his back to the approaching figure. It came with a slow trod at first, and then faster as it neared. Finally, from his perch, Soarin could see it was – to his horror – another Changling. This one’s shape was similar in structure to the previous one, a shiny black insect come to crawl over its victim. Scratch that, more like an arachnid. He could already imagine that thin, delicate mouth reaching in, biting his neck, and sucking the juices out of him. His horror grew when the creature stood directly below him, it’s bug-eyes bulging and wide as it stared and stared up at him. He could hear the shallow breathing of the creature, quick and breathy with excitement. Soarin was about ready to wet himself.

A faint hum hit the air, as the creature rose up. Soarin whimpered slightly, trying not to face his inevitable death by shrieking like a filly. The Changling that hovered beside him now seemed to be about equal in size to the one previous. He noted, however, that some of the jagged edges of his former attacker were smoother in this creature. As well, to his bewilderment, this Changling had – hair? It was glistening and obviously well cared for, with bangs styled neatly over the eyes that nonetheless stretched outward, and a face framed in large, delicate curls. The hair was a fine grey hue with streaks of dark plum twisting throughout. The tail matched, equally curled and ending in what appeared to be a strand of black ribbon tied in a feminine bow. It seemed this Changling was female, and was making a very strong point of it. He couldn’t imagine why – all Changlings still basically looked the same, and probably didn’t have any problems with finding suitable mates or whatever it was they did. And by appearing all the same, he supposed he meant they all were an image of horror crawling out of the grave. Didn't seem like they'd care too much for anypony to gussy themselves up for the other sex, given that record.

He closed his eyes as he felt the hot breath of the Changling on his face, as it looked him over slowly and carefully. “I don’t believe it,” came a sudden whisper, a voice as dry as the husk of a molting bug. There was definitely a feminine hint to it, despite that. From this proximity, he also picked up the musk of wet leaves. “A pony this close to the Deadwood?” The Changling circled a few times around the net, examining him from every angle. Soarin found the whole process quite disconcerting. What, was she trying to mark out the juiciest pieces of meat or something? It hardly seemed polite to prolong his inevitable demise like this. Soarin almost felt a little disappointed that the tension was easing from the situation as it appeared that mare was holding back on brutally ripping him limb from limb. Instead, she was poking him repeatedly in the cutiemark, perhaps trying to see if it would rub off.

“Stop that!” Soarin finally said, his ears pinned against his skull. He glowered darkly, as the Changling withdrew slightly, startled. Her head cocked quizzically to the side as she gazed at him. He found it difficult to divine the exact emotions playing across the mare’s face. It was too alien for him to really find any familiarity in the movement of those gossamer eyes.

After a moment, the mare spoke again, her leathery rasp grating against Soarin’s ears. “It’s just quite strange. And exciting! I’m very happy. It’s truly wonderful that you’re here.” This sounded like someone a little too chipper to be eating him. Soarin stared at the Changling that now darted above him, alighting gently on the branch that was holding up the trapped pegasus. He could now stare directly up at her as she began to poke about with the mechanism holding the netting up. “Truly, I have many questions for you. I’ve always greatly admired your people.”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Soarin said. He would have waved his hooves for emphasis except they were lost somewhere above his head. “You… aren’t you going to eat me?” It seemed a bit strange that the mare was talking about questions and enjoying his “people” unless she was planning on rubbing sauce all over him and then proceeding to… well, do nasty terrible things with her mouth. He couldn’t quite believe that this was not the case, and that in fact what he thought to be his doom could be his salvation.

Stopping in her work, the Changling peered down at him in what he thought might be surprise. He couldn’t even fathom how those bulging eyes could possibly get any wider, however. “What?” She then tittered slightly. “No, not at all. Changlings don’t eat ponies. Wherever did you get that idea?” Soarin stared at her, processing this little bit of information.

“Er, the teeth?” he suggested weakly. They were rather sharp and curved. Seemed appropriate for shredding flesh and the like.

“That’s ridiculous,” she dismissed lightly, resuming fiddling with the pulley attached firmly to the tree. “The Deadwood is a dangerous place, and we just need to defend ourselves.”

Now that Soarin thought about it, he didn’t really remember anypony back in Canterlot being mauled to death by the Changlings. If anything, they just seemed to be generally flying around causing havoc. No grisly scenes of deaths had to be cleaned up after Shining Armor and Princess Mi Amora Cadenza repelled the Swarm. They’d even managed to get the wedding done shortly afterward. It was actually a pretty sweet deal. Upon reflection, maybe he was a wee bit wrong about the diet of Changlings. Soarin hadn’t ever really bothered to look into it anyways. At the time it seemed unimportant, what with everything back to normal and all. He hadn’t ever expected to run into not one but two on the way home from Las Pegasus.

“Right then. So… why, um, did you catch me in your net?” He still wasn’t entirely sure if the Changling was telling the truth, but she seemed to be benevolent enough for the moment. She peered down at him while tugging on a rope.

“Well, I didn’t actually expect to catch a pony in the trap. These traps are mostly to capture and kill, erm… worse things.” Soarin swallowed at the word kill. He didn’t even want to think of what could be worse than a Changling that randomly attacked poor pegasus ponies in the middle of the wilderness. “Anyways,” continued the mare cheerily. “It’ll be great to have someone to talk to now! I want to know all about Equestria. This is a serious stroke of luck. Won’t it be so much fun?”

