Wolfsing

Wolfsing watched from the shade of a tree as a group of ponies practiced their battle techniques. They were a specialty force known as the Scythe ponies, and as a testament to this most of them had a scythe cutie mark. They were all family, one way or another and they were trained to fight with sickles from a very young age. One such pony, Cakern, glanced at her with undisguised irritation.

She turned her head away arrogantly. He was just upset with her because she had refused him when he tried to ask her for a date. She wasn’t the type of pegasus to waste time with courting, especially with someone as arrogant as this scythe pony. She hated being a mare of Canterlot castle.

When she was very young her father died in a military accident, being a very famous guard pony with a blood red coat like hers though he had a rust colored mane. She got her emerald mane from her mother, Gladesong, who was a shunning shade of green. Her father, Bloodtryst, had earned the name Wolfsing from killing a wolf, or so the stories went. She remembered him telling her stories about how he went out to the forest and spoke with the wolves and how they were great friends and so, rather than claiming the name himself and wearing it as a badge of something he was ashamed of, he would give it to her to always remember what he taught her about coexisting with the forest and the ponies around her.

Personally she didn’t understand that last part. She didn’t find it necessary to interact with the ponies around her. Canterlot was the home to a bunch of upstarts and arrogant foals. She cared greatly about Celestia, but even she neglected her. She had taken her in after her father had been killed—Gladesong had died long before that of a contagious disease that had swept the area—and promised her an education and an easy life. Her father was certainly deserving of the privileges she got, if only it didn’t restrict her freedom.

As a mare of Canterlot courts she was expected to act as a princess would, with absolute dignity. She was expected to be content with her life in the castle, and she was never allowed into the forest. That was the one thing that she wanted more than anything else, however. It was how she got her cutie mark, after all.

She remembered, as she stared at the nearby castle wall and her mind went out to the forest, how she had escaped one day from her caretaker, Croll, an old and paranoid grey earth pony. She remembered how the trees towered over her, and the light shined through the leafy branches as if welcoming her. She felt so light and free and the sting of losing her father lessened. It felt as if he were standing beside her, guiding her, and nothing could possibly hurt her. Then there rang a sound, as if straight from a dream, that rang through the trees. It was the sound of a lone wolf howling and she found herself raising her head as if to answer it.

She would have, too, she thought, but at that moment Croll and Cakern’s father, Sara, appeared, looking stern and upset with her. They took her back and she hadn’t been able to leave since. It still left an imprint on her mind as well as her flank. Her cutie mark was the profile of a wolf’s head facing right with a red wing unattached to the left of it. Sara, ever since he saw it that day, had always looked at her with suspicious. It was no secret that he and most of the scythe ponies were anti-wolf and would drive and kill them until there were none left in the Everfree forest if it weren’t against the law.

Croll approached her, distracting her from her daydreams that were growing more and more vivid. “You know Celestia won’t be pleased to hear that you’ve skipped language usage and etiquette class again,” he said in his rusty, squeaky voice.

“I wasn’t going to miss it,” she assured him, getting to her hooves. “I was in fact on my way there now.”

“Good,” he replied, his eyes narrowed suspiciously as she trotted past him. As soon as she was away from him she rolled her eyes. She doubted Celestia cared if she missed that particular class. She was fantastic in reading and spelling since her father had insisted on instilling a love of reading in her when she was very young. Instead she had other ideas. The Scythe Ponies were currently occupied with their exercises and so nopony noticed as she flew over the walls and trotted silently into the city, nor through the alleyways, nor into the forests as she passed beyond the limits of the city.

****

Thornpaw followed in the very back. His father, Fangsor—the name his father had, that maybe his father had, and no doubt both of his uncles had as the story went—along with his sister Sparrowsun were ahead. Each day his father would lead them closer and closer to the borderline that the ponies and wolves of old agreed upon. It was no secret to Thornpaw that his father despised the ponies and didn’t feel bound to an agreement that was made before he was born by a group of packs that weren’t his ancestors. He still obeyed the line, but only barely, and likely because he feared the ponies and their magic and technology that a wolf couldn’t hope to utilize.

“Don’t you think we’re getting a bit close to the line?” Thornpaw warned, causing Fangsor to pause and turn to glare at him.

“What did you say? Do you do what the ponies want? Are you, perhaps, afraid of them?” He snarled, glaring hatefully at Thornpaw.

