Northland

by Celefin

Rating: teen
Tags: Human, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Alternate Universe, Original Character
Length: 92555

On the 23rd of May 2015, magic came to Earth. The event left Scapa stranded, a lone pony on a windswept island on an almost empty planet. The former human survived, and he left behind an unlikely civilization. A Ponies After People story.

A hundred and twenty years have passed since humanity almost completely vanished from Earth and the world moved on without it. Today, on an archipelago off the northern tip of Scotland, there is a small town that has been repopulated by a peculiar little herd of equines.

Its young leader sets out to carry on his father's legacy, as difficult as the old pegasus' long shadow may make it for him. Life is harsh on the northern isles. The aftershocks of the magical transformation event are about to make it interesting as well.

A side story to Starscribe's fine work The Last Pony on Earth.

Since chapter 16 the story is edited by Doppler Effect and Fistfire. So is the beginning up to and including chapter 3 by now.

Cover art by the amazing quiet-victories.

Published 2015-08-16 23:20:01 UTC
Last updated 2017-04-07 08:02:39 UTC

Prologue - Scapa

The colt lay curled up in the coarse grass which glistened with dew in the first grey light.

Sea fog lay over the ridge overlooking the large natural harbour in the middle of the Orkney mainland, some thirty miles off the northern Scottish seaboard. A soft breeze was drifting in from the calm waters and stirred the mist into slow, cold swirls.

The thick grey blanket limited sight to maybe thirty yards and hid the view of the pier with the orange lifeboats below. It made the field seem to merge with the low hanging cloud.

The little creature shivered, its light grey fur and its steel blue mane and tail wet and matted. Its legs were blotchy with sand, bits of marram grass and kelp. Small wings protruded from its back, right behind the shoulder blades. They too were ruffled, wet and dirty.

There was a mark in the fur on its flank: a pair of saddlebags in a vibrant orange colour.

Sound was muffled in the dim greyness, not even the cry of one of the ever present seagulls carried on the air. The chattering of little teeth and soft crying were the only sounds to break the silence. A while later, he was startled by a soft snort from somewhere off to his right. His ears twitched at hearing faint steps in the grey.

“H... hello?” he said in a tiny voice.

Out of the fog a shadow emerged and hesitated for a few moments before it began to move towards him. He tensed and whimpered quietly. The shadow resolved into the outline of a stocky pony. It was about four feet tall, with a broad chest, strong legs and sturdy hooves. As it came closer, he could make out its off-white coat that contained a hint of yellow. The mane and tail were of a light grey with dark brown strands. There was a dark stripe down the length of its back, right along the spine.

Frightened, he lowered his gaze.

The animal's hooffalls came to a stop about a body length away. A soft nicker, sounding unsure. It hesitated. When he dared to look up at what turned out to be a mare, the pony gave a small, startled whinny. It took a half step back from the strange looking foal with the large, sky blue eyes.

“I know,” he whispered. “Go away.”

To his surprise, the mare seemed to gather herself and tossed her mane. The movement looked more like a shake of her head, followed up with a decisive hoof-stomp. She closed the remaining distance between them and bowed down to inspect the peculiar colt from up close. He tried to press himself into the grass in response, as if that could make him disappear. Still, he couldn't resist looking up at her, even if that now for the most part meant her dripping wet fetlocks.

She scented him. He could feel her warm breath on his neck and back and heard another surprised little sound. The wet grass made a squishing noise under her hooves as she shifted her weight and paused. Then her muzzle came down, brushed a short distance upward along his barrel and lifted the little wing she found there. He involuntarily unfurled it at the touch right below the wing joint.

He winced and buried his face in the grass again.

When she withdrew her touch and took a step back, he shivered and tried to fight the tears that were forming in his eyes again. He tried to wipe one eye with a clumsy forehoof, but only succeeded in hurting himself and smearing dirt on his face. The sniffling turned into a quiet sob.

The soft touch of warm air to his cheek startled him. Even more so did the careful nuzzle he received a moment later, just behind the ear and then to his muzzle. In a strange way, it was comforting.

He blinked and looked up into the face that was only a couple of inches away, right into the fjord pony's eyes. They held far too much intelligence for a simple horse. Right now though, all he could think about was the unexpected warmth that lay in the mare's gaze. Her pitying gaze; one that a horse should not be able to show any sign of whatsoever.

“What do you want from me?” he asked in a small and trembling voice.

Another nuzzle was the answer, this time just below his right shoulder blade. When he didn't react to that, he received another, somewhat more forceful one. The little yelp he gave in response clearly wasn't satisfactory to the animal. The next nuzzle was more of an impatient push that was accompanied by a snort.

“Alright! I- I get it!” he squeaked. An annoyed look at the sound of his own voice crossed his face and he snorted himself. That sound confused him enough to make him hesitate a little too long. He received another, stronger push. “Ow! I'm trying!”

His numb legs weren't easy to get up and walk on, not even with the mare's support. There being four of them to coordinate still didn’t help in the slightest. Several times he stumbled on the uneven ground and would have fallen, had it not been for the pony at his side. It carefully nudged him along, seeming a little irritated after a while. For a little while, they continued like this in a northerly direction until the colt stopped up without warning. That caused the mare to walk into him with a surprised neigh, pushing him over.

On the other side of the pasture they had been traversing was a dune summit, overgrown with stiff grasses and small patches of heather. In its lee sat a green tent. It was one of the sturdy geodesic ones, built to withstand most adverse weather conditions. The colour shone brightly in the diffuse yellow light of the clearing mist.

The tent flap was open and lazily flapped in the breeze. The tent itself was tilted to one side, as if something had collapsed against it. A large orange backpack sat in front of it, its contents half unpacked. A campsite with a small camping stove was next to it. On the ground was a tipped over kettle and an open glass of instant coffee, its by now half liquid contents spilled on the ground.

'Visit Scotland!' a brochure tucked into one of the pack straps of the pack advertised with abundant enthusiasm. The pack itself was adorned with a multitude of flags and badges from sights around the world.

Across from it sat another pack, this one a little smaller and bright turquoise. A worn camping mat lay off to the side, blown against the tent’s guy lines. Right in front of the pack was a sodden book, looking as if somebody had let it drop where they stood.

'Orkney and Shetland: The Magical Isles of the North'

The colt managed to rise to his hooves again despite the fact he was shaking now, although this time it wasn’t from the cold. The mare moved between her charge and the sight that was distressing him and tried to lead him down the incline to the little village to their left. When he didn't obey immediately, she bit down on his right ear and tugged him along. She ignored his protests and then his whining until they were well away from the fateful spot.

She led him north along the empty road, past the quiet homes and the deserted beach where he'd stumbled about the day before in his new and alien body. Somewhere in the silence, an alarm clock on the last leg of its batteries still tried to rouse its owner. An owner that had ceased to exist a few days ago, along with everybody else. The only one left was the colt now being shepherded past the settlement.

In the distance to the west, a large building sitting close to the shoreline became visible through the thin haze. It was a distillery warehouse, its white walls glistening in the morning sun. Bold black letters adorned the seaward side.

SCAPA

Only five days ago, he and his girlfriend Jenny had enjoyed a guided tour of the place and afterwards also a few samples of their ten year single malt. They had bought a bottle of one of the more expensive varieties and the following night in their small tent had been truly memorable. At about lunchtime next day, that and everything else he knew about his life and of how the world worked had turned into nothing but a memory.

Clip clop.

A little uphill from the village they reached a modest farmhouse. It was an old brick building with whitewashed walls, slate roofing and crossbars in the windows. There was a sign at the entrance to the neat driveway, its dark letters engraved on the lacquered wood.

Welcome to Hrossey Croft
Explore Orkney on Horseback!

There was a stable behind the house.
It was warm.

Author's Note

These events took place at the end of May 2015, a hundred and twenty years ago today.

Dear Father

The young stallion’s pigeon blue coat looked dull in the dim light of the low chamber. His straw-coloured mane with its sunflower hues was salt-matted and unkempt. Before him, laid out on the earthen floor of the cairn, was the still form of his father.

He stood proud, no tears in his sky blue eyes, as befitting for the one who would take over after the living legend had passed away. It was obvious he had grieved. Unlike the others though, he had done so in solitude on the sea cliffs to the west.

He bore his father's most distinguishing feature. It was the one thing everyone had waited and hoped for to show up on their foal. Or waited to show on at least some foal at one point in their own lifetime. None had ever been blessed with it in the four generations the elder had managed to outlive.

Wings.

The frail and lifeless body lay on its belly, legs and hooves tucked in, as if just taking an extended nap. A stone headrest served as a pillow, and the stallion’s steel blue mane had been draped across it with care.

The old pegasus’ wings were outstretched, as if the pony was just soaking up the midsummer sun. The light blue feathers, that once had a metallic sheen, were now dulled with age and illness. In stark contrast, the mark of the two saddlebags on his flanks was still the same bright orange it had always been.

A humourless smile touched the young stallion's muzzle. No one alive had ever seen the elder fly. Just like no one had ever seen himself fly. He knelt down and touched his father's forehead with his own.

A few moments later, three ponies entered the cairn through the entrance behind him. His brothers. It wasn’t just the wings that set him apart. Their broader necks, longer legs and sturdy fetlocks told of their mother's fjord pony heritage. Their eyes, though almost as large and colourful as his or father's, were a little bit farther apart. Their muzzle was a little longer as well.

In contrast, his own body was lithe and somewhat sinewy. His build was much lighter than theirs, hinting at agility and speed. It was something that had given him no joy in his early years. Almost every colt and most of the fillies had been able to outrun him without too much effort.

What really had made his foalhood miserable though, was the envy he had received from his two older siblings. They would have competed for leadership of the herd when old Scapa passed away. With his birth it became a moot point and they were relegated to irrelevance without warning.

Harvest Moon, the eldest of the three, was a broad-chested grey stallion with an ice blue mane. A steel blue streak ran through it, nature’s nod to his father. His cold, dark brown eyes rested on the kneeling pegasus as he planted his hooves on the ground.

Moorland Song came next, deep in thought as always. His coat was of a muted heather green, his mane a cascade of greyish purple hues. He closed his grey eyes for a few moments as he sat down on his haunches with a weary sigh.

The last one to enter was Solstice Spirit, who always had, and always would, stick out of every group. His patchy brown and white coat sported large, irregular silvery green splotches. His grey and white, tousled mane and tail didn't help to smooth his appearance. His gold brown eyes looked tired and listless.

After a minute or so, the youngest of them all got up from the floor and left with only a nod to the others. The three set about the task of covering father's body with the islands' reddish grey sandstone slabs.

He left the central chamber with its drystone walls that were covered in ancient rune markings. Why couldn't he get their banal and inappropriate translations out of his mind even now? The ceiling of the entranceway to the outside was so low that even ponies had to mind their head. The passage seemed remarkably short this day.

Stepping out into the golden light of the afternoon sun, he beheld the small herd waiting there. Many looked like the horses that had already lived on the islands in the times of the old folk. Others had patches of colour in their coat, ranging from sea foam green to blue to dark purple. These tended to have larger and sometimes more colourful eyes as well as different proportions in general. A few appeared almost similar to himself and his brothers.

Then there were a few larger breeds that stuck out like weather vanes. They were wanderers and the occasional outcast from the northern tribes. For the most part, they had joined the herd just recently. Gathered in a wide semi circle before the ancient grave mound, they all quieted down as they became aware of his presence.

An expectant silence fell over the open field, only broken by quiet nickers or a quickly shushed whinny of a foal. A far off cry of a seagull carried on the ever present, low whistle of the wind.

In the pleasant warmth of that late spring day, Dawn Horizon shivered.

His hooves rustled the long grass as he ascended the little artificial round hill. A flat plain stretched for miles around it in every direction, making the blue sky with its wispy clouds seem like an impossibly high dome. It made him feel insignificant. When he reached the top, he hesitated and took a deep breath before he turned around to face the gathering.

He opened his mouth and tried to swallow the dryness that had appeared in his throat, with the only result being a quiet, strangled cough. A dozen ears in the front row flicked.

Taking another deep breath to steady the voice he felt was about to betray him, he planted his hooves firmly on the ground. He forced himself to raise his head high and then arched his neck a little bit, just like his father had taught him. There was still a slight tremor in his voice, but at least it would now carry far enough for everyone to hear.

“My father, who was also ancestor, great grandfather and grandfather to many of you, has finally come to the end of his long and often laborious trot. He spent the last decade of his life teaching me the lore of the old folk, the lore of these islands, the lore of our folk.

"He also taught me to use this knowledge to lead us further on the path he set, all these many years ago, when he came to these islands. The path of learning, exploration and discovery. The path of fostering the bonds of family and friendship that engender the mutual trust we all depend on.

"He taught me of justice and of fairness, of humility and the importance never to forget where we came from. Most of all though, he instilled in me a deep love for this home of ours, for all of you. He saw me fit to take over after him. He had confidence that I could carry on his legacy.”

He felt his legs tremble as he took a deep breath against the pressure on his chest.

His brothers had finished their grim task and were walking up to him. All three gave the slightest of nods to him and each other before they took up station a body-length behind him. He didn't dare to look back at them.

His young voice rang out over the field once more.

“This is all I ask of you.
To not judge before you have something to judge.
To have confidence that I will succeed in this task.
Because I know that I will, as long as we can all stand together as family and friends.
Have confidence.
This is all I ask of you.”

The wind whistled in the long grass that surrounded the circular mound and played with the tips of the young stallion's tangled mane. He stood rigid with apprehension, having delivered the speech he had rehearsed so often it had followed him into his dreams. He was certain that, had it not done so on its own, father would have made sure to chase it there.

After an unbearably long minute, one by one the assembled herd began to kneel. He let out the breath he'd been holding for long enough to almost make him gasp for air. He briefly fought to maintain his composure; to not just begin to weep with relief. This hadn’t been the outcome of the many nightmares he had endured over the last year. Since his ailing father had begun to talk in earnest about succession. In fact, what now played out before him hadn't been the outcome of any dream at all.

They bowed to him.

A sudden giddiness overcame him. It was done! They accepted him! The hardest task father had ever given him was... had they ever bowed before father? They must have.

They bowed! To him!

There was a cough and a shuffling of hooves behind him that quelled the rising euphoria. He blinked, realising that there were still more than a hundred horses kneeling before him, who had done so for over a minute now. A blush coloured his cheeks and he hated himself for it.

“Rise to your hooves, my friends!” he called out, the tone of his voice still a little squeakier than he would have liked. Some light-headedness remained.

There was an audible snort from his eldest brother, Harvest Moon, still standing in formation with Moorland Song and Solstice Spirit. “As if they'd...,” could just be heard before the rising chant of “Dawn! Dawn! Dawn!...” drowned out his voice.

Solstice walked up to Dawn and nudged him in the side, making him jump and half-flare his wings in surprise. He had been too enraptured by what played out on the field to even notice him. With a soft chuckle, his brother watched him fold up again.

“You really need to get those things under control. It's unbecoming of your new station,” he said in an earnest tone. He failed to hide his friendly grin despite his best efforts, yet the words still made Dawn's ears flatten against his head.