“No?” Soarin responded, totally bewildered as to why this Changling was so fascinated by ponies. It was actually almost as creepy as thinking about her eating ponies. “I, uh, mean, I really have to get home. I’m hours off schedule, and there are ponies relying on me.” Staying in the middle of a creepy forest chatting with an equally creepy Changling was not on the top of Soarin’s to-do list, that was for sure.

“Oh. Um… well… that’s too bad,” the mare said, her voice rasping. She didn’t sound too put out, however. She gave a gentle tug at the top of Soarin’s tree.

“Sorry, lady, but good luck with whatev – “ The net gave way. Only air was beneath Soarin now, and he yelped in surprise as he began once more to tumble directly downwards. He was only thankful that the headache rendered him unconscious before he even hit the dirt.

Underneath the boldly flying image, Chitin saw that each teammate’s name was listed in a thick, bubbly font, with an exclamation point after. “Soarin!” proclaimed the poster with gusto, beneath the image of Chitin’s body. There was a confident smile on Soarin’s face, matching the others as well. This appeared to be the stallion that he was supposed to be imitating for the moment. And if these were his friends, it seemed most likely that he would be in good shape if he went to find them.

Chitin was beginning to understand the process of taking another pony’s place. As a drone, it had never been his task to collect the power hidden within the love of the ponies of Equestria. What sustenance he had taken had been a boon from the Queen herself, in order that his existence should continue until his purpose was at an end. It made him feel ill to think of it. In any case, he thought that it would be best to integrate himself here, and perhaps gather some energy in case he needed to make a hasty exit. As there had been no plan beyond the point of leaving the Hive with his delicate treasure in tow, he found himself improvising half the time. What he was going to do in a month or two from now, he hadn’t a clue. He hoped, above all, to find somewhere safe to place it.

But first, he would need to find a place for shelter and for food – what counted as food for a Changling, of course, was feeding off of the affections of other ponies. Finding wherever it was Soarin lived, and finding his friends, formed a definitive plan of action for Chitin. He felt suddenly more focused, and a little less irate and uneasy.

“Er, can I help you sir?” A small red pegasus with a uniform on was standing in the doorway. He blinked, realizing suddenly his nose had been pressed to the glass as he stared transfixed at the poster. Stepping back, he shook his head and coughed.

“Uh, no, I’m fine. Sorry. Just, um… do you have a copy of this poster?” The pegasus glanced over at the Wonderbolts advertisement.

“I’m afraid not… but, er, just take this one.” Ripping it down hastily, the employee thrust it into Chitin’s hands. “I’m sure we can get another later.”

Chitin realized he’d been standing there for minutes, no doubt with a deep fixation on the poster. “Right then,” he mumbled, not even thanking the pegasus as he breezed past the mare. She gawked after him before shuffling back into the music store, no doubt thankful that the skulking weirdo had finally moved on.

Chitin kept the poster in front of his face as he trotted forward. It proclaimed, “See the Wonderbolts perform, every Saturday from 1-2PM at the Cloudsdale Arena!” Not exactly the most imaginative name, he supposed. Glancing up, he found the arena quite easy to spot. It was one of the largest structures in the city, a great bowl shape made of gentle, puffy cumulus. It seemed to him like one could just punch a hole through the arena wall by flying through it. Not that Chitin intended to fly there. He had a feeling his unsteady flapping would cause a few stares. A stallion of his age should be able to straighten up and fly straight. Especially, he thought uneasily, since it seemed he was supposed to be some sort of aerial acrobat.

No, there is no room for doubt. Surely it wasn’t that difficult. He might be a bit unsteady now, but he had managed it when a young colt probably took weeks to be able to fly as far and as long as he had. Since this body was naturally fit and fast, he thought he could relearn flying as a pegasus without too much trouble. Chitin nodded, soothing his own doubts with that simple dismissal.

Weaving around other passersby on his way to the arena, Chitin glanced at the other names of the Wonderbolts. Up front was a wild haired mare with mane of two tones. She was front and center next to Soarin – he supposed that the two of them were the most recognizable faces from the team, if they were most prominent. This mare was labeled “Spitfire!”. To Spitfire’s right was a similar mare without a second tone in her mane – “Blaze!”, and on the far side next to Blaze was “Fire Streak!”, a white stallion with finely styled orange might with white streaks. To Soarin’s left, was a delicately pretty cream colored mare with icy blue hair and light streaks. Next to “Misty!”, in the back, was “Silver Lining!”, a large grey stallion with equally big, curly hair. He was grey coated with silver and white mane.

The group of them seemed to be a glamorous bunch. The poster proclaimed them, “Cloudsdale’s Most Beloved Aerial Aces!” and “Daring Stunt Fliers Without Equal!” It seemed that exclamation points were destined to follow the Wonderbolts. Chitin supposed if he had to be anypony, it might as well be someone who had a bit of glint behind his name. It didn’t seem that a lot of ponies recognized him without his uniform on, however. Since it was a body suit with goggles and all, he supposed most fans wouldn’t be able to see his facial features and the like, or particularly care much about the cutie mark. Or maybe they were just full of hot air and no one really knew who the Wonderbolts were at all. Chitin supposed he’d find out as soon as he got the arena.

The entrance was a tall archway with thin glass doors. At the front appeared to be some sort of guard pony, buff with a black shirt and sunglasses. The stallion’s yellow mane was cropped short, nearly to the scalp. Large muscles rippled under the pegasus’s olive green hide. Chitin felt a part of him wither just looking at this beast. Steeling himself, he approached the guard.