Thornpaw wisely lowered his head. He could have just as easily faced him aggressively—Fangsor was getting old and would likely lose in a fight—but Thornpaw was perfectly fine with how things were. He didn’t care that his father hated him. He knew it was because he reminded him of his mother, unlike his sister who had reddish brown fur like his father. Thornpaw, however, was a wolf with black fur and strange green eyes that sparked with their own intelligence. He knew that if he defied Fangsor and showed that he was able to outmatch him, the old wolf would likely leave, giving Sparrowsun and him less of a reason to continue living together rather than finding mates of their own. He loved his sister dearly and nothing meant more to him than her wellbeing and so he put up with the abusive undercurrent in his father’s voice.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, “but I’m not afraid of the ponies. I simply don’t think we should waste time and energy. You’ve been straying farther and farther from our own territory as of late.”

“Don’t speak to me as if you know better than me. This is my pack and it’s my call where we go,” Fangsor replied loudly.

“Maybe we should keep going,” Sparrowsun said, intervening for Thornpaw’s sake. “We don’t want to be out too late or we might run into some timber wolves.”

This quieted the old wolf. All three of them were cautious about running into timber wolves; rumored to be the spirits of wolves that died in the wars of old between the ponies and wolves when there were no borders. They were thought to have possessed the discarded branches of the forest and they attacked ponies and wolves alike, envious and vengeful towards the living.

Fangsor agreed and so they continued on their way. Thornpaw was discontented to find that they had in no way altered their path, but he dared not start another fight.

To his dismay they came to the very edge of the forest and he could see the walls of Canterlot in the distance. He walked lower to the ground, his nerves on end. Fangsor growled at him when he noticed.

“Blast you! Why must my own son be such a coward?!” He growled, turning and baring his fangs at him. “We’ve not crossed the border yet and you’re already crawling on your belly like a dog.”

“You’re acting unreasonable,” Thornpaw replied. “What would you have me say if something was to happen to Sparrowsun?”

“I think I can speak for myself,” she growled at him, though she looked just as nervous.

He ignored her as he continued, “The point is that I’m sick of your games. I know you realize that this is more dangerous than you act. It’s all just a game!”

“I’ll prove you wrong,” Fangsor replied angrily. “This very day we’re going to kill one of them and walk away unscathed and you’ll realize what a fool you’re being for defying my wishes. Truly you are only a thorn in my side.”

Thornpaw bristled as Fangsor turned quickly and took a step to follow, but something, thin and silvery, caught his eye. He looked up to see a series of sharpened, medium sized logs that he knew to be attached to the thread. He cried out, but it was too late as Fangsor stepped on the thread. He only had time to save one of them, Sparrowsun in line with the trap as well. He slammed into her, knocking her to the ground, just as the trap sprang and impaled Fangsor, driving through him. He was dead almost instantly.

The siblings did not witness their father’s death, however, as Thornpaw unwittingly pushed Sparrowsun into a pit trap in which they both fell. They hit the bottom with a loud thump, but they were hurt no more than the wind being knocked out of them though Sparrowsun lost consciousness from the shock. Thornpaw was awake a few seconds more, long enough to catch sight of the yellow circle of light above him. He groaned as he thought he saw someone looking down on him before his vision blurred and he was no longer aware.

***

Wolfsing didn’t come anywhere close to where Thornpaw and his very small pack had been ambushed. She had, in fact, entered the forest without incident in a more northern part far from where Fangsor and his pups roamed.

That did not change how she felt. Things seemed a lot different from when she was a filly, and she wasn’t convinced she couldn’t be hurt any longer. Even the smallest sound made her feel nervous, and she honestly wondered if it would be better if she just turned back and went back to the castle without mentioning that she left in the first place.

She shook the thoughts away quickly, glancing at her flank a time or two to remind herself that this was where her talent led her. What did that even mean? Maybe she was meant to be a sort of negotiator or representative for the wolves. If they had a representative that was a pony then maybe those ponies that were complaining about the wolves would see things their way. Then again she began to doubt whether or not wolves could speak the pony language. She saw plenty of dogs and all they did was bark. She began to feel more and more uneasy as the branches above her began to grow thicker, and it became darker, and she found herself going deeper and deeper.

A loud snarl made her stop in her tracks and she turned quickly towards the sound. There stood one of the biggest wolves she’d ever seen. Well, she never really saw a wolf in real life before, but they were far bigger than she imagined they would be.

She smiled widely, trying to show that she was friendly, but that fell away as another wolf appeared along her side and other wolves surrounded her. All around her were hostile wolves and there was no escape in sight.

“I’m sorry,” she cried. “I didn’t mean to intrude. I just want to be friends…” They hardly seemed to care and showed no signs of understanding her, only growling louder and coming closer and closer as she turned about at least twice.

“Stop,” a commanding voice said, and out of nowhere a tall unicorn stallion appeared. His coat was a bright lime color and his mane was dark blue so there was no chance for her to mistake him for another wolf though he certainly had the ruggedness of the wolves around him.