“Sun and Moon! Can't you at least wait until this is over?!” he hissed.

“Now, Moony here's got nothing to do-” He broke off when he noticed Dawn beginning to bristle and deflated with a sigh. “Sorry. Couldn't resist... Uhm. I actually just wanted to congratulate you. Father would have been proud of that display you just delivered. No, really, he would've. But speaking of congratulating you,” he added in an again more playful tone, “There are a few others who'd like to do that as well I should think.” He waved a hoof in the direction of the assembled herd. “You should go down there and mingle with them. Otherwise they'll be hoarse from calling your name in an hour or so.”
His grin was back as he bumped a hoof to Dawn's withers.

The new leader’s ears drooped. “Look, it's just that... that...” There was a deep intake of breath. “No, you're right. Thanks, Sol.” He took a deep breath and nodded. With that, he turned and walked down the hill to where his herd was waiting for him.

“He'll crack soon enough,” a gruff voice commented behind Solstice.

“Hey, have some faith, Moony!”

“Don't call me that.”

Solstice gave a long and heartfelt sigh.

Harvest scowled at him but soon turned his annoyed gaze towards the bottom of the hill. The members of the herd were trying to get to their new leader all at once, in a merry display of equine chaos. That most of them were larger than Dawn did nothing to make his appearance more regal. It didn’t help that he was trying to acknowledge and thank everyone close enough to do so at the same time. He was barely visible, except for the occasional wing in someone's face.

Harvest rolled his eyes. “Will you look at him. This is ridiculous. ‘Rise to your hooves my friends'. That he could say that with a straight face... I'll 'have some faith' only in the unlikely event that he actually does something to earn it.”

Solstice inched away from his eldest brother and bit his lower lip for a second. He gave Harvest a sideways glance. “Should he have said 'Rise, my subjects!' instead, oh my not-chieftain?”

He yelped as Harvest spun around with a snarl and tried to bite him.

“What a fine display you two are putting on." Moorland Song trotted up to them and sat down on his haunches, two lengths away from them and looking exasperated.

Harvest stopped snapping after Solstice. The piebald, in turn, stopped jumping around to stay out of reach of those vicious teeth.

“We have an audience, in case you didn't notice. Apart from the one you should have been able to be aware of, I mean.” He flicked his head to the south-east. There, a group of Iceland ponies stood and watched the proceedings from a distance.

There were no remarkable differences between them, no colourful streaks or patches. They did exude a sense of grace and purpose though when they turned as one and trotted off. Two of them looked back over their shoulder as if they would have liked to linger. They galloped away to the south-east with the rest of the group when their leader picked up speed.

“The Ronaldsay tribe?” Harvest shook off some dust and trotted over. “What about them?”

After a few moments, Moorland sighed and turned to face him. He exchanged the disdainful look he'd been giving his youngest brother for an irritated look directed at his elder one.
“Maybe they wanted a first-hoof impression of our new leader and his reception? It's going to be interesting to see if they'll want to be traditional about being on bad terms with us. They might give him a chance to try and improve on that.”

“And you're both hoping he'll fail,” Solstice deadpanned. “Aren't you?”

Moorland snorted. “As a matter of fact, quite the opposite. But when it comes down to it, he's still only in this position now because of his feathery appendages. It’s not because he has shown any special talent, much less vision. Or even ambition, for that matter. So I'm not optimistic.”

“But you're still not going to try and assist him, am I right?”

Both Harvest and Moorland glared at him.

“How come you're suddenly all enthusiastic for that colt?” Harvest demanded. “If you're that opportunistic, you're shallower than I thought. Jokester.” He gave him a ‘I haven't forgotten and this isn't over yet’ look.

Solstice's ears splayed back against his head as he took a nervous step back, his tail tucked in. “I'm not enthusiastic!” he hurried to reply. “I- I just think that's what father would have wanted and that he, you know, deserves that chance. Uhm.”

“Right.” Moorland nodded, wearing a dispassionate expression. “We should go down there and join the well-wishers still left. He is family, after all. Who knows? Everything may turn out just fine.” He turned and strode down the mound, with Solstice following close by.

Harvest gave a resigned little huff, collected himself and fell in line behind the other two. He kept close enough to Solstice's haunches to make the younger pony jittery.

'Ingigerth is the most beautiful of all women', was carved beside an image of a slavering dog.

He pressed a hoof against the spot between his eyes. It didn't make the images and cursed translations of the Viking runes go away. The cairn below him was sealed now, but his brain kept repeating them over and over.

'This mound was raised before Ragnarr Lothbrock’s sons were brave smooth-hide men'

Prehistory... what the old folk had known to be ancient. All the books father had managed to preserve in the cabinets acquired from the 'Stromness Museum'. It was all there. He had read them all, not only those on history. All of them. Father would have had his hide, had he caught him slacking.

He looked out over the flat and fertile plain surrounding the lonely little hill he sat on. The evening sun glinted on the loch to the west. Fragments of stone walls cast their long shadows over the old farmland, that nowadays was a beautiful, flowering meadow.

'Haermund Hardaxe carved these runes'

Wish I had a name like that. He snorted at himself. He still liked the sound of the name though. It sounded like someone who others would think twice about messing with. No matter what father had had in mind when he named him, he still thought his own sounded like a filly's name. Most of the other foals had thought so too.

Why father had insisted on naming his sons himself, instead of letting the mother do so, had always been a mystery to him. ‘You wouldn't understand.’

Same as for the question where he'd come from. ‘You wouldn't understand.’ When once asked about the mark on father's flanks, mother had quickly shushed him. And that was that.

Sitting there in the cool evening breeze, he realized that in all likelihood no-one knew. Father had taken those bits of history with him into the ancient grave mound.
He wished he'd insisted on being told. Not half a day ago he had told the herd about the importance of always remembering where they came from. A fine leader he would make if he couldn't do himself what he demanded of others.

'Thorni fucked. Helgi carved'

“Ow!” Smacking himself on the muzzle with a hoof helped. It did so most times.

After an hour's westward trot on the cracked and partly overgrown asphalt road, the sheltered town of Stromness came into view. Past the empty remains of villages and farmsteads, the road spanned the mainland from west to east. In some places, where the old drainage ditches had clogged up, it was submerged in mud or shallow water.

It wasn't particularly dark even though it was late, the sun was hiding just below the horizon after all. It never got truly dark at this time of the year. Even at midnight, only the brightest of stars were visible.

He absent-mindedly noted the state of disrepair of the small bridge that crossed the inlet to Loch Stenness. They would have to figure out a way to do something about that before it collapsed. That would make necessary a long trek around the loch to get to the other side that was only fifty yards away. That was his responsibility as well now. He sighed and trotted onward.

From this point exactly two miles to go before home. Half an hour at a brisk trot, give or take a few minutes. He smiled a little at the effortless precision of the thought.

Maps. Dozens of them, father's most sacred possession. He knew them all by heart, all names, all distances, all places. Most important of all were the places that had been or still were a good place to look for useful old folk artefacts. Even those few maps of 'the other side', as father had called it with this longing in his voice. Even one of a large city called Inverness.

He'd never seen the coastline that father had told him was visible from the southernmost point of South Ronaldsay. Across the rushing, choppy waters of what was called the Pentland Firth. He perked up a little. He might be able to work something out with the tribe of South Ronaldsay, to let him gain access to that part! That called for leadership. He slumped again. His untested leadership.

“That's your tiredness talking. You can do this,” he assured himself with a weak but hopeful smile.

Maybe he would get to see the spot on the western shore of the peninsula where a small sailing yacht had once foundered on the rocks! That had been in his grandmother's time. A drowned and bloodied pony had been tangled in pieces of rigging trailing after the boat. Another body was found the next day, washed ashore a mile further to the north. The two ponies had looked like father! Without the wings, but colourful and with marks on their flanks!

What stories those two might have been able to tell. Their boat's steering wheel and other pieces of the wreck were mounted on the wall behind his father’s desk after all. That too large for a colt desk with all the maps.

Sometimes he wondered if father's true name wasn't Scapa but Long Journey, or something like that. He wished he'd asked, even if that would have come close to asking about his mark. He wished he'd asked anyway. He wished he'd asked about so many things.
‘You wouldn't understand.’

He picked his way through another swampy part, where the road had all but disappeared. There was mud everywhere from when the herd had returned earlier that day. Or was it yesterday? A fleeting smile lit up his features when he spotted a foal-sized indentation in the mud, at the end of short skid marks left by two pairs of tiny hooves.

The foals were his responsibility now as well, or rather what their future would look like. Or was that preposterous? He guessed it wasn't, seeing as father had steered the whole herd in the direction he saw fit. That had resulted in them living in buildings that were kept in as good repair as they could manage. The alternative would be the open fields and natural shelters like the tribes. He shuddered at the thought.

They also worked a few fields to the best of their abilities. His father had propagated the seeds right from the point where the age of the Old Folk had ended. The yield didn’t come close to be enough for all of them, all year round. It did bring a very welcome variation to their tables though.

He didn't mind eating hay or even grazing in a pinch. He wouldn't miss it either though, if they managed to make it unnecessary. Father had hated it with a passion and his sons had often left him their share of the ‘real food’, as father used to call it.

“When we manage.” He reminded himself.

He passed the remains of some large structures in an advanced state of decay, a hundred yards to his left. Their sheet metal roofs had failed decades ago. The reinforced concrete walls were crumbling.

A 'processing plant'. For fish. There was all kinds of machinery there. Half buried in the rubble, much of it stainless steel, it was still smooth and shiny. ‘One day, we'll be able to build something like this as well.’ Father had fallen silent for several minutes after that, with that blank, far-off look in his eyes.

He’d asked how he thought they would ever do that. Father had glared at him and snapped, ‘With our stupid, fucking hooves!’ and changed the subject. Terminally. That was the first and last time he had ever heard father use such an expletive. He had never asked again.

One of his forelegs caught on a raised piece of broken asphalt, hidden in the long grass that was sprouting from the cracks. He caught himself with an undignified scrabble of skidding hooves and flailing wings.

His left shin hurt.

Father's dexterity and flexibility had been amazing, not the least with his wings. He himself still had to figure out how to hold anything with them in a secure manner. The main problem was not to drop the item when something surprised him and the cursed things flared out. Granted, they seldom did that nowadays when he wasn't under a lot of stress. He just didn't trust them.

There weren’t all that many in the herd that were able to do more than grip something between hoof and fetlock. Being able to bend their forelegs in much more useful ways than the majority made those few special.

Past rows of decrepit houses with collapsed walls and rotting timbers, he trotted down to Stromness harbour. Hamnavoe, or 'Haven Bay', as it was once called in ancient times. Moss-covered, broken roof tiles littered the ground.

Down at the harbour, he walked across a space built for automobiles to wait for the return of their owners. Many still did. Their rusted shells rested on the concrete expanse, askew on the brittle remains of their deflated tyres. Rough grass sprouted through the cracks in the corrugated surface.

Maybe he should have headed home to rest. Instead, he walked over to where the calm, dark waters gently lapped at the crumbling concrete pier. He sat down on his haunches at its very end.

Behind him stood the ruined remains of the low ticket office and tourist information. The building had once welcomed passengers from the other side, as they walked down the corroded gangway. Its remaining front wall still proclaimed 'Stromness Travel Centre' in bold, faded letters. Father had told him so many times about the ocean-going vessels that used to come and go here. Especially that one large ship that had arrived twice a day with people and cargo on board. ‘Just over there. That's where the NorthLink ferries used to dock.’

‘We need to lift one of those bigger fibre-glass yacht hulls and turn it into a boat again. We need to cross the Pentland Firth. If we don't, we'll be forever stuck in the middle ages over here. We’ll never have enough resources to do more than just scrape by! Do you understand that, Dawn?’

‘Yes Father, I understand.’

He had indeed, in a way, understood. At the same time, saying it had made him feel guilty about the point that he was quite happy with their way of life. On the other hoof, he had always believed in his father, and he still did.

‘We can build something here Dawn. We can rebuild what was before.’

Acquiring that same burning desire, that same longing though... that would always be beyond him, he feared. But he had promised to continue on the path. He had announced it today, he reminded himself. There would be no going back.

‘An ocean-going vessel, Dawn, that can cross the Firth. With a crew of our best people.’

They had figured out how to recreate a working block and tackle. He knew the position of the best candidate in the silt of the harbour basin. They were also close to be able to build the necessary equivalent of a crane. Or at least something of similar use. Attaching ropes or chains to something five yards below the surface and hoisting it onto dry land? That was something else though.

Refitting it... could that even be done with a hull that old? Training a crew? Navigating and surviving the Firth's tidal races and unpredictable weather?

It was all there in the books and charts. But in real life? And if they made it, what then? If he could at least scout out that other shoreline to know where to go and what to look for. Maybe find others that father had been so sure were out there somewhere. If only he could use his wings to- he squeezed his eyes shut. He would not begin to ruminate on that again, not now.

And where would he find all the hooves to spare for this? Especially those capable hooves that were needed just about everywhere else? So many things that only they could do were vitally important here and now.

‘You can finish this Dawn.’ His father had lain there on that bed of hay, with such confidence in his tired eyes. ‘I know you can.’ He hung his head.

He watched the sun begin to make its way up over the horizon after its brief rest.

“Dawn?” a soft voice rang out from somewhere behind him.

“Yes, mother?” he said, not taking his eyes from the harbour opening to the south.

“Come back home with me.” The mare walked up and nuzzled him below the ear.

“Yes, mother.”

Dear Mother

Arrive as a guest, leave as a friend

Springtide had always liked the welcome sign in a window of the 'Stromness Hotel' down at the harbour. It would make a beautiful greeting at the northern entrance to their little town. Somehow that had never happened and maybe it was time to change that.

She was a self confident mare who still showed some of her forebears' fjord pony traits, although she was a good bit shorter than them. Her muzzle was a little smoother and elongated compared to old Scapa, and her build more graceful. Her sea green coat had lighter and darker patches here and there, depending on the light and the angle one got to see her from. The pale yellow mane and tail were streaked with dark grey and white. Down her spine there was the shadow of a stripe.

She turned away from her reflection and looked north along the road. It occurred to her that she'd never thought in earnest about doing something about that sign when Scapa still had been around. Had she been afraid of doing it without his explicit permission? Which she hadn't sought because he'd always been so busy with important things?

You silly mare, does it matter? I’ll just finally have it done now. Good thing the sign had stayed dry and been painted in some resilient paint and still looked good. Now she just needed to find the right spot to put it.

With a spring in her step she trotted northwards. The road led out of Stromness, northeast to their fields, meadows, and pastures. She trotted past the ruins of dwellings that the old folk had called 'developments', as Moorland had once told her. They weren’t much more than mounds with house bits sticking out.

She gave a happy nod to a pair of sweating ponies who were pulling a trailer into town, stacked high with bundles of hay. She caught a whiff of the delightful smell of that sweet and savoury first cut of the year and smiled. They nodded back with friendly smiles as well. They had their ears flat against their heads though, against the din of the cart’s bare rims.