To his surprise, the guard burst into a foppish grin as soon as he spotted Chitin. “Soarin!” he said in a thick accent. “Look at you, my favorite Wonderbolt back from vacation!” It sounded more like, however, “Lookit choo, mah favret Wondahbolt beck from vacashun!” A huge muscled foreleg wrapped around Chitin’s shoulders and squeezed him in a strong hug. Awkwardly, Chitin patted him on the back. There was a simple-minded gladness that was indeed being emitted from the large guard.

“Oh, uh, hey… you.” Chitin finally managed to squeeze himself out from the tight embrace, rubbing his neck slightly. “Yeah, um, just thought I’d swing by.” He didn’t dare ask if the other Wonderbolts were in for practice, as it seemed like something he might have known.

“Awwww, you,” the guard said fondly, squeezing him into a headlock again and ruffling his mane. “Always the nice guy. And hey, diggin’ the shirt.” Chitin laughed weakly, pulling himself away again. “Anyways,” continued the pegasus, looking at Chitin with what seemed to be curious concern now. “You seem like you’re anxious to get in there.”

“Yeah,” Chitin affirmed, backing away quickly through the doors, wary of being taken into another bear hug. “Got some things to talk about.” Abruptly, he turned and made quickly away, leaving the guard scratching his head at the Wonderbolt’s peculiar behavior.

Past the glass doors led into a well polished lobby. There were tower cumulus pillars that looked like delicate marble. The lobby was empty except for a janitor pony puttering around, making tiny repairs to the cloudwork that had been made no doubt during whatever performance occurred here last. To his right there seemed to be some sort of stand of screens above a bar, and to the right double doors that led to some sort of restaurant, with “Family Friendly!” proclaimed on a side above the doorway. Perhaps the exclamation points were a Cloudsdale thing and not just a quirk of Wonderbolt advertisement.

Ahead of him were more double doors that lead to the nosebleed section of the arena. Cautiously trotting forward, he peeked through the glass, before stepping beyond and blinking.

The entire area of the place was bigger even than it looked on the outside. He thought wildly that the entire Swarm could fill these stands and still have room for a handful of actual ponies. The interior of the field was made of soft cloud, which could be molded to fit whatever occasion was called for. Down on the field now he could see a number of obstacles and other objects for physical training. Zipping through loops and tunnels and making sharp zigzags between poles were numerous ponies. They weren’t in uniform, but looking down at the poster he could match the faces to the names.

Quickly stowing the poster into his saddlebag, he took a deep breath, and began his flight down to the field. He kept his wings spread and focused more on gliding down than gaining any sort of altitude. He managed to land without looking too clumsy at the edge of the field. By now, the other ponies had taken notice, and a shout of joy went up.

“Soarin!” crowed a flame-headed stallion with white streaks in his mane. He wore a cocky smile, with gleaming brown eyes.

“Fire Streak,” the false Soarin said, forcing a smile in return, though he was sure his teeth were bared in some sort of disturbing expression. Even so, with all the attention focused on him, he found himself perking up a bit. Everyone was pleased to see their teammate return, warm feelings flushing into his system until he felt more energized than he had in days. “Good to see you.” The calm, cool response made several of the ponies halt uncertainly, glancing between each other.

“Heya, Soarin,” said the mare he remembered as Spitfire, giving him a genial nudge with her flanks. She strutted with confidence and authority that made Chitin immediately designate her as some sort of leader. “Back from vacay, huh? That’s great! The show just can’t carry on without our right point.” She winked and laughed. “Oh, and I guess you’re important too.”

“Um, yeah.” Her easy jokes might have caused banter between her and the actual Soarin, but Chitin felt only slightly miffed. His ears flicked back and he looked away from her. “I just got back. Thought I’d check in.”

Spitfire raised an eyebrow. “Alright then. Got a burr under your saddle, there, Soarin?” she inquired. Chitin’s natural brusqueness, he realized, did not match very well with the Soarin these ponies all knew and loved.

“No, no… just a lot on my mind,” he evaded, and faked a laugh, running a hoof through his windswept mane anxiously. “I was just checking in. Seeing how things were going.” The team glanced between each other, some shrugging.

“We’re all right,” said a mare that Chitin realized had not been on the poster. Her hair was large and poofy, dark blue with lighter highlights. She seemed to be friendly enough.

“Yeah, were practicing. You know, like we always do,” Spitfire said, not a little snippy. The waves of disapproval were hitting Chitin heavily.

“Right! Of course. I thought I’d just drop by and say hello.” Spitfire gave him a skeptical look. He shifted uncomfortably. “Err, but now that that’s done, I guess I’ll be going now.” He began to back up quickly. Spitfire sighed and shook her head, giving him a regretful smile.

“Look, sorry, Soarin. It sounds like your vacation may not have been the best. Why don’t we talk about it later?”

“Uh, sure,” Chitin said, taken aback. “I got to get, er, home to unpack, but maybe tomorrow.”

“Right! Tomorrow after practice. I know you’ve been eating too many pies, Soarin,” Spitfire quipped, nudging him. Chitin glanced down at his stomach and felt irritated. He wasn’t that fat! Then again, hadn’t he been thinking the same thing just this morning? He supposed it was his body, though, and he didn’t quite enjoy the idea of it being insulted.