“You control them?” She stuttered, beginning to smile hesitantly.

“I’m talking to you,” he said stiffly. “They don’t like when ponies smile like that. It looks like you’re baring your teeth at them. Only wolves command wolves, and even then it’s up to the wolf to listen or leave.”

Wolfsing nodded, having no trouble losing her smile as she felt a twinge of disappointment. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go, she thought to herself. As her smile became less noticeable some, though not all, of the wolves stop baring their fangs at her and raising their hackles.

“Who are you, and what do you think you’re doing here?” The unicorn asked her, his dark green eyes hard as he stared into her crystal green eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she nearly stuttered. “I came here to learn about the wolves, but I didn’t know how much I didn’t know.” Her voice grew quieter and tighter with shame as she added, “I came from the Canterlot castle and my name is Wolfsing…after my father. H-He taught me about the wolves at first, but I was really young and since then I’ve only remembered the forest he told me about.”

The strange unicorn looked at her curiously for a moment before finally saying her name, as if trying to decide if it was good or bad. “Wolfsing…I suppose if you’re telling the truth I can tell you a few things.”

As if this was a signal, most of the wolves, including those who were still showing a bit of hostility, dispersed, the rest watching curiously.

“R-Really,” she said, working hard not to smile like she was so used to. She noticed that he seemed to wear a permanent scowl, but she realized this was probably just as good as a smile for this pony that lived among wolves. “What is your name?” She felt stupid, wondering why that was the first thing that came to mind.

He gave her a strange look and it took a moment as if he was trying to figure that out himself. He finally said, “The wolves call me Wolftail so you can call me that too. It’s because of my mark.” He turned a bit to show the mark, the image of a wolf’s tail.

She nodded softly, no longer sure what she should say to this unicorn who must have been countless years ahead of her. Realistically he was about the same age as her, maybe a month or two older.

“I was raised here,” he said, his voice a bit clipped as he explained, “my father wasn’t fond of the way ponies lived in your Canterlot and my mother would follow him anywhere. He built the log cabin over this way, where I stay now. He died of sickness and my mother died of heart sickness.” He looked uncomfortable talking about himself so he added, “So what do you want to know of wolves?”

She shrugged a bit and replied in a quiet voice, “I really don’t know. I guess everything. I mean my father taught me a lot about them, but I was really young. I already said that though. I just knew that wolves aren’t as bad as the ponies say and I wanted to see for myself.”

“They don’t trust ponies much,” he said, looking distant now. “They keep their stories alive by telling them again and again and so I know there was a war a long time ago between the wolves and ponies when the ponies first came to these ancient woods, looking for more land in order to expand. One day the sun princess—Celestia?—came and spoke with the strongest alphas of the forest. She made a deal with them stating that they would no longer take from the forest as long as the wolves did not come and attack the ponies in their villages and allowed them passage if they were passing through as they would another wolf. If a wolf should attack out of the forest they would be punished as a pony however just like if a wolf was caught stealing prey from another pack in the forest.

“Still, they fear that Celestia will lose interest in our deal or else turn a blind eye. Wolves don’t have a single leader like ponies do in your Equestria after all. Only a sick or old wolf would attack a pony for fear of retaliation, but my pack is a bit different. They wouldn’t have killed you, but they aren’t afraid to bear their fangs at you and stand their ground because I was raised alongside them and they know I will stand for them. My father was a friend of wolves, just like Bloodtryst. Would you know of him?”

“He’s my father,” she said quietly, looking surprised, though pleasantly so.

She didn’t know how since he still wore his solemn expression, but there was something about his stance that made her think he was happy and excited to hear this.

“Why don’t you come back to my cabin with me?” He asked her, the sound of excitement definitely in his voice. “First of all I’ll tell you about the stance of the wolves, how it conveys emotions that ponies often just use their faces to express—rather badly, I’d say.”

“I would love to,” she replied, her inflection seeming to copy his as she started to get used to his subtle mannerisms, “but those in Canterlot will start to worry about me if I don’t start to head back soon.”

“Then let me lead you back. It’s easy to get disoriented when you’re not used to these woods,” he replied, looking a bit discouraged, but still determined. “I can tell you a few things on the way back.”

“That would be great,” she replied happily, reminding herself just in time not to smile like she was accustomed to. She didn’t know why mentioning her father’s name had opened him to her, but she found that she liked this stallion even if he seemed eons ahead of her. She seemed to gain a bit of a spring to her step as she glanced into his dark green eyes one more time. He was no longing looking so hard into hers, but she was starting to realize this was a good thing as they headed back to the castle. He even began to joke a bit with her, and she slowly started to catch on. She couldn’t explain it, but she felt so happy.