It must have been nice to have tyres to ease the job and eliminate the awful noise. She’d asked Moorland about that once and had received an apologetic smile in return. According to him, the last of those had become brittle and deflated before she was even born. At least the aluminium frames and panels would probably last forever.

Why was she in such high spirits, when by all rights she should have been grieving? That question had popped into her mind several times over the last few days. Yes, she was so very proud of Dawn and how he'd managed so far, something no one had tired of telling her yet at every opportunity.

'A fine leader to come, well, with that kind of father', 'Just like his father', 'Old Scapa sure raised him well', 'You sure gave the old stallion a fine son', 'One to carry his father's legacy'. It felt good to see him accepted like that.

Was that the reason for her good mood? If that was all it took to not taint the memory of her late beloved mate with sorrow, then that was fine by her! She'd much rather remember him with joy instead of painful longing.

“A job well done,” she could almost hear him say in that gruff voice that passed for his complimenting tone.

She slowed to a walking pace, then halted after a few more steps. Was it that? A job well done that she’d raised four wonderful sons and secured his legacy? That she could be happy about the present and could let go of the past with confidence?

A job well done. Something like turning the remnants of the old road to their fields into something you could pull trailers on.

They’d lost good people to injuries. Lost good people to a winter with too little food, because they’d spent so much time on that monumental project. Afterwards, they never had any trouble getting over the winter months again. Nothing had gone to rot on the muddy fields anymore, just because they couldn't bring it in in time.

A ‘job well done’ was something vital. Something important.

Not like, say, putting up a welcome sign for the odd stray individual. Most newcomers wouldn’t be able to read it in the first place. It would occupy three capable members of the herd a whole day, or maybe even two. It needed a little roof to protect the sign from the worst of the weather. It needed to be solid, as to not blow over in a winter storm. It would make her happy.

She found the spot where it should go. Just over there on the embankment where its bright colours would be visible from a mile away. No matter if one came over the northern or the eastern approaches, he or she would see it. A weary sigh escaped her as she looked out over their territory.

“We don't have the hooves to spare for nonsense like that,” her mind whispered at her in a familiar tone.

But they wouldn’t have to pour all their resources into all those hard projects now. Several of them, all at once. I can just do it now. For the first time in three weeks there were tears in her eyes. That was where her good mood stemmed from then. She stomped a hoof in frustration. It wasn’t fair.

She'd earned that sign! No, not earned. That would imply she'd done something to be allowed that little happiness in return. Been good enough to be allowed to waste valuable resources on something silly as a reward.

It's not silly!”, she exclaimed. “It's a good thing!” Some things couldn’t be assigned a value. Shouldn’t be assigned a value. She deserved that sign.

Everyone here deserved that little smile it would bring when you pulled that heavy, noisy trailer past it. Or when you dragged yourself along the road, exhausted after a day's toil in the fields. Or when you limped home on a sprained fetlock because you'd finally overdone it this week.

And now she was sitting here in the bright sunshine in the middle of the road, crying over such a silly, happy little thing. Allowing that stupid, happy little thing to sully all her fond memories. Allowing it to tell her she was free now.

With a frustrated cry, she kicked a stone into the meadow with a hind hoof. She’d ask Dawn. She'd definitely ask Dawn. She'd do so right away. Now.
She marked the spot she'd chosen with a few pieces of asphalt. She took a deep breath, turned on her hind hooves and galloped back towards Stromness.

As she rushed along the piers, she spotted her son in front of the Stromness Hotel. Dawn turned when he heard her hooffalls around the bend up to main street and waved to her. She laughed and galloped up to him, remembering a little too late why she often scolded foals for doing that on the stone paving. When she tried to stop, she skidded. Dawn caught her with wings and forelegs and they both almost toppled over.

He hugged her and laughed, a sound she heard far too seldom. Who knew that being rebellious could give such joy?

“What’s going on Mother?”

She gulped for air, swallowed, and tried to catch her breath. She grinned. “Dawn! I just remembered something I’ve wanted to do for years. You know that sign in the window over there with the welcome message? I really, really want that put where everyone who comes into town can see it, you know, where both roads join on that round spot and where you would be able to see it no matter where you approach from? Do you think you could somehow fit that into the schedule? I know it’s silly, but it would make your mother really happy and I’m certain a lot of others-”

He grinned and held up a hoof. “Stop Mother, stop!”

A sinking feeling crept up on her and her ears began to droop. She should have known.

“I’m sorry Dawn… I know…”

“I said, stop,” he interrupted her. “I just so happen to have planned for this little endeavour and was only waiting for you to ask.”

“Y- you have?!”

“Yes. I've told Harvest to find something else of importance to do with his team when the day arrives. You know, something they can do without their tool specialists. We'll have your sign up by tomorrow evening, at the latest!”

Joy welled up in her, joy that she tried to keep in check just a little longer. “Aren’t there more important things? It’s just so silly, and I don’t want- I mean, are you sure there is room for that?”

“Absolutely!”

“...!” Her heart felt as if it wanted to jump out of her chest, and had he not cried out for help, she might have crushed him in her hug.

The next morning was overcast and a little chilly, but dry so far. Moorland and Harvest had both left early, the latter with a promise to send over three of his team to help. She wanted to savour this day and had asked Dawn to have a proper breakfast with her.

“So,” she said after putting bread and first cut on the table, “What are you up to?”

He sat down on his haunches and smiled at her. She realized it had been a long time since she’d last had a private meal with anyone of her family. This was going to to be a good day.

He cocked his head. “You really interested?” he asked and took a bite of the bread.

“As a matter of fact, yes, I am.” She leaned forward and nibbled at some of the tender grass.

“Alright then,” he said with a bemused smile. “Remember how Moor was going on about how we only have just enough linseed oil to conserve all the window frames but nothing else?”

She nodded. His brother had a tendency to be overly dramatic. She was never sure how bad something in fact was when he complained about it. Especially when it concerned something technical. “Have you come up with something?”

He gave her a brilliant smile. “I have! There’s a wood paint called Falu Red we can make ourselves. It’s from Sweden- hm? Sorry. That was a country on the other side of the North Sea. Anyway, it was made with copper mine tailings.”

“Tails?” She blinked. “Oh, no. So… what is that?”

He looked embarrassed. “That’s- mmm, the Old Folk could mine copper. But there’s not all that much of it in the rocks, so you have to get it out first. All that rock you’ve extracted it from is worthless and you dump it. That’s a whole lot of stuff and that is called tailings. But there’s still a little bit left in it, and also a lot of other things. Like hematite.”

She cocked her head and lifted her forehooves with a little laugh. “You’ve lost me, Dawn.”

He continued anyway. “That’s a form of iron and it’s the pigment you need! You just grind the tailings into a powder, add some rye flour and cook it in water and then you have paint that preserves wood, especially weathered wood, and it’s also easy to apply! And it’s also a nice red colour.”

“That sounds lovely.” She hesitated. At this rate, his breakfast was going to wilt before he was finished. He reminded her of his father on a good day. She smiled. “But how are you going to get these- these ‘tailings’? She tried some of the grass as well and savoured the taste. It was delicious.

“That’s the best thing!” he said with a happy grin. “There’s a deposit of poor copper ore up at Yesnaby. And they tried to mine it once, but gave up on it because of the low quality. So all the rock on top of it is already removed. We can just take it and grind it up and make all the paint we need! I guess there’s more copper in it than necessary, but I don’t think that’s a problem.”

“But isn’t that really hard stone up there?”

“Well, yes. But I’m certain that Moor-”

A speckled mare from Solstice’s team trotted through the entrance and interrupted him. “Hello-” she began, then remembered who she was talking to and gave a little bow.

Springtide gave the pony a sour look. Of course she knew that the chance of having an uninterrupted conversation with her son always was slim. Still, she’d held out some hope anyway.

He sighed. “What is it?”

“I’m sorry. It’s just that we need Solstice Spirit and he hasn’t shown up yet.”

“I haven’t seen him today,” he replied and turned to his mother. “Have you?”

“No, but I have a suspicion.” She cast a longing look at her breakfast, shook her head and stood up. “Give me a minute,” she said and left the lobby through the doorway to the kitchen and back rooms.

She walked down the short corridor, stopping at the last of the three doors on the left side. Soft snoring could be heard from behind it. Of course he has to do that today. With an irritated snort she pushed open the door and stuck her head inside.

Solstice lay sprawled out on his mat, a blissful expression on his face. One of his legs twitched at the sound of her entering. She took a deep breath, stretched out her neck, and whinnied.

He jerked awake and hit his head on the back wall with a wooden smack. “Ow! Shit! Son of a-”

“Solstice Spirit!”

“-what? Mom?!” Draping his forelegs over his head, he looked up to her. “That actually hurt,” he muttered.

“What are you still doing here? There’s a mare outside who says your team is waiting for you. Get up!”

“Ah dammit, that was today?” He pressed his muzzle into the hay, burying his head halfway. “I thought we’d agreed to start on that new house tomorrow.” A few pieces of hay drifted away as he snorted into it and rolled onto his belly. “Give me a second?”

“No. Get up, now.”

“Alright, alright.” He disentangled his legs and got to his hooves with a groan. “Guess breakfast isn’t an option?”

She looked up to the ceiling with a sigh. “I’m sure you can find something when you get there.”

“Yeah. Some thistles between the debris.”

“It’s not my fault, is it?” She sighed and continued in a softer tone. “Have a look in the kitchen, there’s still some bread left. Not much, but it’s something.” She gave him a wink. “Just don’t tell anyone.”

He grinned. “Thanks! You’re the best!” With that, he trotted past her and disappeared into the kitchen.

A moment later she heard the back door slam shut. She shook her head and went back into the lobby to the waiting mare. “He’ll be there in a second. Now off with you.” After the mare was gone, she turned to Dawn and saw that he’d finished his breakfast. “Hey, how about we go for a little walk down to the harbour? I’d like to talk about my sign!” She grinned. “I’ll finish breakfast later.”

Side by side, they walked down main street to the harbour. When they reached the ‘Stromness Hotel’, another mare hailed them from a distance and walked up to them. She recognized her as a member of Harvest’s team. Dust and greenish spots covered the white fur on her legs up to her knees. She wasn’t one of Harvest’s best people.

The mare gave a little bow, looking uncomfortable. “Hi… Harvest sent me.”

Springtide had a sinking feeling. “What is it? When can we get my little project done?”

“About that,” the mare said, looking at her hooves. “Harvest says he can’t spare anyone, because there’s a chance it might rain and-” She took a shallow breath. “-And because we need to sow the next batch of carrots as long as the ground is easy to work.” She bit her lower lip and finished in a small voice, “And he said I should tell you there’s nothing he could do without them anyway ‘cause it’s all too technical for us without them.”

“But- can’t you cut more hay instead?”

“Harvest says we can’t.” The mare had her tail between her hindlegs now.

“But-”

“You can go back now,” Dawn cut her off. “Thanks for relaying that.” Watching the mare trot off, his ears began to splay back. His head slumped, as if someone had placed a heavy weight on his neck.

“But-” It was difficult to talk with the sudden lump in her throat. She turned to look at him, and her heart sank.

He had that empty look in his eyes, that of the eager foal that had been scolded for not having done well enough. Even though the colt had given his best. No no no! “Dawn,” she tried, “I’m sorry that was so unlucky timing.”

Dawn grit his teeth. “Need to check the schedule again and rework it. I’ve got time on my hooves now.”

“I can wait a little longer! We’ll just find a slow day and have it done then!”

“Slow day?” he said in an empty voice. “I’ll see what I can put Harvest’s team to do. Maybe I can give them all the whole day off, and maybe the next one too. Why not. We’ll just make up for those two days somehow.” He turned away. “Don’t worry. You’ll get that sign,” he bit out and trotted off at a brisk pace.

There was a lump of ice in her belly as she stared after her son until he disappeared around the bend further up. The soft wind played with the strands of her mane. What just happened?
She still sat on the spot where Dawn had left her when Solstice came cantering down the road a few minutes later.

“Hiya mom,” he greeted her, “Thought I'd catch Dawn with you.” He looked around with a puzzled expression. “Moor sent me over to tell him that he'd come help with some important sign. Told me he's given his whole crew the day off tomorrow, no idea. Anyway, gotta run, colts and fillies are waiting for the chief!”

He nuzzled her and was off again.

She found Dawn upstairs in Scapa's study, staring out the window. The desk's well-worn top was empty except for three 1:25000 topographical maps and a thin book. ‘British regional geology: Orkney and Shetland’, it said on the cover. The schedules, assignments and lists of projects that at most times filled every open space had all been swept away. Now they littered the floor, several of them smudged and with hoofprints on them.

For the first time, she noticed that the shipwreck relics on the wall behind the desk were missing. They were nowhere to be seen, but their outlines were still visible like inverted shadows.

Curled half around him on her bed of sweet smelling meadow hay, she held her crying son in her forelegs. With a deep sigh, she beheld their image in the gold rimmed floor to ceiling mirror, that still hung on the salmon coloured wall beside the dark hardwood door.

She hummed a slow and sweet little tune, like she had done for each of her foals when they needed comfort back in the day. Nuzzling his head, she gently stroked his shoulder and forward part of his barrel. Another sigh. Until a few hours ago, she'd been certain he'd make it through to the point where it all became routine. He’d gotten off to such a good start after all.

She'd already apologized for the stupid little sign idea, but he would have none of it. “If we can't have even that little, what then?!”, he'd bit out and told her in no uncertain terms to drop the issue. Then he'd closed his eyes and started crying.

She rested her head on a bundle of hay that had a few dry flowers sticking out of it and studied the naked floor-boards above. The ancient pinewood beams carrying them differed in width and shape, forming an intricate pattern.

Dawn, with his sociable, open and forgiving nature, was so different from his father. Sometimes she was afraid that no matter how well he did or how well liked he was, the wings were all that most members of the herd really saw when they looked at her son.

Because of them, they expected a natural talent for leadership and wisdom beyond his years. She was convinced he already had more of the latter than was good for one still so young. Though she had understood Scapa's need to teach his son as much as possible before he would pass the leadership on to him, she had never been very happy about it. It was just about the only thing they had ever argued about.

Maybe aged before his time was a better term to describe his personality than wise beyond his years. In many ways she felt guilty about it and harboured a heartfelt desire to talk to him about the things that weighed on his soul.

What kind of mother am I? There’s so much I don’t know about him. She sighed but then nodded to herself. I’ll change that! She wasn't even sure how today's events had led up to this breakdown, only that she felt awful for being responsible for it in some way or other.

The hay rustled as she stretched her neck a little bit. He'd positively radiated joy at his successful surprise present. How was it possible for a beautiful day to derail like this? That stupid little thing. Let it rot.

Only half awake as he was now, he'd flinch a little when she touched the smooth feathers resting along his back. Everyone wanted to see their new leader fly one day. Expected to see their new leader fly one day. And they would want to see that soon. Everyone assumed that Scapa suffered an injury in his early days that prevented him from using his wings. That would of course have been long before they themselves had even been born.