“Sure, whatever,” Chitin sighed. As he walked the streets again, trying to find the address of Soarin’s home, he couldn’t help think but that whole meeting could have gone a lot better. Perhaps he had poor social skills… or perhaps Soarin’s friends were all annoying jocks. Chitin decided that the latter was more likely, and immediately felt better.

--

“Urghhhhhh,” Soarin groaned. This time, he decided to not even get up. Better to just lay there and die, thus bypassing all of the misery that seemed to be accompanying the living part. His skull felt like it had been hit with a freely swung sledgehammer a couple times by this point. He was amazed he could even see straight when he opened his eyes, let along that he was still alive. In the back of his mind he could hear Spitfire joking about him having a thick skull. “Maybe that’s why I’m so top heavy,” he muttered in a dazed response.

“Are you talking to yourself?” interjected a curious voice that did not sound like Spitfire. Unless Spitfire had taken up smoking for about forty years. Grimacing, Soarin gritted his teeth through the pain and rolled onto his belly. He fought the moment of dizziness until his vision cleared. Then he managed to finally get a good look around as to where in the hey he was.

It appeared to be some sort of cottage. Or, what was excusing itself as a cottage. The place was very ramshackle, as if things had been boarded together haphazardly. The planks that made the walls seemed to have been placed together crookedly, by a very clumsy hoof. The roof itself was thatched and falling in on itself. The whole place had no windows whatsoever, just a simple door that was creaking on its hinges whenever a gust of wind blew past outside.

Altogether more remarkable was the fact that the place, despite its poor condition, was decorated with a feminine enthusiasm. A few paintings hung on the wall, what looked to be mass produced replicas of more famous pieces, without any particular thought for taste. He could see a picture of ponies around a poker table smoking, sitting with just as much prominence as a portrait of a benevolent mare in a long robe glowing as she held a foal in her arms. There were many shelves lining the walls, stacked with books that threatened to fall off at any moment. A cot hung between two of the bookshelves, no doubt where the occupant of the cottage slept. Directly across was a dressing table with a dirty mirror cracking in one corner. With haphazardly enthusiasm little notes had been taped all along the border. On the table in front was a myriad of beauty products which Soarin would have trouble identifying even without his brain protesting until better working conditions were provided.

Overall, it was difficult to discern if the place was meant for a hardnosed lumberjack living off the land, or a young, girly mare without much coordination or organization when it came to decorating. The effect was disconcerting, to say the least. Soarin wondered calmly if he wasn’t hallucinating this whole thing, and in fact he was lying somewhere bleeding to death deep in the woods. Unfortunately, he thought that the pain was a good counterargument for that particular idea. And the fact that he recognized the bony face that was now looking eagerly down at him through... bars?

For some reason Soarin had been placed in what appeared to be a caged off part of the house. Stiff poles rose and popped through the ceiling. Why anypony would have random cages in their one-room hut he couldn’t imagine. Why a Changling would, well, that was a different story all together. The Changling mare herself seemed to be overall delighted that he was awake.

Realizing she had asked a question some time ago, Soarin grimaced. “Um, it’s nothing. Just a little confused.” Wait, why was he making excuses to this creature? “What are you going to do with me?” he managed to croak, to which she cocked her head slightly.

“Huh? Well, I thought we would first get to know each other a bit first!” Soarin stared blankly. “I mean, it would be silly to just go right into the knitty-gritty without first becoming friends,” the mare continued happily. “My name is Gossamer. But you can call me Gossy.”

“That’s… a silly name,” Soarin blurted. He groaned at himself a reached a hoof to press into his forehead. To his luck, the Changling only seemed to giggle.

“Yes, but I think Gossamer is a little too, um… flamboyant?” She peered in eagerly at him. “And what is your name?”

“Soarin,” he reluctantly said. Gossy repeated it back a few times.

“Soarin, Soarin, Soarin… that’s a great name! A very pegasus name,” she said, looking in with keen fascination at his feathered wings. Soarin felt quite naked under her gaze. Well, more naked than most ponies were at any given time.

“I have a feeling we’re going to be great friends. I haven’t had many visitors here, and none of them ponies. It’ll be great to have someone to talk to.”

“Uh, maybe we could talk with me not in a cage?” Soarin suggested weakly. He wasn’t the most assertive stallion, that was for sure. If Spitfire had been in this situation, she’d be raising all hell and refusing to compromise with this Gossamer. Soarin, however, found himself much discouraged by his own physical state by this point, and thought it’d be better to just peacefully solve things.

Gossy looked at him apologetically, thought still smiling (which was creepy in the first place, given the fangs). “Sorry, Soarin. But I know you’d just run away, like you were planning to. And besides,” she poked him in the cutiemark, and he winced. “You’re obviously in no fit state to travel. You need to rest up, and I’ll take care of everything, no worries!” She gave a toss of those dark, dark curls.

At that point, Soarin’s stomach thought it was an appropriate moment to growl. Soarin felt more and more put out with every passing moment.

“Oh!” Gossy chuckled again, backing away from the bars of Soarin’s ramshackle prison. “I suppose I should get you some food. You don’t have the same sort of needs as we Changlings, after all. That means…” She clopped her hooves together. “Shopping!” With a girlish delight, she had picked up a saddlebag and tossed it over her back. “Don’t worry Soarin, I’ll be back with some treats soon! Um… here!” She placed a few books in front of him, and he squinted wearily at them. “Occupy yourself while I’m gone,” she said merrily. “I’ll be sure to get something for those injuries too, so you just rest and make yourself comfy!”

