Hoofbeats

Corn Flake held his hooves over his mouth for a long time. He could not believe what he just saw. Hoofbeats had literally just beaten a Timberwolf to death with a giant dick. No, not to death. It was alive and in pieces waiting to be processed into more giant dicks. For the first time, he was genuinely afraid of her. This went beyond his need for power and his hero complex about keeping the town pure. Hoofbeats could now be an honest-to-Celestia threat. If she was willing to subject some poor animal to this torture, what would she do to a pony?

He crept over to where she had buried the head. He dug it up and grabbed it in his forehooves. It snarled at him and he lept back and nearly shit himself. He was already on edge from being in this psychopath’s backyard and a jump scare didn’t help any. The stallion regained his composure and picked up the head.

He carried it back to his own house and reburied it in his own yard. He didn’t know what Hoofbeats had in mind for the Timberwolf’s head, but it couldn’t be good. He at least knew that he would give it the care it needed. It was all he could do for the poor creature.

He was in quite the bind over what to do next. If he just started telling people directly what Hoofbeats had beaten, he would sound crazy and his smear campaign would become apparent. If he showed people the Timberwolf head he was keeping, well that might be even worse. There also really wasn’t a police presence in this town because it was a cult. Technically, there was a department he could report this to because the Church of the Sun compound and the surrounding township were within the jurisdiction of Everfree County, but it’s prudent for Earth ponies to keep the cops (who are mostly unicorns and pegasi) out of their business, lest they wind up with seven warning shots in the back.

Corn Flake gritted his teeth and stomped his hoof. “You’re really doing this?” he muttered, “You’re really going to make me have to do actual heroics?” He stared into the wolf’s sad, shivering eyes poking out of the ground. “This has gone too far.”

A couple hours later, that afternoon, Hoofbeats noticed the Timberwolf’s head was missing. She picked up a jar of its ligneous ossein (or lumber lumbar, however you want to say it) and watched it shake itself to one direction. When she turned the jar, it moved again back to the same direction. Wherever the head had gone, it was trackable.

Using her makeshift compass, she made her way across town and into the commune, to a grand manor.

“Of. Fucking. Course,” she thought.

She pounded on the door. Corn Flake opened it slightly ajar and peeked out.

“Give me head,” she said, “I’m fully aware of the phrasing there and it was intentional and I’m not changing it. Now give me head.”

He closed the door in her face. This was not a time for sass. Here outside his door was a bonafide practitioner of dark magic. The games were over. Shit’s getting real, dawg.

It was around that time that Brightray returned to town from the train station to see this exchange. Hoofbeats was pacing around and yelling angrily in Corn Flake’s front lawn, spewing vile threats and profanities that to this day still give night terrors to the defenseless lawn flamingos.

Just as she was threatening that Corn Flake would “find his family with a Geiger counter,” Brightray grabbed her and held her still.

“Hey hey,” she said quietly, “Breathe. Calm down. There’s no need to scare ponies. I can’t let you go off the deep end and start a civil war here. We can resolve this. Tell me what happened”

Hoofbeats stammered, “He took- he took the Timberwolf head.”

“The what now?”

“The head. To the Timberwolf. I need it alive so the rest of the wood keeps vibrating. Don’t let him kill it. Don’t- don’t…”

“This is insane and I want no part in it,” Brightray said, “but I’ll talk to him for you.”

“Really?” Hoofbeats sobbed.

“Tomorrow. Right now, go home. By Celestia, this is stupid. Go home.”

Hoofbeats stomped off and kicked Corn Flake’s lawn ornaments on the way. Brightray waved at him and he squinted suspiciously through the window. Ian Flamingo never walked again.