Dawn was young and strong and a grown stallion. Thanks to the stories told on long winter nights, it was regarded as common knowledge that pegasi could take to their wings when they reached adulthood. Except they might not, she worried. She bit her lower lip. What if Scapa- No. Her mate would have told her. It still worried her. He never talked about that injury. If only she’d asked him. No. He would have told her. He wouldn’t have left his own son hanging like that. He never spoke to him about flying. No!

She shook her head, causing him to turn his head a little and look up to her with one red-rimmed eye. Her gaze softened as she smiled at him.
“Shh... it's alright. I was just thinking of days long gone.”

He looked so frail right now. Once again she wished she'd done more to make his father understand that the young colt before him was, in fact, still a young colt. She knew he had loved and treasured his son. If only he'd shown it a little more.

“Who was he, really?” Dawn whispered, his voice hoarse.

She cocked her head, ears pointing forward in attention.

“Father. Did he tell you?” He turned in her embrace to face her.

There was so much hope for mother to make everything alright in those blue eyes it nearly broke her heart. She closed her eyes for a moment and sighed.

“Or wouldn't I understand?” he added when she didn't immediately respond and laid his head back down.

She winced. “I-” she started and shrugged awkwardly, “Where do you want me to start?”

“At the beginning?” he replied, a sliver of hope in his voice.

“I- uhm. Please believe me, but I don't think I know as much of Scapa's history as you think I do. He didn't like to talk to me about the past either. There were times though when your father was in a grey mood, just... everything seemed so bleak to him. I got a few glimpses then, when he seemed to have the need to tell someone about it. After you were born though, those moments became fewer and further between.” The memory brought a smile to her face.

“Just my luck, I guess.”

Her smile fell. “This isn't as easy for me as you seem to think Dawn,” she muttered before continuing, “And I don't know where he came from, if that is what you expect me to tell you. No one knows that. The mare who adopted him might have known, though I doubt it.”

“He was adopted?” Dawn's ears perked up.

“That’s what he said. Well, he said that 'found and kept' would be the better term. No, that’s all I know. He never elaborated... I think he regretted he'd brought it up the moment he did.”

Her son looked dejected. “I'd always hoped there'd be a journal somewhere, some record of sorts, anything. How come no one ever wrote anything down about him anyway?”

“I very much doubt that anyone was able to write back in those days, or if anyone would have written something down in the first place. He never talked about it.” She sighed. “He was the only one left who'd have been able to read and understand Old Whinny anyway.”

“Maybe I could figure it out!” He suddenly seemed awake. “He taught me New Whinny to talk with the tribes in their own language! They never really write anything down though. But maybe some of them still know that old speech and could teach me...” He seemed to contemplate that for a few moments, then shook his head. “Did you ever ask about his mark?”

She briefly closed her eyes. “I pestered him about it once, for an hour or so... I think that was the only time he ever yelled at me.”

Dawn bit his lower lip. “I always thought you were keeping something from me.”

“It's alright,” she sighed. “It was a very sore spot for him, even if I don't know why. At least he loved me in the here and now as much as I loved him,” she said with a small smile that brought back the fond warmth to her eyes, “That's something I know I should be thankful for.”

He gave her a bewildered look. “What?”

“My mother was worried when I told her about that he’d asked me to become his mate. She said that he’d seemed more or less indifferent to the mare he’d had before me. Maybe even the one before her as well. As if he’d only selected them for some reason. It all sounded strange to me.”

“Probably had some long term plan,” he deadpanned.

“Dawn!”

“What? You said he became happy after I was born! That was one of the few plans that worked out, I guess,” he grumbled, a sudden dark expression on his face.

“Please,” her voice wavered, “You're getting this all wrong! Your father lived a lonely and unhappy life for a very long time. I know that much. You were a foal of love! You all were! Why are we even discussing this?”

“Because it matters to me!” he bit back and wriggled out of her embrace. “Because I want to know if I was more to him than his heir and- and a way to cross that thrice cursed Firth!”

She stared at him with wide eyes and attempted to reply something, but he wasn't finished yet. There were also tears forming in his eyes again as he rose to his hooves and turned on her.

“I want to miss him! I do miss him! But I don't know who I'm missing! I don't know what he really wanted me to do for everyone here besides 'carrying on his legacy'! That's grand! Great speech, Dawn! What's it even mean?!

He didn't manage to finish his great dream. I have to do it now! He made me promise and I believed in it. I still do, dammit! But this here settlement doesn't run itself! There aren't enough hooves to go around for his grand scheme!”

She rose to her hooves herself, worry in her eyes. “Dawn, please calm down!” she tried. “I know today has been bad, but we're a family. You don't have to do this all alone just because Scapa insisted on doing it that way.”

“Damn well I have to! Most of the herd think I can just magic away any problems or disputes or uncertainties. Because I know everything and have a great plan. Because I'm the son of a damn legend! Because I’ve got wings! Family?” He took a deep breath. “Those bloody useless brothers I'm so blessed to have? They won't lift a hoof to help me. Not! One! Fucking! Hoof!”

“That's enough, Dawn!” She raised her voice as well. “I will not have talk like that in here! Have you even asked them?” she demanded in a shaky voice.

“You've seen what happens when I ask! You'll have your present and I'll have their mess to manage for a week! So father led a lonely life? Well, I know the feeling! He dumped it on me to the best of his ability!”

“Dawn, please stop!” she pleaded with tears in her eyes. “Listen to me!”

“But I wouldn't understand! And I don't understand! Not even you know anything or asked anything or understood anything!” His voice cracked and turned shrill. “I didn't even see you cry for him or anything! But who cares, right?! Feathers! You gave him that bloody foal he selected you for and -”

Her right forehoof hit him hard enough on the side of his muzzle to draw blood.

He reared up and stumbled backwards, wings flaring out as he tried to keep his balance. She was in his face in an instant, ears flat against her head and her teeth bared, snarling. He gaped in shock and fell to his haunches, a horrified look replacing the helpless anger of moments before.

Tap-ClopClop-Tap

As usual, Solstice was already halfway through the door before he'd finished his signature knock. “Hiya, you wouldn't know where Dawn is? We need to check his plans for… uhm. Oh.”

His little brother shot out of the corner she'd backed him into and almost knocked Solstice over as he forced his way past him and through the door. One wing caught on the doorframe and the impact sent him shoulder first onto the floor boards with a pained yelp.

She heard him scramble to his hooves again and tip over a table with a crash. Then his frantic hoofbeats vanished as he fled the Royal Hotel. A pigeon blue down feather drifted through the air and settled at Solstice's hooves.

“Uhm.” He looked around. “You... uh... should I go look for him?” he ventured.

Springtide shook her head, closed her eyes and sat down with a thud. Then she began to sob.

Western Sea Cliffs - Flight

Dawn was freezing, but he didn't care. The wind had turned and picked up during the day and now drove long lines of grey clouds over Orkney’s western coastline. Illuminated from behind by the low hanging sun, scattered showers fell onto the great expanse of the Atlantic Ocean. Like little curtains they connected the darkening sky with the greyish blue waters.

He stood on the edge of the reddish sandstone cliffs of Neban Point, some fifty yards above the waves. The strengthening northwesterly wind bit into his coat and drenched him in salty spray from the breakers below. Dawn stared down into the frothing water. His eyes stung, but he didn't care.

Droplets of seawater ran down from his bruised muzzle to his chin where they were whipped away by the wind. Scratches covered his dirtied legs. They still shook from the exertion of a six mile gallop over the open moorland against a stiff headwind. His skin burned, but he didn't care.

The thunder and hiss of the waves blunted the pain, like it always had and always would. This spot was his place and his place alone. Maybe one day the great sea that tirelessly threw itself at his vantage point would even swallow himself.

He’d had these dark thoughts since he could remember, but for the first time in his life they felt wrong. Ever since father had begun to groom him for leadership, the lure of the waves had grown. The vastness of the ocean had promised freedom.

But father was gone, the ever growing pressure replaced by a different burden. A burden that didn’t cast a an ever darkening shadow but came with responsibility instead. For the first time in his life, others depended on him. Others counted on him. So many things would fall into disarray. So many things would be left undone.

For the first time in his life he felt revolted by the thought of taking this easy way out. Dawn stepped back from the brink. He felt sick. He cared.

If there was one thing father had been fond of on these islands, it was the cliffs at Yesnaby a few miles to the north. He’d always insisted on going alone and that no one else should visit the spot.

There had always been a bleakness about father. Had father once stood at Yesnaby’s cliffs like he himself stood here at Neban Point, entertaining the same dark thoughts? Had the waves called to him too, enticing him to take that step? Had the thoughts about responsibility stopped him as well?

Dawn had never asked. Neither had mother. You didn't ask father about things of the distant past. You wanted neither that empty look nor that glare directed at yourself. You didn't want that awkward silence after mother had shushed you.

Maybe father had found that ultimate freedom out there. Found the will to go on because of it. Flight.

Dawn remembered all too well. Running and flapping and jumping from rocks countless times in an attempt to at least glide. Tumbling down hills again and again. Was it even possible to learn it that way or did you need the strong seawind under your wings at first?

Dawn looked down on the white water once more and shuddered. Looked up at the speeding clouds, imagining himself amongst them. The gale was coming in from the seaward side. At worst, it would blow him a few yards back for another painful landing. Dawn spread his wings.

He drew a sharp breath when his left wing joint had to take the strain of holding the wing in position against the gusts. He retracted it in reflex. The wind gripped his other wing before he could fold it back up, turning him sideways.

Dawn slipped on the smooth surface. He fought to regain his balance, but only succeeded in spinning himself around in a half circle. He stumbled and landed on his side with a heavy thump. For a few moments he lay still, gulping for air and with his heart hammering in his chest. Below his left hind leg, there was only empty space.

Yet the wind still pushed in the other direction, so far preventing that last little slide. His vision shrank until the stone slabs right in front of him filled the whole world. There. Half a yard away there was a tiny splotch of colour, a flowering sea thrift. It sat in an otherwise hard to spot crack between two slabs.

Little by little, Dawn pulled his hind leg up onto the ledge again, holding his breath. He threw himself forward while snapping open his wings once more. It hurt, but he was moving. His right fore hoof found the little crack and gained purchase. Helped by the updraft catching his wings, he managed to drag himself to safety.

A herring gull's cry pierced the air as it floated along the cliffs on its large, silver grey wings. It spotted Dawn with its sharp yellow eyes and angled into a current that flung it back towards him. Gliding over the grey pony on the cliffside, the bird gazed down in curiosity. Its feathers fluttered in the headwind as it hovered in place, examining the strange horse. Those weren’t supposed to have wings.

The gull cocked its head at the possible competitor and let the currents lift it up another couple of yards. It retracted its wings into a v-shape and dove, skimming low over the stone slabs and the exhausted pegasus.

Dawn flared out his wings in surprise at the bird's unexpected challenge. The resulting drag lifted him off his hooves with a yelp and dropped him on the rocks a few yards further away. He tumbled to the ground, trailing feathers in the wind.

When Dawn lifted his spinning head, he could see the seagull hovering a little way off and showered the bird with profanities. It waggled its wings in response, pirouetted on an eddy and shot past him with a barrel roll. Its species' signature laugh-like cry carried back to him as it disappeared. Exhaustion soon replaced the anger and he let his head sink onto the stone, closing his eyes with a tired sigh. Just a few minutes.

The sound of hoofsteps close by jolted him awake.

“Shhh... awake? No danger,” a female voice spoke in heavily accented English.

Dawn rolled onto his belly to bring his hooves back under him and looked over his shoulder. Tribal. He gave a nervous snort.

“Am friend. Name is Buidhe. You hurt?”

“I- I don’t think so. Not really. And my name is Dawn.” ‘Bwee’? That didn’t sound tribal at all.

She seemed to take his short hesitation as a cue. “Let me help up.”

The mare gave him support as he hauled himself to his hooves with complaining, wobbly muscles. After shaking his head to clear the remaining drowsiness he turned around to get a look at his unexpected companion.

Dawn knew the northern tribes well enough to tell that she wasn't one of them. She was a pureblood Iceland horse and stood at least eight inches taller than him. Her ruffled coat was an earthen orange colour, as were her thick tail and long, wavy mane. South Ronaldsay maybe? He'd never met one of them in person, only seen them from afar. If she was, what was she doing this far west from their territory?

There was an amused glint in her gold brown eyes as she turned a little, giving him a better view of her graceful form. “You like?” she said with a smooth chuckle.

Dawn realised he'd been staring at her while sorting through his thoughts and turned his head away in embarrassment. He had no idea if he'd done something terribly improper or just amused her by acting like a colt. Father would have been so proud of you right now. His ears folded back at the unbidden thought and he shoved it away in irritation. He took a deep breath and sought eye contact with the mare again.

Bwee’s posture suggested she was having the same thoughts on proper etiquette. Her ears’ position alternated between splayed half sideways and back, and her right foreleg hovered a few inches above the ground. It looked as if she was about to turn away but was unsure if she should.

Dawn remembered that she would rely a lot more on body language than those of his Stromness herd. Their language was simpler than English after all and depended on gesturing to give meaning to many of the words. Right now he was giving a lot of conflicting clues. Inwardly he snarled at the next sarcastic comment his subconscious was about to provide him with, gritting his teeth as he smothered it.

“I... offended?” she inquired.

“What? No! I'm just-” He resisted the urge to press a wet and dirty hoof on the spot between his eyes. “Look-” He took a deep breath. “Please don't be offended when I screw this up. I’m not very good at this.”

She cocked her head in bewilderment.

Dawn concentrated. “[Can we beginning new some good place? There questions? Thirsty. Tired. Make foolish me but very thank you... Buidhe(?),]” he said in New Whinny. He hoped she’d understand him despite his bad pronunciation and lack of practical experience with the correct gesturing.

It was her turn to blink in surprise. “[I would like that, Dawn. There is a place near a stream a few canters east where you can clean up and rest. And my name is nice the way you say it,]” she answered with a smile.

“Now don't tell me how good I am at speaking your tongue,” he muttered in English.

“It was bad,” she confirmed with a nod.

He deflated, ears drooping. Then he noticed the glint in her eyes and sighed. “I asked for that one.”

“You did.”

They walked off to the east in silence, with Buidhe in the lead. Dawn was thankful he could focus on stumbling along behind her on his tired legs.

Western Moors - Pathfinder

Author's Note

Beware: un-revised chapters with less than perfect readability and exposition dumps ahead, this one included. Revision of chapter 4 to 5 in progress. After that, the quality of writing picks up a lot and continues to improve.

Western Moors - Pathfinder

“Wish I could do,” Buidhe said in a wistful tone.

“Mmhmph?” Dawn looked up from his efforts to clean his left foreleg with a small bunch of heather held between his teeth while sitting in the middle of the narrow stream much like a cat would when grooming itself. The difference was, of course, that even a cat wasn't able to bend its legs in almost every direction to make the process as quick and convenient as possible. They both didn't like cold water though, but here Dawn also had the advantage over a feline by being able to swear.

“I need much more time, cleaning. Do only when real dirty.”