The door didn’t even close properly behind her, simply swung around idly as if waving good-bye. He turned his head slowly back towards the books. The few titles included, The Wonderful World of Equestria, and, Welcome Home Little Foal!, and, The Biology of the Pegasus. They were all non-fiction books on ponies and pony culture. Soarin stared with disappointment, wondering if he’d even have the nerve to ask for something about flying if she’d still been here.

Deciding he didn’t want to read anyways, Soarin just curled up on his side, gave a few whimpers of self-pity, and fell into a fitful sleep.

A/N: If someone would like to be a beta reader for me, just shoot me a message. I've actually been editing these all myself, ack! Thanks!

Chapter 3: Plans

Finding home turned out to be a bit of a challenge when one didn't know where it was. Chitin spent some time wandering Cloudsdale, until he noticed what seemed to be some sort of town hall. There was a large desk in the center with a bored mare will a dull grey coat and frizzy mane. Approaching hesitantly, he coughed to draw her attention from the heavy tomb she was reading. Looking up at him, she seemed completely unimpressed with what she saw. "Yes?" she asked imperiously, closing her book with a resounding thud.

"I'm looking for the um, directory. Of residents. Or something of the sort." Looking at him skeptically, she waved her hoof off to the right towards what seemed to be two large double-doors.
"That's where we keep all public information on the city and its residents." She seemed unwilling to offer much more information as she opened her book again and resumed reading. Chitin was on his own in this case.

Awkwardly drawing the double doors open, he entered to see a vast library of bound documents and books lining fluffy bookshelves. The whole of it was overwhelming - he couldn't help but compare to back home, where they had so few things to read and less to write with. The fact that he knew how to read and write was just a fact of his birth status. Chitin slowly scanned the shelves, looking at the labels hung over each section. He eventually found one referring to addresses. He opened the huge binder and was discomforted by the long line of names. He flipped through laminated pages to the 'S' section. Honestly, he wasn't even sure if Soarin was a full name, but to his great surprise, there was only one address listed by that name. It seemed his body lived in the upper parts of Cloudsdale, higher than many of the natural clouds.

Reading the line over and over until he could recite his address by memory, Chitin closed the book and replaced. He made an awkward exit, glad that the receptionist seemed still too absorbed to even notice his coming and going. Once outside, he tried to orient himself. Spreading his wings, he took to the air, trying to make his flight patterns seem natural. Up, up, and up he went, until he was high above the city. He could tell now that the air was thinner here. He had to breathe in great gasps to keep his lungs full. However, the world was also much brighter. He could see the light reflecting pink off the clouds, the whole city was glimmering and quite heavenly. Chitin had never seen anything quite so bright in his life, which consisted mostly of living underground in perpetual dusk.

It was no wonder that the queen hungered to take over the land of Equestria. It was a lovely place.

Gliding in light winds, Chitin circled the higher buildings awhile, until he noticed a street with a familiar name. Flying down, he examined each building. He was glad that his culture was not quite so different as to not possess a similar way of structuring addresses. It was just about sunset when he found the number he desired - building 5607, Feather Way. He stepped into the lobby and looked about him. To his right there seemed to be some kind of office. An elevator and stairs were in front of him. The walls were lined with pictures of smiling ponies having a great time, no doubt, in their apartments. He began climbing the stairs, wondering where to go. He knew there was a key in Soarin's bag, probably to his apartment. Luckily, he didn't have to go further than the first floor before he figured he knew which room was his. The door was decorated with Wonderbolts paraphernalia, to a point where it was ridiculous. From what he knew of Soarin so far, he thought the pony excessively indulgent and far too light-hearted. Taking out the key, Chitin tried the door. It opened, as he'd thought it would.

He honestly wasn't surprised to find the whole place a cluttered, lived in mess. He kicked aside dirty clothes as he walked through the entryway, surveying the living room with a grim face. The couch was covered with more clothes. There was what seemed to be a television set. The kitchen merged as part of the living room, and seemed to be filled with unwashed dishes. There were quite a lot of pin-ups on the wall of something called "Playmare". The whole thing was enough to make Chitin's face flush with embarrassment.

Heading into the bedroom, he found it to not be much better. Even he, living in a state of far less plenty, was much more neater about his life. The blankets were on the floor, the bed sheets stained, tons of more scandalous magazines spread about, and more dirty plates were laying in unlikely places. Chitin sighed and placed the saddlebag on the floor. He simply could not let the place remain in this state.

So he began cleaning. First he took all the dishes, scrubbed and washed them. The clothes same next, washed in the sink with the dishes. He expanded to scrubbing the floors and the walls - after removing all of the humiliating posters. After hours of work, the whole place looked much more sanitary, with everything organized and in its right place. Chitin looked proudly on his newly remade home. This was a place he could spend the next few weeks. A brand new base of operations. Nodding to himself, he snuggled down into the newly made bed with a sigh. In his mind, he reviewed the busy events of the day. It was only then that he remembered what Spitfire said about meeting up the next day.

Sitting bolt upright he gasped. "Practice?!" Tomorrow?

When he awoke, it was to the noise of a humming voice and a door closing. Raising his head, he peeled the page of the book he'd been staring at off of his face. It seemed he'd ruined it a bit by drooling. Hastily he closed the cover before the Changling could see the damage done and perhaps get angry. For the moment she seemed happily distracted however. She was arranging paper bags filled with what was thankfully pony-oriented food. Noticing him watching her, Gossamer turned her large, buggy green eyes on him. "Hey, hey! I'm back!" she chirped happily.
"Oh, yeah, uh, I noticed," Soarin said, blinking owlishly.

