Asepsis

She awoke, thirsty and sore. Manacles covered her legs, and the rickety bumping of a caravan upon a gravel path drove the rough iron rings into her raw skin. Three others were in the caravan: A father and daughter, and a lone mare. The daughter was crying into her father’s fur, and they both had red manes. The father’s coat was a dirty dull white, while the daughter’s marigold coat fared only slightly better. In front of her, the mare watched her slowly. The two met glances, and Vinyl watched her warily.

The other mare, only slightly older than Vinyl, had a long silky auburn mane and tail. Her coat, a creamy light blue, was matted, and blood was visible in some places. She smiled at Vinyl, and glanced at her coat. “This isn’t my blood.” She casually said.

Vinyl looked down, noticing the trail of blood that traveled down from her nose to her chest. “This is mine.” She said, nonplussed at her apparent injury. She looked towards her, and opened her mouth to ask her a question, but before she could say anything, a guard slammed the caged door with his bladed hoof.

Sighing, Vinyl looked out the door and was surprised to see that they were in the woods.  As if reading her mind, the other mare said, “9 hours.” she groaned, and rubbed her temples with her hooves. 9 hours of lost time. 9 hours farther away from safety.

Stopping for the night, the guards positioned themselves in a ring around the caravan and the lone hunter perched on top of the caravan. almost all  of them had drowsed off when a ragged scream filled the air. A dozen ponies jumped out of the foliage, holding improvised weapons and dressed in little more than patched grey rags. They rushed forward as a mob, and three of the eight caravan guards were killed. However, the training of the Republic paid off, and the remaining five formed a small star, locking the small buckler shields that were strapped to their legs into a circle and stamping their free front hooves into their bladed horse-shoes. The two groups faced off, and Three guards were felled while seven of the attackers died. As the remaining five of the mob prepared to rush forward, a spray of bullets mowed them down. The hunter, who had been watching, jumped down from the top of the caravan. A lone mare, still alive, struggled as she crawled towards a small kitchen knife.

“NO!” the father inside the caravan yelled, as he slammed into the door. “MOMMY!” the child wailed, before she stumbled onto the ground, her face streaming tears. The hunter looked towards them, his black mask conveying nothing. He slowly walked forward and, with his unbladed hoof, pressed on the mare’s throat.

At this, the colt grew enraged. He slammed his body into the cage door, and began to tear at it with his hooves. “I’LL KILL YOU, YOU BASTARD!!” he screamed, his voice raw with emotion.

The mare’s struggling died down slowly, and her chest finally stopped heaving, as she shuddered before dying.

The colt collapsed, his sobbing, and frantic scrabbling slowly died out.