Dawn spat out the piece of shrubbery and worked his mouth and tongue for a few moments to clear out the remaining pieces of stiff leaves and stalks. “Oh, of course. Guess there are benefits being me,” he said with a lopsided smile that fell away a moment later when he added “Some, at least.” He bent down and picked up a triangular stone with his mouth, snorted away the water, and placed it between his right hoof and fetlock, gripping it with ease.

Buidhe irritatedly shook her head. “Please stop now?”

He looked up from the delicate task of using the tip of the stone to clean the small grooves around the frog, on the underside of his left hoof, where he'd just dislodged a little piece of gravel and some hard packed grime. “What, cleaning?”

“Sulking.”

“And what's it to you?!” he snapped, glaring at the orange mare whose ears splayed back instantly.

“You told me some. Not...,” she groped for words, “Not all is bad. Con... trate(?) on the good.”

“That sentence doesn't make one bit of sense,” he grumbled. “And it's none of your-”

He broke off when she whinnied at him, loudly. A real whinny that made his ears ring.

“Look, I...,” She began after clearing her throat, followed by an annoyed “Uh...” He was just about to comment on her primitive way of getting attention when she angrily stomped a hoof and switched to her own language. “[I'm trying! I do not hear you doing the same!]

“Well I can't! I get it, you're better at English than I'm at Whinny. And I'm not 'sulking'.”

“[You act like a foal scolded by his mother and I am tired of seeing a stallion doing that. And you are prancing around the real reason you were out where I found you. Yes, found, not met, I remind you. Nothing you have told me should be a reason for that. And if you do not practice my language you will not learn my language. Simple. You said you wanted to.]”

“I only got half of that! Too fast!” he complained. “What are you doing out here anyway?”

She got up and trotted over to him, lowered her head and unceremoniously pushed him over so that he fell backwards into the shallow rock pool behind him with a startled yelp. She wrinkled her muzzle.

He came up from the cold water in an instant, spluttering. “What was that for?! This is bloody freezing you-,” he shouted but caught himself. Just.

“Savage?” she deadpanned.

“Uh...”

“Not patient savage,” she confirmed, nodding. “[Now finish up. It is late. I want to rest and you still smell.]” With that, she turned and headed for the farmhouse, head held high.

“Mother Baah's steaming dung heap,” he grumbled before he grit his teeth and proceeded to roll around in the awful natural bathtub.

***

What he disliked about grazing, apart from having to navigate around the occasional stone, snail or worse (or really regret one's carelessness), was the impossibility of having a conversation during the 'meal'. For one you'd constantly have half chewed grass fall out of your mouth and second you'd never get sated in anything approaching a reasonable time. The stuff was bland and not exactly filling and what you really shouldn't do while eating it was thinking about fresh bread. Since you couldn't talk while grazing, your brain would inevitably find a way to do just that.

He still considered that one of the very best things father had taught some of the herd many decades ago. You couldn't do much with peat fires but to drive off the damp and some of the chill in the winter months, but if you only used the really dry and really good quality stock you could do some baking. He'd always loved the flatbread mother and many other mares spent two whole days making in the communal earthen hearth once a month.

With a sigh he looked down at the grass in front of his hooves again, circumvented a beetle and took another bite. He grimaced. At least there still was some grass around the farm's remnants and it hadn't all been swallowed by the encroaching heathland again, so there was something to have for breakfast. It wasn't exactly like their sweet summer meadows they got their hay from; not at all in fact. He thought of fresh bread.

Buidhe definitively didn't have the same problems, judging by her efficiency. She even picked out single species of grass or flowers that she seemed to find especially appealing, ate them selectively, smiled contentedly every now and then, and then quickly finished the rest of the patch she was at minus anything even remotely unpalatable.

He sat down on his haunches, rubbed the tip of a hoof down his forehead, and spat out the last mouthful that had contained something unpleasantly acidic that he hadn't spotted. Deciding he was full enough, he settled for watching Buidhe, who managed to look graceful even with her muzzle down between some weeds and seemed to be enjoying herself. He sighed.

One of the very few times he had seen father close to tears had been that one winter during his foalhood where their food had ran out five weeks before there was any chance of harvesting anything again. Spring was late that year and the time had stretched to almost two months.

After he'd seen that mixture of loathing and despair in father's eyes on the first day they had to go out to their last resort pastures, with the wet and dirty grass that had been covered by snow the whole winter, little Dawn had always given him his share of the better food when supplies ran low. Mother hadn't been happy about it but never tried to change it either.

Mother... He'd told his companion most of what had transpired the day before and what had led up to that particular disaster in a row of smaller ones. “Then I had... a very bad fallout with mother.” No specifics on that, that was no one's business but his own and mother's.

“[How come that you are still their leader then? One of your elder brothers should have already taken over when you are so weak.]”

Blunt and to the point, that seemed to be her approach to everything. That was more or less what he had thought over most of the last decade, but hearing it spoken out loud still came as shock. The tears had almost come back at that point, he'd fought them and won this time though. Maybe because it would have been unbearable to be even more pathetic than he already felt in front of someone like Buidhe. He had the feeling she'd sensed it anyway, the way she quickly had taken her gaze off of him and busied herself with making her 'bedding' more comfortable.

“Mainly because of these,” he'd said and shrugged his wings when he had composed himself again. “Father had them and he never fought anyone as far as I know. I guess they all started following him because he stood out from everyone and knew so much that their chieftain looked stupid.” A pause. Then “Like Harvest,” he'd almost spat.

She'd smiled a little at that. “Tell me.”

He'd realized at that point that no one had actually ever asked him about this. He was Scapa's designated heir, he'd know everything anyway, like it was related to genetics and not study. He'd spaced out long enough that Buidhe had prodded him with a hoof. He knew about genetics. Genetics. Who on earth knew about something like that? Most likely he was the only one alive who did. But why would father...? Something had clicked at that point.

“Your mouth is open,” she'd commented and brought him back to the real world. “What is it?”

“[Nothing!]” he'd blurted out in Whinny and quickly added “[Like, uh, your language. Me knows, no other. Uh. Solstice, some. I mean – tribals do but have not many words in English.]”

She'd cocked her head sceptically but had looked increasingly impressed when he'd found some confidence and begun to rattle off a long list of topics in no particular order, including father's big dream and all the information about it that he'd soaked up already in his colthood. Then he'd talked about what he'd already accomplished with all that knowledge. And it had felt good. In the end it had felt like bragging, but being able to do that was oh so sweet. No one had ever given him the opportunity before.

When he'd finally finished she hadn't said a word for long enough that he'd begun to feel uncomfortable, fidgeting in place and wondering if he'd just alienated her.

“You should lead,” she'd finally stated in a solemn tone that sounded strange, coming from her. “But breakfast first”, she'd added in that same tone, although she hadn't been able to hide the grin for long.

***

Buidhe cantered up to him, licking her lips and obviously in high spirits. “Spicy! Do not have much of this at home! Very nice.”

“If you say so,” he muttered with a lopsided smile. “Meet up with me in two months and I'll spoil you with fresh carrots.”

“Happy to!” She switched to Whinny then and said in a little more serious voice “[I promised to tell you why I was out here.]”
His ears perked up as he looked at her attentively. “[Just speak slow please.]”

She nodded. “[I will try to remember. I guess I am what they call a 'wanderer'. I do not know why, but my herd does not feel much like home anymore. I have... itchy hooves?]” She grinned when he chuckled. “[Uncle is not happy about it. Not at all. But he knows that forbidding it will not help. So he calls me his 'scout'.]”

“A scout? You have scouts? What for? Your uncle has scouts? Who is he?”

“Chieftain.”

He stared at her.

She shrugged dismissively.

“[There are tales of a long time ago where there were many wild dogs on our islands and there was a need to find the safest places, routes and shelters before bringing in the mares and foals. Long before my time.]” She had a contemplating look on her face. “[I figured I need to report something every now and then so he won't lose face... so I'm scouting out you!]” She pointed a hoof at him with a grin. “[And your herd of course,]” she added as an afterthought. “[And your meadows are tasty.]”

“So it was you who ate all the meadowsweet in that corner of the meadow we wanted to cut hay on the next day?!” He snorted and added “I'll have to apologize to those three foals then. Thank you for the coming humiliation.”

“Sorry.” She pawed the ground with a hoof in slight embarrassment.

He looked at her and how she was squirming before him. Then he threw his head back and laughed, laughed until he clutched his chest with both forelegs and had tears in his eyes.

“What is so funny!?” she demanded.

“I... oh Sun and Moon! I don't know!” he slumped onto his side and gasped for air. “Sorry,” he managed between giggles and snorts, “I don't know. This is priceless.” After another few moments he sighed contentedly. “Don't ask. I think I needed that. Thank you.”

“Hmph!”

“So...,” he addressed her again while rolling onto his back, “Basically, you spotted me while stealing our food and decided to run after me just because you needed a story when you got home?” He waggled his legs and kicked the air with all four hooves, making bits of dirt rain down around them ,one of which hit Buidhe on her muzzle. “Beautiful. I'd expected something real serious. The Mystery of The Ronaldsay Mare In The Far West. And her sweet tooth.” He snorted and started laughing again.

“HMPH!”

“Guess I should make sure we always leave some of the stuff out there.” He grinned. “But thank you – no, seriously this time. You're the best that's happened to me in a long while.” He rubbed his back against the rough ground with a happy expression before rolling over and pushing himself up on his hooves again. He shook off some grass and dirt before glancing back and looking himself over. “And I need a bath again it would seem.” He grimaced.

It was her turn to grin.

She walked over to him and nudged him on his shoulder with her forehead, almost making him lose his balance, then proceeded to lay her chin on the part of his maneline that wasn't still sore from when she'd dragged him away from the cliffs by holding onto it. He froze. She rubbed her head along his neck twice and took a little step back, smiling at her companion who now stood with wide eyes, not daring to move. She sniffed.

“You do,” she said with a smile. She looked at him. “Friends?” her voice suddenly sounded very serious.

“Uhm... uh, w... what?” he stammered, “Ah... yes, I mean, yes of course!” He took a deep and slightly shaky breath. “Friends,” he said with a smile that withered a moment later when he noticed her dejected look. He blinked twice, hesitated, then mouthed a silent 'Oh' and blushed.

Her ears perked up as he closed the little distance between them and carefully touched her shoulder with his brow, inadvertently taking in her scent as he did so. It was earthy, in a way that reminded him of how the air smelled after a heavy shower, mixed with sweet and salty notes of musk and sweat that never became stale on a mare who never spent time indoors. He swallowed, hard.

Reluctantly he raised his head again and for the first time really noticed how much taller she was compared to him. He hesitated and bit his lip for a second as he looked at her withers on his eye height. Then he consciously thought about his father for a tiny moment. It killed the hesitation instantly.

He reared up a little on his hindlegs, just enough to reach, and did his best to ignore the sting in his left wing joint when his wings flared out to help keep his balance. The feathers rested against her chest and barrel as he laid his head on her neck and rubbed up and down twice, mimicking her actions from before and hoping for the best.

When he dropped to his four hooves again, slightly breathless, he noticed that she was looking in wonder at his still extended wings. He shook his head with a sad smile and folded up again.

“Can't fly,” he casually commented and then wondered how it could be that the statement was neither awkward nor hurt, or that it came over his lips so easily in the first place.

“I cannot learn it,” she stated with a wry smile. “They are beautiful.”

“Thanks... lots of work though, keeping them that way.” He shrugged. “Anyway; Friends?”

“Càirdean,” she replied with that smooth chuckle of hers.

He held out a hoof to her and smiled.

“Càirdean?” he asked. When she looked at him in confusion he added “Bump!”

She hesitatingly lifted a forehoof and bumped it against his own.

“Friends,” she stated, a little hesitatingly. “That... is it?”

“Yeah, that's it,” he replied in amusement. “That's how we do it. Really simple.” After a little pause he added in a more contemplative tone: “Doesn't feel like much, does it?”

Dear Brothers - Moorland Song

Persistent early morning sea fog wafted through the grey streets of old Stromness and annoyed the lone pony who was already up and walking past the former parish church. Small water droplets formed in its greyish purple mane and the dampness was already creeping through its heather green coat. Moorland Song sighed wearily as he made his way past the building that the herd had re-purposed as granary and that needed important repairs before the onset of winter.

What crunched under his hooves and made the street slippery were the remains of slate tiles that should be sitting up there on the roof. The tiles themselves would likely have lasted the next two hundred years as well, which was, apart from the solid masonry, the main reason the narrow strip of old houses that stretched along the waterfront was still in such a good condition. Fixtures, regrettably, didn't necessarily last as long.

Over the years he'd spent quite a bit of time optimizing the building to the best of his abilities. It had been compartmentalized according to available crops and their storage requirements and access to higher levels had been made manageable for hooves. Vents had been placed strategically to ensure condensation was kept to a minimum without risking damage from rain or snow blowing in.

What he prided himself on the most though was his strategy to deal with the rodents that otherwise could easily make short work of the fruits of their labour. It really hadn't been a conventional approach, but then he certainly wasn't a conventional pony. Perceptions could vary though, an unpleasant lesson he had taken to heart and from then on kept in mind in all endeavours he engaged in.

Father had been livid when he caught him tipping bucketloads of grain into a nearby disused building, to the point of hitting him. Repeatedly. Although painful in more ways than just physical, the experience hadn't deterred him much, he just made sure that he wouldn't get caught again next time and had chosen another suitable structure in the vicinity.

He'd positively bred the vermin by providing food and hiding places. He also made the building rather comfy with straw and simple resting places. Then he'd waited, wasted grain and risked a major infestation, and waited. It had barely taken two months before the first stray cats appeared and had a feast. Soon there were more of them and still he fed the mice and rats, he just made sure that at least one or two cats were at home while he did so.

Then one evening he hadn't brought more rodent feed, much to the obvious annoyance of their by now well established feline neighbours who had come to expect the service. He'd spent the better part of the night trying to convince them to follow him, which in the end they did, maybe due to their typical curiosity, maybe just to shut the bothersome equine up and make it do its job. He liked that about them, their no nonsense, where I am is in front of the queue style. He could respect that, even if they didn't respect him.

He had shown them the granary and the cat-sized opening he'd secretly installed in one of the side doors (he had placed it strategically so that it doubled as a vent anyway). They got the message.

Father hadn't said a word when he presented him his project's end result, much less apologized, just stared at him blankly for some long moments before he nodded, turned and left. Moorland couldn't have imagined a greater victory. The scheme still cost them payment in the form of rodent feed over the winter, but that was only a tiny fraction of the grain they'd lost previous to the presence of their hired guards.

The silent patrols weren't too happy about the leaking roof either.

As he continued up the narrow street he contemplated that Dawn had been, as far as he was aware, working on a way to actually get the difficult repairs done. He himself had already devised a way to safely get workers up there for quality repairs and was very interested to see if the young one would figure something out as well; also how that would compare to his own ideas. Of course he'd help him out if so needed... he certainly wasn't interested in sabotaging their efforts.

Still, it was his building and it needed to be done the right way. The intellectual match up was very enjoyable though.