Honestly, Soarin wasn't quite sure how to treat the situation. Gossamer acted very friendly like. In fact, if she'd been a regular pony, they'd probably be getting along fine. However, being shoved into a cage by a Changling seemed to be something out of a bad TV drama. He was being held prisoner by the happiest captor in the world. It was all the worse for an athletic pony like Soarin, who loved flying and performing and much as he loved food.

"But I brought lots of food!" chirped Gossamer. She pulled out what looked like to be a large hay sub prepackaged from some deli or other. His mouth immediately started salivating. With flourish she placed it between his bars. Eagerly he unwrapped the sandwich and devoured it in a few bites. It wasn't until he was done eating that he thought that it might have been poisoned. Then again, if she was going to kill him, she could have done it while he was unconscious. Soarin chided himself for being so dumb and following his stomach instead of his head. He had to remain alert while he was prisoner. Even if he'd broken some things and it was difficult to focus with his poor, abused head.

Gossamer beamed (or, at least, that's what he thought she was doing) as he ate. She seemed to be writing something in a notebook. About how he ate? Either way, she looked like a crazed scientist observing an experiment. Maybe he was an experiment. He was in a cage, after all, like a guinea parasprite. He pulled himself carefully into a sitting position, trying to make himself look bigger and more like a strong pony that a whimpering dog. "Why are you holding me captive Gossamer?" he asked seriously.

Not responding at first, Gossamer finished arranging some fresh flowers on her desk. "Please, call me Gossy. And we're here to be friends, you know."
"This is definitely not how ponies become friends," Soarin said in exasperation. "Friends don't imprison friends."
"Oh, yes. But it's much harder to be friends when the person will probably run away." She gazed at him very seriously. There was some bizarre logic behind her reasoning, but Soarin wasn't exactly jumping on board.
"Yeah, fine, people are scared of Changlings, I get it. But, um, this isn't exactly helping the reputation." Gossamer's lip looked like it was going to hit the floor from protruding too much. It was obvious she wasn't pleased with his berating her. Soarin, ridiculously, felt a flash of guilt. He wasn't the type of guy to be argumentative, even in this kind of situation.

"I - I just wanted to have someone to talk to about living as a pony. No one else seems to understand it, not back home. That's why I live in the woods you know."
"What do you mean?" True, he'd heard Changelings lived in one giant burrow, called a hive. Perhaps it was strange for them to not live there at all, like this particular one.
"Don't worry about it," Gossamer said, waving a hoof furiously. "It's unimportant. What I want to know is more about you, and where you live, and - and, well, everything!" Her mood seemed to have improved dramatically within seconds. How oddly her emotions went. Well, at least Soarin had some experience with moody mares - although the mare he knew seemed to get angry at record speeds, instead of sad. "Now tell me."

Soarin shifted uncomfortably. "Well, um, I'm Soarin." Gossy nodded her head encouragingly. "Uh, I'm a professional aerial acrobat." Gossamer gasped with sheer delight.
"Really? That sounds amazing! What does an aerial acrobat do?"
"I... fly. And do tricks and stuff." Well, putting it that way, it sure didn't sound exciting at all. Even if he was famous for it.
"Ohhh, that does sound like fun. Pegasus ponies have this amazing way of flying, you know, they just... glide without effort." She made a whooshing sound as she moved her hoof for emphasis. "But me, well..." She buzzed her wings and hovered in the air, her wings moving so fast they were a blur. She set down on the floor again with a wistful sigh.

"That's why I've spent all my time trying to be a pony!" she announced, smiling at him. Soarin stared at her dumbly. It was possibly one of the more ridiculous things he'd ever heard.
"Um, but can't you just change into anypony?" he asked blankly. The idea of a Changling being unable to do what was exactly in the name seemed a bit silly.
"Oh, yes, of course, anyone can do that." Gossamer laughed heartily, obviously amused at his lack of comprehension. She leaned towards his cage conspiratorially. "No, I want to be a pony. As in, my very self. Not become someone else, but become a pony me."

Eagerly she walked over to her desk and opened a drawer. She put on a handsome gold wig with curls that fell to her chest. She tied one onto the sorry excuse for a tail she had as well. She certainly looked more pony-ish, but it was more like a mocking caricature. Gossamer seemed to be staring into her mirror with intensity, however, adjusting her blonde curls and examining herself from many angles. Her ambition seemed more of an obsession from Soarin's point of view. And a very weird one at that, like an earth pony trying to become a pegasus, or vice versa. It was simply nothing he'd ever heard of, at least not in a permanent sense and not without very powerful magicks that a Changeling could not possess nor bargain for.

"That's crazy," he blurted, before internally wincing. She didn't seem to be fazed by his outburst however, instead she began brushing her wig tenderly.
"I know, everyone has said so. They've laughed at me. But if I want to be a pony, I have to do what ponies do: I have to follow my dreams, don't you see?" She turned that intense gaze on him once more. He resisted the urge to shrink back down in his cage. There was a violent passion within her. "It's my destiny - to be a pony. And see, you're here! It's proof that you're meant to help me. You can tell me all about what it's like, stuff that isn't in the books I've taken."

She returned to stand beside his gaze, smiling down at him. He swallowed thickly, aghast at being pulled into some weird plan to change a Changling. "Think of it as providence. You'll be involved in something wonderful. A miracle." Giggling, she returned to her desk and her brushing.
Soarin felt like his sandwich was going to come back out.