***

His hooves took him on the path up Lynedardy Hill to the northwest of Stromness since he figured that walking northwards on its ridge would give him the best vantage points to spot a pony on the moors. The hills that sheltered their settlement had been the main reason father had chosen the little town over the city of Kirkwall on the east mainland. Moorland wasn't entirely convinced that had been the best decision, seeing that the city had to have had a lot more resources and likely contained an abundance of them at the time father had arrived on the island.

But who was he to question father?

De facto, he was Moorland Song and felt it was well within his rights to do just that. Of course he had no real way of estimating just how much useful material once had been present in the rotting city that, truth be told, was a lot more exposed to the elements. Still, just looking at the enormous cargo ship that lay half submerged in the harbour basin, leaning against the crumbling pier where it had ripped off the moorings when it finally sank, it felt like a wasted opportunity.

Couldn't he at least have salvaged just a little useful technology?

Maybe the legendary wisdom had only manifested much later. He sincerely wished that father had been more forthcoming about those early days; not just because it could have been utile but because he also simply wanted to know. He was curious by nature and it vexed him greatly when that curiosity couldn't be sated.

Still, the suspicion remained that facts and necessities had little to do with the decision to settle here and that it mainly was because he'd wanted to avoid something on the eastern part of the mainland. It wasn't as if he'd been overly happy about living in Stromness; if he was then he'd sure concealed it well. He'd go explore the area to the south of Kirkwall if it wasn't for the fact he'd have to cross into tribal territory where their presence wasn't appreciated. And no one could tell what the reason for that antipathy was either. It was traditional.

He loathed that word.

Yet here he was, part of an emerging dynasty complete with inherited rulership and all the ruler's kin in important positions, the very definition of something 'traditional' to come. Most irksome in its inevasible approach, seeing that the ruler's kin were the most competent to fill those positions. Mostly.

He tried to concentrate on putting one hoof before another instead.

The roads the old folk (in his opinion a much more appropriate name than 'humans' – it sounded more distingué) had built where highly practical and he was thankful for their existence, even if simultaneously saddened that they'd never be able to replicate them in his lifetime. The cracked asphalt surface was uncomfortable to trot on, but the solid embankments were usually broad enough to do so.

When he reached the summit he sat down on his haunches and let the westerly breeze play with his mane while he scanned the horizon for any sign of movement. Of course there wasn't any apart from the occasional grouse. He sighed. Whatever had possessed his younger brother to run away like this, it obviously had been bad enough to retreat for a much longer time than he usually spent sulking at 'his' spot on the cliffs.

Mother refused to say what had happened, Solstice didn't want to leave her side for long and Harvest had “too much important work to do to foalsit my little brother”. Well, somebody had to be the responsible one, as much as it discommoded him to seemingly always being assigned that role. Besides, he was worried.
That was first and foremost the reason he was out here now, irritating as it might be. Dawn was family. You didn't let family get hurt if you could prevent it and it wasn't important if you got along with them well or not. Even if that family member was acting like an idiot.

Deeply inhaling the air that smelled of a mixture of salt and meadow flowers, he rose to his hooves again and turned northeast, towards his next vantage point on the Hill of Quholm. He snorted softly at the old memory of the day when he had come across little Dawn out there, trying to fly. To Dawn's credit, the clumsy colt had shown some serious dedication and also hadn't broken anything in the numerous attempts he undertook before Moorland made his presence known.

Hilarious as Dawn's mortified expression had been back then, it just made him thoughtful nowadays, to the point of viewing it as deplorable lack of foresight on his part. Of course it also hadn't been very civilised. Instead of laughing at him he could have tried to help and support him. Develop some sort of training based on library material on equine anatomy, flight dynamics, bird anatomy, the like. Things father hadn't deemed important for Dawn to learn.

Actually, why was that...?

Who knew what could have come of that? Had he succeeded in that endeavour and helped Dawn to fly he would surely have surpassed Harvest in father's appreciation by miles, maybe even reached the same esteem as his little brother. As potential co-leader he could have spent more time reading and learning. A lot more.

What a waste.

The wind ruffled his coat as he began his second ascent. Could his youngest brother actually fly like father supposedly had been able to once, even just a little? Maybe just flutter a bit? He was almost certain that Dawn couldn't and he was pessimistic about Dawn's chances of learning to do so, now that he was already an adult. But there was also a nagging doubt about father's supposed ability, a doubt that made him uncomfortable, something he just hadn't paid any mind when the old stallion had still been around.

Had father chosen Dawn to lead because of wings that he knew to be useless and then made him study so hard to compensate?

He would have cherished dearly to be given that much time to spend with literature while Dawn never seemed happy about it. Of course there were many other reasons Dawn hadn't been the most joyful colt, Moorland himself being one of them. He chewed on his lower lip a bit. He had once execrated father's favourite foal with a passion -and he still certainly wasn't overly fond of him- but it increasingly struck him as wrongful for everyone involved.

Well, except for Solstice. That airhead would be happy with whatever he did as long as it didn't involve anything with too much accountability. How Harvest even saw that one as a real contender for command and actually, seriously contemplated to challenge Solstice to a fight for it, if it should ever come to that, was beyond him.

Solstice's true talent seemed to be to annoy him at every opportunity and not a lot more. It certainly wasn't anything practical, at least as far as he was aware. It was a talent he progressively shared with Harvest.

Another grassy summit, another empty landscape under an overcast sky.
Here and there, shafts of sunlight irregularly pierced the cloud cover and illuminated patches on the rolling hills in the distance. He looked over his shoulder and closed his eyes for a moment, letting the wind blow some strands of his mane out of his face. His ears flicked, but apart from that constant low whistle there was not much to hear.

“This is unfortunate,” he said to no one in particular. “Maybe Neban Point then.” He turned northwest again, following an old trail on the hill's ridge that would lead him in the right direction without too many ascents or descents. If nothing else, he'd get to enjoy the view from the sea cliffs again, something he hadn't found the time to do for too long now. Dawn wasn't the only one who had his special spot out there; Moorland just made sure that nobody knew of his own. It was a matter of principle.

The surface was a lot rougher here and slowed him down as he picked his way through small rocks and heather, suddenly worrying that Dawn might be lying out here somewhere with a broken leg. Then again, the pegasus never broke anything, he reminded himself. Physically, at least.

Mentally was a different matter of course, something that had become increasingly obvious over the last few weeks of sudden responsibility. He felt a sudden pang of indignation over the possibility that father could have selected Dawn without even considering his ability to actually shoulder that burden; just because of father's desire to have someone who resembled him finish the work he himself had failed at finishing.

That would have been dishearteningly petty, especially to someone like his second son who would have been able to manage just fine. It was also disconcerting to say the least and a thought that hadn't crossed his mind until now.

He was suddenly and uncharacteristically annoyed by the expanse of wilderness surrounding him. Usually the rough landscape, in which his matching coat became nearly invisible at this time of the year, felt soothing in the special privacy it offered. Now it was just rough and in his way. He shook his head.

“He'll crack soon enough,” Harvest had said back on the cairn of Maeshowe, with an air of contentment he'd admittedly shared to a degree then, but which seemed wholly inappropriate now. That had been decidedly unintelligent. Just like the embarrassing, foalish episode where he had let trifling envy get the better of him and that had led to mother being distraught and to him trudging through the western moors today. Contemptible. He really should have learned by now not to listen to any of the firstborn's bright ideas. See Solstice.

Still, the thoughts about the underlying reasons for father's decision in the matter at hoof would not let go of him.

“Dear father... you... you numpty,” he muttered. His ears splayed back against his head, first at the spoken out loud insult to him, then at the implications of it being justified.

***

He'd never thought that the sight of hoofprints would one day trigger such relief. Before him stood the dilapidated remnants of an old farmstead, the last old-folk legacy on the path to the western seaboard. The fence posts of the sheep pens had long since rotted away, leaving behind nasty traps in the form of half covered wires. The barn had long since collapsed and the moor was encroaching over the former pasture, slowly turning it into a field of heather again and starting to swallow the debris.

The low, slate roofed house itself was still mostly intact, safe the broken windows and the fallen chimney. He took a deep breath and walked up to the entrance and tapped the door lightly, his hoof leaving a small indentation in the greyed, slowly rotting hardwood. With a deep breath he composed himself; it wouldn't do to give an anxious impression. Especially if it was Dawn who was in there.

Which was what he did anyway when an orange Iceland pony pulled open the door with its mouth and looked him over, partly surprised and partly critically. It cocked its head.

“Yes?”

“Ah... ahem,” he began. He cleared his throat, remembered himself and took a more assertive stance. “Greetings. Have you encountered a light blue-grey pony with a straw coloured mane? And wings,” he added as an afterthought.

The tribal snorted. “And wings. Maybe.”

“Ah... maybe? What would you mean by that? Have you seen him? I've been looking for him all over, from Stromness to here,” he spoke rapidly and in an irritated tone.

The mare blinked a few times. “Your brother?”

“Why, yes! So you know him. Is he here?”

“You need him. But treat him badly,” she stated flatly.

“...” He opened his mouth to say something but for once words failed him. It was a new and unsettling experience.

“It's alright Buidhe,” came a weary voice from within the building. “I'm awake,” it added after a yawn. “But thanks.”

He fidgeted. This was not the way he'd figured this would play out; specifically the part where he was talking to a tribal auxiliary.

The tribal looked him over as he sat down on his haunches, seemingly not very impressed. That rubbed him the wrong way, much more than the fact that he had to look up to the mare. Worse still, she effortlessly bore herself with the kind of stature that he himself aspired to but so far had failed to achieve.
A moment later she mercifully took that uncomfortable gaze off of him, stepping fully outside to let his youngest sibling through the doorway.

“Dawn! What on earth possessed you?” he exclaimed with a mixture of relief and annoyance.

“Hello, brother,” came the weary response. “First off, Buidhe, this is Moorland Song, my second eldest brother. Moor, this is Buidhe of the Ronaldsay tribe. Her name means 'Ochre' by the way, if the pronunciation gives you trouble she's okay with that instead.

His eyebrows shot up at that. Dawn had befriended one of them – and out here in the middle of nowhere of all places, at least eight hours trot away from their territory? A second later he remembered his manners, stopped staring and returned the polite nod she had already given him.

“And what 'possessed' me,” Dawn sighed, “Is between me and mother only if she hasn't told you about it.” The young pegasus looked down at his hooves. “Has she?”

“No, no she hasn't. I don't know about Solstice though... he hardly left her side for the rest of that day,” he said, a slightly accusing tone in his voice.

“Good on him.” The young one's expression was unreadable when he made eye contact again. “I realized something out here.” There was a small pause. “I'm not cut out for this,” he stated.

The tribal's ears flicked at that and she leaned back, cocking her head.

“What?!” he exclaimed, incredulous, “You can't just walk away from this!”

His little brother glanced sideways at the orange mare and chuckled drily. “I didn't say I would. But now you mention it, why not?”

He took a deep breath and composed himself. “Because you cannot seriously be contemplating to act that irresponsibly. Everything would fall apart, or at least be in disarray for months if you just disappeared. May I remind you that you had everyone bow to you only a few weeks back?”

Dawn hesitated. “Not everyone,” he said pointedly, “But you're right of course,” he conceded with a sigh. “Still, it's tempting.”

Ochre gave her companion a disapproving look.

Moorland was increasingly enervated. “Besides, I couldn't take over just like that. I'd need time to study and to prepare to organize everything and also to familiarize myself with the details of father's plans and visions on how they should be put in motion.”

“He didn't have any.”

“...what?”

“Plans. He didn't have any, just ideas and dreams. He had confidence I'd make them real,” Dawn explained with a shrug. “I've turned them over in my head a thousand times, but we lack the resources and the hooves to spare. And we don't have the technology, just the books.” He smiled, somewhat melancholic. “You'd have to concentrate on the here and now. That's what he did in the end as well, by the way.”

Moorland winced when the tribal snorted, undoubtedly at his disbelieving stare. “But if it's that simple, then why would you consider giving up like this?”

“Because I'm not like him. I can't do this all alone.” Dawn held up a hoof before he could reply.

“Anyway, here's your job: I'd prioritize expanding our fields and build up our seed stocks, maybe check if something of use, any kind of crop species, has survived somewhere; not that I have a lot of confidence. That'd need a lot of scouts, but we can spare those. We need more 'real food' as father would've said, grazing is too inefficient.

Ochre 'hmphed' at that, albeit with a small smile on her lips, but he paid her no heed.

Better for the foals' development as well, also more time for play and study for them. At the very least we'll have to get a lot better at bringing in hay, which also means we need more dry storage capacity,” Dawn continued matter of factly. “Our granary is insufficient as it is, we need more space. Preferably something with a roof that's easier to repair.”

Moorland bit back a comment and settled for scowling at his brother instead. Dawn didn't even try to hide the smirk while Ochre leaned a little forward and had an appraising look in her eyes, directed at the younger one.

“Then there's the issue of the newcomers that have difficulties fitting in and finding their place. The last one from up north almost started a fight when one of our farmers tried to tell him what to do, the whole 'rank in the herd' thing. They are like that up there - yeah I know Buidhe, sorry. You'd need to watch out for conflicts from things like that because that ruins teamwork for days or more. Lots of other issues, not just from outsiders, most aren't as extreme of course... so far I've managed.

These here help,” he added, spreading out his wings about halfway, “But it's not a given and most of my herd is used to seeing them. You've got charisma, you should be fine if you devote some time to learning people skills. You could use those.”

“I don't find myself lacking in that department!” he exclaimed tersely.

Dawn ignored it. “That reminds me of education. We need a proper school. The way our herd's grown, we have enough foals to warrant that. You'd have to evaluate our ponies as to their ability as teachers, draw up a plan to make learning materials available and also actually design them.”

A knowing smile began to play around Ochre's mouth, irritating and slightly distracting. He blinked and tried to focus solely on Dawn again.

“You're good at that kind of thing, so you probably shouldn't delegate it to someone else. I was going to ask you to do that but... well. Father salvaged a lot from the old academy back in the day but I haven't yet had the time to sort through all of it, no matter how much of it he made me read.” His face darkened for a moment before he took a deep breath and continued. “I'd show you around, at least he catalogued the stuff. Most of it. You'd spend a lot of time there.”

He realized that his ears had perked up at that and that he was actually smiling a little. He stopped it.

“Don't spend time and resources on looking for ship's hulls, boating supplies and nautical maps. Actually, you should forget about that entirely for the time being.”

The older brother's eyes widened. “I was of the impression that we were going to lift that yacht hull you had singled out no matter what? We could at least do that, show the rest that there still is a dream to follow. That is definitely something father would have done. You told him that'd be your priority! You promised!”

Dawn shook his head with a snort. “I didn't want to tell father, but I had a lot of doubts about that. Then last week I had two of our taller newcomers drag one of those scaffolding poles down to the pier to give my ship a prod, see if the hull was strong enough to survive being hauled ashore in the first place. Was a real pain to do that.

Anyway, we managed. Guess what? Fibreglass isn't as long lasting as father thought, because that pole went right through the hull under only moderate pressure. Lost the thing in the harbour because one of my helpers nearly took a dive since he'd expected at least some actual resistance. Lucky he didn't lose any teeth on the bolt holes.”

“But he'd been so sure about it,” Moorland said quietly after a little pause.

The pegasus turned his head away with a far away expression. “No books on the properties of fibreglass, see. I think it's some kind of laminate, the way the hole looked. Definitely not something to store underwater. It's a strange feeling, killing a dream like that...,” he trailed off.

After a long pause, the young leader gave a sigh and turned to Moorland again. “I wanted to gather my herd and tell them about it officially, but I haven't managed to put the right words together for the little speech I feel is required. Something got in the way a few days back.”

Ochre nodded approvingly (or was it with a little pride even?), while he and his brother settled for giving each other sour looks. The two versus one situation was increasingly uncomfortable.

“Next is repairs and maintenance, but you know all about that. Guess you'd do a better job at organizing that anyway, or you could ask Moon, he's our specialist in that department. Then you could focus on the how to; you're way smarter than me when it comes to that anyway.”

He found himself nodding in agreement. The prospect of concentrating on the design of technical solutions was appealing; but as leader there'd hardly be much time for that, even less than now. He realized Dawn wasn't finished on the topic and hurried to pay attention again.

“That's also where we usually need all of these, no matter what Moon thinks.” He lifted a hoof and bent it in several directions. Dawn added something to Ochre in her language with an apologetic look to which she gave a little sigh but shrugged.

Scapa's second son watched what on Dawn's side looked like an awkward little dance that was accompanying the spoken words and fidgeted a bit at the uncomfortable feeling the display caused. The tribal cocked her head and glanced at him. He in turn concentrated on looking at his younger brother.

There was the tiniest, satisfied smile on Dawn's face as he continued. “Father often said that he also wanted to repair his relationship with Buidhe's tribe to gain access to the southernmost shoreline. Figured that would help somehow, but he never tried it to my knowledge. No idea why. I just think it'd be a good thing to be friendly with each other, you never know what might come of it.”

Moorland found his own hooves increasingly interesting.

“You'd have to learn New Whinny to speak with their chieftain though.”

He straightened up immediately and looked at the Iceland mare. “Ochre, I know we've only just met, but if I could somehow repay you, could you teach me? I'm a quick study.”

“My uncle would not like that,” she replied in a serious tone.

“Their chieftain,” Dawn supplied casually. “You could always send Solstice in your stead. He'd understand most of what's said but I'm pretty eloquent compared to him.”

He tried to picture Solstice trying to perform what he'd just watched his brother obviously almost fail at. In the setting of a negotiation. He winced and felt his brain shy away from the actual visualization.

After a little pause, Dawn added with a dispassionate expression, “And you'd still have to fight Moon of course.”

True enough, there was that. He grit his teeth in frustration.

“You need him,” Ochre stated.

She had him. They had him. And he knew that she knew and it was infuriating.

“Fine!” He threw up his forehooves. “My course of action was counterproductive and I apologize for the difficulties it caused.” He gave a resigned sigh before collecting himself.

“Will you come home now Dawn?” He looked down. “Mother is worried sick,” he added quietly.

Dear Brothers - Solstice Spirit

“Are you sure?”

“Yes Solstice, I'm sure. Everything will turn out alright in the end, it always does,” Springtide Sea said with a little smile that belied the weary expression in her eyes. “That doesn't mean that I'm not grateful for you staying here, but I believe...,” she continued and then corrected herself “I know you need to go back to your little team and make sure our newcomers have places to stay before winter.” Her smiled turned somewhat more sincere at that.

“Yes mom... it's just that...”

“I know and it's kind of you. I'm still a grown mare though and Moorland will be out looking for him.”

“Did he tell you that?” he asked with some doubt in his voice.

“No he didn't, but I know the four of you. He'd feel the need to act responsibly,” she looked upwards with a small sigh, “Or at least something along the lines of what he defines as responsibly.” She gave a soft and affectionate little laugh that ended with a weary sigh. “He'll be fine. They'll be fine. Now off you go, no more avoiding work because of me.”

“I wasn't avoiding anything!” he protested.

She smiled warmly at him and softly shook her head. He looked down at his hooves.

“Maybe a little,” he conceded in a small voice.

She snorted and pointed a hoof at the door.

“Well... I guess... I guess I'm off then. See you later mom.” He turned and reluctantly trotted out the entrance to the Royal Hotel, looking over his shoulder once just before he left to see his mother sitting in the middle of the old reception area with a far away look in her eyes.

As he trotted through old town Stromness, his hooves clip-clopping softly on the still damp cobblestones, he felt a growing sense of unease. How was he supposed to concentrate on work right now? Especially work as tedious as stripping old buildings of their rotting interiors to convert them into something approaching a living space for new members of the herd.

They'd long since run out of space in the buildings father had deemed worth keeping and even if having warm bodies to snuggle up against in the dark winter months was comforting, and more often than not also necessary, there was a limit to the comfort. The limit usually being the ability to turn around without pushing two others over. And, occasionally, fleas. Damn Moor's cats.

Yes, he wasn't exactly looking forward to resuming the dirty work or to the taste of rotting stuff you simply couldn't pry loose with hooves, no matter how hard you tried to avoid using your teeth. If only they had more tools. Damn Moor and his high priority building and maintenance projects.

With a grumbling sigh he continued on his way. Clip clop. Something was up, he just knew it. Clip clop. Surely the others could continue working on those two houses without him a little longer? Clip clop. Surely.

If not, then there was still the task of painting exterior woodwork with that new red paint Dawn had come up with, that red sludge with the metallic tang to it. Especially windows. All of them. Clip... clop.

He realized he had stopped and was eyeing the low building they had finished last week that was just visible a good way down the road. It sat there looking a bit ashamed of itself with its recently acquired rusty sheet metal roof that was weighted down with all kinds of heavy debris. He still hadn't gotten the grime out of his chest fur because there was no point, really. His ears twitched.

“Nah, they'll be fine!” he assured himself and turned, a relieved smile on his face. He cantered back the way he'd come because he had a very definite feeling that he was needed at the exact opposite side of the town, for whatever reason. It wasn't the first time he had a feeling like this in varying situations and, still unsettling to him, pretty often there actually had been a reason. Alright, maybe there were some enhancing factors in play today.

As he rounded the corner onto main street he was reminded of why it was generally a bad idea to go faster than a trot here when he slipped on a loose cobblestone and skidded sideways into a pile of night straw.

Good thing he hadn't bothered to clean his coat.

A good thing really. Otherwise he'd not been there on time, on the town's northern limits past the moss-covered ruins of bungalow style houses. As he sat there on his haunches, absentmindedly trying to remove some sticky bits of straw from his forelegs, he spotted them coming down the hill.

Three ponies were approaching from the northwest, side by side, the one on the right markedly taller than the other two. Since he had to squint against the diffuse glare of the early afternoon sun filtering through hazy clouds, he couldn't make out much else until they had come much closer. When they did, he did a double take and stared.

Dawn was clearly leading the little group and even though his gait seemed tired it was also full of purpose. The two others were flanking him the traditional way, half a body length behind. The presence of a self-confident Iceland pony he'd never seen before was odd enough in itself, but what really caught him unprepared was the sight of Moorland at Dawn's righthoof side, ears flicking about and with a contemplative look on his face. He seemed... content? Definitely relaxed and deep in thought.

His hunch had been correct, he noted with a grin spreading on his features. Right place, right time. He rose to his hooves and galloped up to the little group, slowing down just enough to not bowl his younger brother over when he threw his forehooves around his neck in a fierce hug. Dawn had just enough time to brace himself for the impact and only staggered backwards a little while laughing and putting one hoof on his brother's withers.

“Damn it's good to see you Dawn!” he exclaimed, still grinning broadly when he dropped down to all fours again. “Good job, Moor! And you've brought company?” he added, first eyeing Buidhe and then giving Dawn a wink.

Buidhe looked perplexed, Moorland rolled his eyes with an enervated sigh and Dawn just laughed and shook his head. Then he wrinkled his muzzle.

“Thanks for the welcome Solstice! Just please tell me you haven't been rolling around in what I think it was? Apart from mud, dust and dry rot I mean.” Dawn eyed the multitude of stains and dirty patches on Solstice's already multicoloured coat. The visual effect was impressive.

Oh, right. “Uhm...”

Moorland slowly sat down and closed his eyes with a pained expression on his face.

“[Do none of you ever care?]" Buidhe asked carefully, backing up just a little bit.

“[It's not like that!]” Dawn quickly said.

“[Stop! Explain. I] ...ah...[working much!] Uhm. [Slit?] No. [slipping!]” Solstice cut in, frantically groping for words and gestures.

Moorland covered his face with his forelegs.

Dawn winced and took a deep breath. “Let's try this again. Buidhe, this is my brother Solstice Spirit. Solstice, this is Buidhe of the Ronaldsay tribe.”

The mare gave him a polite nod with a carefully blank expression.

“What?!” He blinked. “Uhm, I mean, Hi! Pleased to meet you!” He was about to offer a hoof when Dawn quietly cleared his throat. He looked down at said hoof, thought better of it and slumped a little. “Way to make a first impression I guess,” he muttered dejectedly while lowering his head. “Sorry.”

“Now that introductions are taken care of, I suggest we get back to the matter at hoof.” Moorland had risen to his hooves again and addressed his leader. “May I further suggest we head into town so that you can make amends with mother and I can get back to doing something useful? And maybe we can also refresh ourselves first.” He regarded his younger brother with raised eyebrows and added “To varying degrees.”

“Yeah, I get it,” he commented sullenly, ears drooping.

“Not just yet,” Dawn said slowly, “I've been thinking a lot for the last couple of miles and there is something I need to take care of first.” He let out a long breath and fixed the heather green stallion to his right with a determined gaze. “And for that I need your backup Moor.”

“Do you now?” Moorland smirked while cocking his head. “I have an inkling as to what that might entail. Well then,” he bit his lower lip and worked his mouth for a second as if needing to taste the words first, “I've got your back.” He paused. “As they say.”

A tiny smile played around Dawns lips as he turned away. “Let's get going then. Solstice you come with us, it's actually quite convenient you showed up.” The young leader gave him a lopsided smile. “We're not going into town just yet as Buidhe wouldn't like that at all. I wanted to escort her to the eastern side of our fields and when I'm there anyway I'm going to,” he sighed,”Have a talk with Harvest.”

“Tell me you're not serious.” He looked at his leader. “You are serious. Okay.” He took a deep breath and then exclaimed “Why Me?!”

Dawn looked to the northwest with an unhappy expression where a large group of ponies was working in the fields, busy loading carts with the rest of the year's first cut of hay.

“Because right now I can't just leave here.” He snorted. “Again. And because you'll more or less understand what's being said, unlike Moor.” Dawn ignored the quiet huff from his right side. “And before you suggest it, sending anyone else isn't an option because I want a meeting with their leader. Buidhe has already told me that he at best won't take me seriously if I don't send one of my family. At worst he'll take it as an insult.”

He felt trapped. Dismantling rotten buildings to prepare shelters for newcomers suddenly seemed very appealing. But, as usual, he'd manoeuvred himself into the situation. “How am I even supposed to do this? You're the only one of us fluent in Whinny!”

Dawn smiled at him. “Buidhe here will be your guide, we talked about all the details on the way back from the western moors. You're not going to stumble about blindly in their territory and you'll hardly have to do any talking anyway. I just need you to be there and I know I can count on you.”

“Oh great. I'm going to be a figurehead. I'll put on my best smile then!” He grinned as broadly as possible. “Does he have a name I can pronounce?”

Dawn slowly closed his eyes and rubbed the tip of a hoof up along his muzzle and between his eyes. He took a deep, slow breath. “It's Faoileag. Look... Spirit... I need you to do this and to take it seriously. I'm hoping that I haven't already waited too long to reach out to them and he's gotten the impression that it isn't one of my priorities. Good thing he's Buidhe's uncle-”

“Say what now?! Aw come on!”

“-and because Buidhe is his designated scout-”

“They have scouts?!”

“-he is waiting for a report anyway-”

“She's been spying on us?!”

“Will you be quiet and let me finish?! Thank you.”

“Sorry.”

“Alright, where was I?” Dawn said after another deep breath. “Buidhe can tell you the story about the Ronaldsays and their scouts on your way-”

“She'll have to dumb down the Whinny.”

“Shut up. The important thing is that Faoileag is waiting for her to report back and hopefully has put any deliberations on how the change of leadership – are you listening? Good. How our relations to them might change. I'm not going to say that the fate of Stromness rests in your hooves...”

“Oh as long as there is no pressure involved.”

Dawn glared at him. “I just really want this to succeed because it would be nice, really helpful and possibly important and right now you're the stallion for the job.”

“Dawn, I get where you're coming from,” he replied and took a more assertive stance before continuing “And I'll do it and try to do my best.” He cocked his head and continued in a softer tone. “What I really want to know though is how you think you're going to manage all the things you're trying to do at once while trying your hoof at tricky diplomacy as well.”

His leader winced. “I'll try something new,” he replied and cast a quick glance at Moorland, “I'll delegate some of the important tasks. Like I'm doing right now with you. And I'll take a risk and put all my money on Buidhe simply because she's here now, I trust her and she's my best chance of having this go smoothly.”

Buidhe cocked her head at that but remained silent.

“Okay, it's just, ah well.” He fidgeted a little, took a step closer and asked in a small and unhappy voice that was too quiet for anyone but his younger brother to hear: “Just tell me why you think... I won't botch this?”

Dawn hesitated for a moment but then also took a step forward and briefly nuzzled his brother. “Because I know you care, Sol,” he said with a smile and equally quiet.

He nudged Dawn's head away with a sudden grin. “Yep! You're right, thanks for reminding me!” He looked down the main road towards the east. “Could be worse things happening than having a beautiful mare dumped on me as a travelling companion!” As an afterthought he added “She's already shown she can take of a weary stallion.” He paused. “You know. Like. Not like that! I mean. Yes?” he stammered sheepishly.

“HMPH!”

Dawn snorted. “Solstice? I was really just giving Buidhe a break from speaking English with me all the way down from the moors. Talking politics in Whinny is beyond me, so she had to use a foreign language the whole way and that's taxing when you're not used to it.” He grinned. “She's actually really good at it and can understand you just fine.”

“Ah.” His ears folded backwards as he very slowly turned and put his head against the wall of the farmhouse ruin they were standing in front of with a little thud.

“Solstice?” Buidhe spoke up after the first mile spent in silence.

“Hm?”

“What is 'money'?”

“Dunno, ask Dawn.”

He heard her sigh and possibly chuckle quietly but kept his gaze on the ground before his hooves.

“Solstice?” Buidhe spoke up again after they had left the bridge over the inlet to the Loch of Stennes well behind.

“Hm?”

“Stop and look at me,” she said firmly.

He obeyed and reluctantly turned and looked up to her with a miserable expression in his large gold brown eyes. “Yes?”
“Stop sulking.” She gave a small, sly grin. “We say, hmm, 'You put your rump in the nettles.' Stings you. Not me.”