Chitin barely slept that night, though he'd had such a packed day before. His nerves were getting to him. His mind turned over and over, trying to think of some way out of it. But even if he managed to evade practice this time, it couldn't be forever. They would eventually get suspicious, of an athlete who suddenly didn't desire to perform anymore. Chitin had only just arrived in Equestria, he couldn't let everything fall apart because he didn't possess the talent that Soarin clearly had. He mulled over his various options in his head.

He could decide to drop the charade as Soarin and find someone else to become. But if he did that, he risked exposure. People would know there was a fake Soarin, or at least that he was acting oddly before he disappeared. Not to mention, he'd have to incapacitate this new pony. He couldn't stomach the idea of permanently killing somepony and taking their place. Especially since he knew he'd have to move on eventually. That wasn't what his self-imposed mission was anyways, the taking of life. He was trying to make everything better.

So what could he do? How could he manage to get out of the situation and still keep his tracks covered, both from the other ponies and from her? Tossing and turning, he finally hit upon the solution in the middle of the night. It filled him with a great amount of dread. Certainly it wasn't an ideal plan, but it was one that could certainly continue the masquerade for an amount of time. Though it was risky, so was everything he'd done up to this point. Chitin finally settled himself on the plan before he fell into a fitful sleep.

The morning ended up being no better. He was ill-rested and stressed, and was going to bet himself on a serious gambit. No one, pony or Changling, would be able to hold themselves fully together in such a situation. Nonetheless, as he raised his mask, turning himself from Chitin to Soarin, he steeled himself internally. He packed the Wonderbolt uniform in his saddlebag, and set out the door.

Arriving at the stadium, he tried to force himself to seem happy and cheerful. Perhaps he only came out looking pained because the guard from yesterday seemed only more concerned as he passed by, heading towards the locker room. After he carefully pulled his uniform on over his delicate wings, he splashed his face with some water and took a few deep breathes. Even if he couldn't pretend to be an amazing acrobat, he could at least try and put on the performance of his life.

Setting onto the field, he was greeted by the team once more. Everyone seemed to have already assembled. Spitfire was frowning at him, raising up her goggles to her forehead as he approached. "You're late," she said sternly, though she didn't seem to be too aggravated by his tardiness.
Chitin forced a shrug, trying to appear as if he was the careless young stallion that he was supposed to be. "Ah, well," Spitfire sighed. "I guess the day you're on time is the day Celestia craps in front of the Canterlot court." Chitin kept his mouth from dropping at this insulting expression, and made a gargling noise that was supposed to be a laugh. Spitfire stared and snorted at him, perhaps thinking he was being an idiot on purpose. "Anyways, ready up team! We'll start off easy today, so we can warm Soarin up from his vacation! Let's perform some ring and column drills. Line up!"

Chitin somehow managed to shuffle into the proper order of the line. He was fourth, behind Spitfire, Blaze, and Misty. They were flexing their wings and stretching, everyone ready for Spitfire to run the obstacle course laid out before them first. It was a set of golden hoops and cloud columns. Chitin gloomily supposed they were supposed to fly through and around them in some sort of pattern. His suspicions were confirmed when Spitfire took to the air at breakneck speed, zooming down onto the field. She was an obvious professional, a natural in her field. She shot past columns with just an inch between them and her belly, doing barrel rolls around some and passing others upside down. She went through wings performing tight twists, and ended it with a perfect landing. Chitin was impressed and dismayed all at once.

Blaze, whom Chitin thought might be related to Spitfire in some way, performed with equal efficiency. She was perhaps not as stylish as Spitfire, but definitely knew her stuff. Misty went through with flourish as well. By then it was Chitin's turn, and he was nearly nauseous with anxiety. This was almost as bad as his initial escape. Stepping up to the edge of the cloud they rested on, he took multiple deep breathes, making a long show of cracking his limbs and prancing in place. By this point Spitfire was rolling her eyes. "Come on, Soarin, you've already had your vacation. You can mess around later, once practice is over!"

Taking a hint, Chitin bunched his muscles beneath him, and sprang forward. He beat his wings as quickly as he could, and found it terrifying to push himself to a limit. A Changling used to control and precision, he was frightened to be flying pell-mell at the obstacle course. Going through the columns, he winced every time he clipped one, though he managed to deftly avoid some through luck. He was coming up on his first wing. He had to make it look convincing. He put on the speed, biting his cheek to keep from screaming in fear.

At full force he clipped his right wing into the right, causing it to crush backwards. With a true bellow of pain he plummeted to the stadium floor and hit with a soft whuumph. Never was he more glad that everything in Cloudsdale was a soft, cushioned surface. All the same, he found tears of pain rolling down his face. He focused desperately through the pain, imagining his wing, Soarin's wing, what it would look like after such damage. It would be bent in the wrong directly, perhaps some bone sticking out. Feathers loose, a bit of blood. It would look quite bad, definitely something that could not be flown on. Perhaps even an injury that no comeback would ever fix.

Shouts were coming towards him. Many sets of hooves landed softly around his prone body. Chitin kept his eyes closed, breathing in short pants. "Soarin!" they were exclaiming, clustering close to him and kneeling over him.
"Everyone back up!" came the commanding voice of Spitfire. She forced the other teammates away and leaned over him, her mouth a firm downward line. For a moment he thought she might have noticed something off about him, and his heart stopped. But instead she said, "Soarin, I'm going to get a medical transport. We'll take you to a hospital, to the best wing doctor." There was such overwhelming concern in her voice, emanating from her and all of Soarin's friends, that more tears sprang to his eyes. Their caring made him feel stronger already, cut through his fog of pain and gave him true strength and concentration. The first-hand contact of such friendship was truly amazing. This was what love felt like, when it wasn't dabbled in small morsels from a second-party.

Two paramedics arrived, their coats soothing light tones, their cutie-marks both medical symbols. They loaded him on a stretched tied taunt between them, telling him to brace himself for movement. They lifted off a bit heavily, but their flying was as smooth as the Wonderbolts were fast. "Where are we going?" Chitin asked in a daze, noticing that Spitfire and some of the other Wonderbolts were flying behind them, following the procession. He was glad, for it gave him the energy to keep his mask of Soarin on even as the pain threatened to cause his magic to fade.

"There's a hospital in the town below Cloudsdale. There's an aliologist that practices in Ponyville - she's an expert on these types of injuries, and has helped many pegasus to full recovery." Chitin supposed that made sense that there was a whole profession dedicated to healing pegasus wings. After all, if a pegasus couldn't fly, it would make it difficult getting around Cloudsdale. He hadn't even considered that when formulating his plan. Ruefully, he supposed his entire cleansing process had been a waste of time, since he wouldn't be able to go back for awhile. Maybe Soarin would thank him... if he ever managed to get back from the woods. Chitin avoided thinking about that particular guilt.

All the same, it seemed odd a wing specialist would reside in Ponyville. That was a bit away from where most of their main patients lived after all.

When the paramedics landed, they traded his stretcher over to two nurses who came rushing outside. "Don't worry, Soarin," Spitfire said as she hustled in after him. "I'll pay for the ride over." Chitin didn't even realize that a ride with the paramedics would cost anything. He didn't know a lot of things about ponies, really. The whole endeavor was starting to seem like something too big for one Changling to take on by himself. All the same, he was glad that Spitfire was so intent on helping him. Her friendship was all that was keeping him together.

They wheeled him in to a fairly empty ward. Across the way he saw a young colt placing with some kind of ball-and-cup contraption. He didn't have much more time to look around, however, as the aliologist arrived. He realized now why she stayed in the town below Cloudsdale rather than there. The physician was a unicorn, a kind-looking mare with spectacles resting before her bright blue eyes. Like many of the hospital ponies, she was a soothing mint color, with her grey mane pulled into a loose bun. "Ah, Nurse Redheart briefed me on your injuries. I'm Doctor Swift Aid"

She walked around the gurney to stand beside his injured wing, looking at it closely. Her expression turned grave - he expected it was only the worst of news. Despite the fact she was only seeing an illusion, his stomach lurched. He had no idea what his actual wing looked like. Probably in no better shape that his mirage. "It looks like the wing has fractured in multiple places. Not a clean single break." She began scribbling some notes. "We're going to get an x-ray so we can fully assess the damage."

"X-ray?" Chitin asked, not entirely sure what that was.
"Yes, we're going to get a look inside at your bones," Swift Aid said gently, probably thinking he was a bit addled to not understand what was going on.
Immediately he sat up quickly. "No, no, I don't want an x-ray," he said rapidly. Spitfire, standing across from Swift Aid, stared at him, obviously baffled as Doctor Swift Aid was. They exchanged glances.
"It's a simple, harmless procedure. Whatever you've heard about dangerous radiation is exaggerated," the doctor told him persuasively. Chitin continued shaking his head wildly.
"Please... I don't need an x-ray." He tried to keep himself from looking too crazy. "I'm fine, really."

"Obviously not," Swift Aid dryly remarked, staring at his shattered limb. "But I can't force a patient to undergo a procedure they don't want."
"Come on, Soarin, don't be an idiot. If you're worried about the expenses, the team will pitch in and cover them, like we always do." Spitfire gave him a hard stare. Chitin didn't meet her eyes.
"I just don't want it, and that's that. She can fix me without an x-ray."
"It will be more difficult if I don't know precisely what type of fracture it is, and where they are," the aliologist warned. Chitin shrugged, feeling miserable internally.
"You're an idiot, a hay-flinging moron!" Spitfire practically shouted. Nurse Redheart poked her head in the room to shush the angry mare. Chitin stared at his hooves, nodding in meek agreement. "You're just going to lay there and throw away your career over some dumb x-ray?" She shook herself, trying to calm down. "Come on, we need you. We need you to be better. Your wing isn't beyond help."
Chitin forced himself to look her in the eye and say, "I don't believe that." It was true, his real wing was probably beyond anyone's help, especially if he had to pretend to have his mirage wings fixed.

Staring back at him before snarling with frustration, Spitfire stormed out. Doctor Swift Aid sighed. "Well, I'll perform a physical examination of the wing and try to set the obvious fractures. If there are any small cracks, though..." The warning hung in the air as the doctor shrugged. Chitin tried to not cry throughout the binding and splinting process. It was the same as at home, when someone broke a leg. His real wing hurt the whole time, and Chitin begged for some painkillers. The doctor relented, giving him something to help him sleep.

As he lay back, staring at the white tile ceiling, Chitin remembered he left everything important back in Cloudsdale. By then, however, he was too tired and too drowsy from the drugs to really panic. I'll have Spitfire grab my bag from the locker room... if she comes back. And then he was fell into dreaming.