He laughed weakly. “So far the best description I've heard for something like this. I'm really sorry Buidhe, that was the dumbest thing I've done in a long while.”

“Do not worry. I am not angry.” She grinned at him. “I am just pretty.”

“You wha... that's...,” he spluttered. “No fair!”

She snickered, snorted, then laughed out loud. In the end he couldn't help but join her.

Swishing her tail a few times against the increasingly bothersome midges she set off along the road again. He trailed a few steps behind her as the ground was becoming increasingly unsuitable to walk in anything but single file. Fine by him, really.

She was pretty. The slackening soutwesterly wind played with her long mane and tail, blowing the strands a little to the left in concert with the swaying motion of her strong and steady gait. Her coat shone in warm shades of orange in the early afternoon sun, the light accentuating how her muscles moved beneath the skin, and if she was tired from already having walked the whole morning she didn't show any sign of it.

He looked out over the rolling countryside with its lush green meadows, dotted here and there with patches of cottongrass where the old farmland was slowly reverting back to moor. The main road had already shrunk to this narrow path between the encroaching marsh from the loch and the expanding heathland from the low hills to the south. A few houses sat forlornly in the tall grass, already listing to various sides on the softening ground and slowly falling apart.

It was beautiful in a melancholic way, almost as beautiful as what he was trying not to watch all the time just in front of him. He smiled and shook his head, making his unruly mane flop to both sides of his neck and back again. And where was the harm in it, really? It wasn't as if he could embarrass himself any worse than he already had today. Besides she didn't seem to really have taken all that much offence to his lack of tact. That gave him an idea on how to finally discuss something he'd wanted to know since he was a colt. Especially when he was a colt.

“Buidhe?”

She craned her neck to look at him, with no impact on her pace or how sure her hoofalls were on the uneven surface. “What is it?” she asked with a smile.

“Since I kinda started down that road already earlier,” he mused and then continued more boldly “Looking at you, or up at you more like, I was wondering how,” he cleared his throat “How dad actually, like, did it.”

She blinked a few times. “Uh?”

“Yeah I mean...” There was no going back now and consequences be damned. He grinned. “I know the Fjords from the tribes aren't as tall as you, but then I'm two hooves taller than he was, so I guess it's about the same difference. He waited. She just looked at him with a blank expression. “Scaffolding?” he offered sheepishly. She lost her footing.

He decided she was still beautiful even lying in a shallow pool of water with pieces of cotton grass in her drenched mane and whinnying with laughter. Having his forelegs swiped out from under him and going head first into the same pool wasn't as pleasant as just looking on but he very much needed a bath anyway, so there.

When he came up for breath she splashed some water into his face, snorted and replied “Maybe in a pool?” She smirked. “Do not get ideas!” she mock-scolded him and dunked his head under the surface again with a well placed forehoof.

“You stay down here taking a bath!” she said, still laughing, and pushed him back in when he was about to scramble up onto the path again after her.

He looked up at her from his position lying half submerged on his back and grinned. “Not a pool. Too cold by far I can tell you. Would never work,” he said and proceeded to roll around several times, using the friction of the rough grasses and bits of heather in the water to get most of the dirt out of his coat. When he finally got out again and shook himself so that there was a whole cloud of droplets around him for a moment, he realized he hadn't felt that good for weeks.

“Maybe a flat rock,” Buidhe mused in a contemplative voice, looking at her companion. “He had wings?”

“Yep! Are you saying he could have hovered? Now there's a precision job.”

“All work for her,” Buidhe commented indignantly.

“Yeah.” He put a dripping hoof to his chin. “No leverage when flying. And no tail swishing or you'll swat your partner out of the air. I'll have to advise Dawn on that.” He sobered up a little at that last sentence and quelled his laughter, but he was still smiling happily.

Buidhe hesitated for a second and then lifted her right foreleg, offering a hoof with the fetlock angled a little towards herself and looking somewhat apprehensive for whatever reason. He gave it no further consideration and hooked his own hoof around hers for a moment, eliciting a smile from her that he was sure would have melted him had he not just rolled around in really cold water.

When she turned and set off again there was a spring in her trot, so much that he had to hurry to catch up to her after she'd left him standing there with a stupid grin on his face. He laughed to himself and concentrated on the warmth of the sun on his back and the soft wind that dried his coat and whispered soft nothings in his ears. Suddenly, life was good again.

Soon the road had solid embankments once more and they trotted along on either side of the cracked tarmac band in companionable silence. Their rhythmical hooffalls were the only sound for a good long while, apart from the far off calls of a flock of crows somewhere to the north at the Loch of Harray, past the Standing Stones of Stennes that were just about visible in the distance.

A little further along the road they came to a crossroads where the terrain began to even out into a wide stretch of comparatively dry grassland. Buidhe suggested to have a break and something to eat since, at least in her opinion, the composition of grasses and herbs changed into something rather nice from this point onwards.

To his surprise he found himself agreeing with her after the first few listless bites. As he munched away he realised with slight amusement that he was actually enjoying it, and not just because he was grazing side by side with his new friend. Granted, that certainly helped, but still.

“Say,” she began after raising her head from the ground, a long stalk of grass held in the left corner of her mouth, “Is that not the grave?” She pointed to the east with a flick of her head to where the mound of Maeshowe cairn stood alone in the wide expanse of meadowland. She blinked and hastily added “May I ask?”

“'course you may, don't worry, didn't we already joke around at his expense?” he replied after swallowing his last mouthful and sat down on his haunches. “And yes, that's the place. Actually was my idea to use the old tomb and Dawn agreed that it would fit. Dad was kind of a legend so we buried him like one.” He smiled. “Place is five thousand years old, just like the standing stones and all those other things unearthed around here. Yeah... felt like the right place for the one who started it all.”

Buidhe nodded and was silent for a little while. “Not sad no more?”

“Life goes on!” He smiled. “Don't get me wrong, I spent a lot of miserable days over the course of the last year... seeing him wither away like that was... not nice,” he continued with an increasingly far away look with his voice becoming quieter and more contemplative. “Spent a lot of time with mom crying on my shoulder. Guess I more or less said goodbye during that time and just was happy for him when he simply didn't wake one morning. Good way to go when you have to.” His smile returned.

“How old was he?”

He put a hoof to his chin. “Good question. A hundred years? A hundred and twenty? Something like that. Pretty sure he remembered the days when this island here still had a population that walked on two legs and all the things around here actually worked.” He cocked his head with a smile. “Interesting to imagine, no?”

“Hundred...,” she repeated quietly, eyes wide and ears flicking about. She suddenly perked up.

“What?”

“We... ah.” She shook her head and said something rather long in Whinny that contained 'tomb like this', 'southern coast', 'very old', 'maybe important too' interspersed with a lot of words and gestures he didn't understand and then pawed at the ground apologetically. “I am sorry. Too few English words.”

He cocked his head, ears pointing straight forward. “You just told me some Ronaldsay history, didn't you? Had that far away look.” After she nodded affirmatively he continued, “Now that's interesting. Dawn's gonna have a fit when I tell him about a twin to this cairn here and he can't have a look at it.” He chuckled. Then he paused before adding sullenly “Ah damn... that's my job now. And I only got half of what you said there, at best. Seems my Northern Whinny is a lot better than the Ronaldsay version.” He sighed deeply and hung his head. “And that's saying something.”

To his surprise she came over and nuzzled him briefly. “I will teach you,” she said with a glint in her eyes. “If you want.”

“What? Ah, I mean, uhm, yeah sure!” he blurted out in a voice entirely too eager and nervous to his own liking. She chuckled softly and turned away before he could return the nuzzle, much to his chagrin. “Real smooth Sol,” he muttered quietly and trotted after her.

A few hundred yards further down the road they passed a singular standing stone covered in lichen. The spatula shaped monolith was buried in the ground with its narrow end and stood about ten feet tall with a dozen or so of differently sized blueish-white crystals embedded in its surface like glittery barnacles. A few tiny fragments of grey stone littered the bare ground immediately around the base.

With a smile he noted the perfect alignment of the stone's flat surface with Maeshowe's sealing stone half a mile to the northeast. He'd have to show Buidhe the spectacle of the sun setting directly behind the standing stone when viewed from the cairn's entrance on winter solstice. When the sky was clear, the crystals reflected and refracted the last light of day into a kaleidoscope of rainbows that shimmered in the condensing vapour rising from the stone's base and surface. It was a thing of pure beauty.

He wished they could have left the main road after Maeshowe and cut directly east over the meadows that transitioned into the short cropped grassland of the sheep ranges and then traversed the ridges of what Dawn called the Finstown Hills. It was easier on the hooves and, more importantly, pleasing to the senses, what with how the colours of the deep green grass flowed into the grey green and purple of the heather on the inclines. The ground felt and smelled alive out there in the softly rolling landscape.

Buidhe insisted on taking the main road though since it was the fastest route and she wanted to reach her tribe's territory within the day. So he only spared a longing glance towards the open land and hurried to keep up with his companion. Buidhe clearly hadn't spent much time travelling with others, especially not with a pony who had to take a lot more steps to cover the same distance as she.

As much as he'd come to like her in the half day after they'd met he really wished she'd be more considerate. For that he'd likely have to say something though, and his pride wasn't just yet where his hurting hooves were. The road's embankments were well suited for a fast paced trot, they just weren't nice in any way. That didn't seem to bother her in the slightest. He sighed and increased his pace to close the growing gap between them yet again.

When they'd rounded the base of the hills to the north and passed through the remains of the little village sitting on the coast where the road turned southeast toward Kirkwall, he realized that Buidhe likely meant 'within daylight', not just within the day as he defined it: the day ending after the day's work was finished. And it was close to midsummer.

“Buidhe,” he called out, “Can we... can I have a break please?” he added in a smaller voice when he'd gotten her attention.

She stopped abruptly as if jolted from deep thought and looked over her shoulder to where he'd flopped down on his haunches. With a swish of her tail she turned around, cantered back to him and, much to his surprise, nuzzled him for the second time that day. “We can,” she said with a smile. “I am sorry.”

“Why are we in such a hurry anyway?” he asked, careful to keep the whine out of his voice. “Dawn's got so much on his plate already and even if I get why he wants this done quickly why does it have to be done today, right now, as if our whole future depended on it?” He watched her parse that long sentence and was just about to apologize when she responded.

“I do not know when I can come back,” she said and then explained in carefully pronounced, very slowly (and dumbed down as he noted) spoken Whinny: “[Uncle may want me around longer. I was gone for long. It is not good for me to make him angry. If I am alone and tell him Dawn wants to meet he will be insulted. Because Dawn did not come himself. Or one of Dawn's family.]” She paused. “You understand so far?” when he nodded, face scrunched up in concentration and ears pointing straight forward, she continued “[Dawn takes too long to ask; uncle will not listen.]” She bit her lower lip. “[Going into our land when not allowed is also an insult.]”

He blinked before blurting out “But that's ridiculous! That's a no-win! He'd need to camp at your borders until someone shows up?!”

Buidhe just looked skyward with a sigh. “This is why I am leading you. You must ask Faoileag soon. Find him first. With me.”

“And here I thought it was just because you liked my company,” he mused sarcastically and with an over-long sigh.

She recoiled from him with wide eyes and ears flattened, looking absolutely crestfallen. “But... I...”

It took him a second to register what was happening before he was on his hooves. “Oh no! Nonononono! I didn't mean... that's a joke! Ah shit! Sorry!” He watched her hesitantly retreat another step. “[Not meaning in tribe?]” he asked hastily and winced when she shook her head, confused hurt in her eyes. “...” He sat down heavily again and looked at his hooves. “You know what? I'll just sit here and look stupid. I'm good at that.”

Author's Note

Finally. Needed to digest Starscribe's critique and put it to use (hopefully it will show as the story progresses), rearrange the plot and kick out a few thousand words that didn't fit after that. Plus I'm not exactly a fast writer anymore, but this is good exercise to get there again. Luckily, Solstice and Buidhe almost write themselves.

Dear Brothers - Harvest Moon

“Alright, we're done!” And quicker than expected. “Good work, all of you! Now let's get all of this back home and get some rest!”

Harvest Moon looked on with a satisfied smile as his workers loaded the last of the dry and bundled hay onto the waiting trailers that were stacked as high as the larger breeds in his team could reach.

“If you're wondering why we're three horsepower short today,” he grinned, “I thought you'd maybe like a bunch of this year's first carrots and radishes to go with your day off tomorrow and someone has to dig them up and clean them.”

Had they not all been standing on soft ground, the chorus of hoofstomps would have been deafening.

The granary back in town was clean and prepared to receive a whole lot of finest quality winter food. He'd also taken the liberty of enlisting Moor's workers to stow it all into storage since his younger brother was out there somewhere, doing whatever. They weren't too happy about it, but praising them for their skills in maintaining the building and managing the available space for best food preservation (and belittling his own team's competency just a little) had done the job nicely. More free time for his team to rest up. They'd earned it.

He looked over his friends, because friends they were to him, all of them, as they began to strap themselves into the harnesses with the help of those who'd help to steady the load along the way.
Friends, he smiled again and nodded.

“HEY! HIGHGROUND!”, he shouted in his well trained voice. No one could match him at this.

A large stallion, who had only joined the herd a month ago, looked up with a little jump and stood still, clearly uncomfortable under the gazes of all the others who had gone totally quiet. Some of them looked at each other with knowing grins.

“Come here,” he said and trotted over to meet the nervous worker halfway.

'One-Walking-High-Ground', as his Old Northern Whinny name approximately translated to, was still damp with sweat that matted his yellow tinted black coat from back to barrel. The bangs of his equally black mane stuck to his forehead and partially covered the white star between his dark eyes.

“Right. You okay?” he asked with a lopsided smile.

The stallion, who stood more than a foot taller than Harvest, nodded apprehensively.

“So... [You are a fine worker. I like that. Now stay still.]”

Highground blinked in surprise and almost lost his balance when his lead worker roughly pushed his forehead against the black stallions shoulder, reared up to his full height and more or less let himself crash onto his lower neck and withers in an approximation of a chin on mane rub. At least as well as the height difference would allow.

He waited for the other one to recover and digest what he'd just done and braced himself for what he hoped would be the reaction. The cheers of his team and the moistened happy eyes of his new friend were certainly worth the bruised neck and hurting shoulder caused by the sincere reply.

Life was good.

He trotted over to where the last trailer stood, the largest one they used and the one he insisted on putting himself to, together with one of his strongest team members. It was one with two axles and even an inertia brake; not that it could get up to all that much speed easily on the bare rims.

Moorland had come up with the idea of mounting a trailer hitch taken from one of the rusting automobiles at the harbour on a long piece of roundwood, so that the chains of the harnesses could be fastened to the pole instead of directly to the trailer. He had to admit it greatly improved power transmission and manoeuvrability.

“[You have done enough to impress!]” he said with a chuckle and nudged the large stallion aside, motioning for him to get to his station beside the wagon. “[This is my work.]” He smiled at the ice blue mare already waiting and strapped into the left side harness.

She nodded in return. “He's not taking my place from me on his first day of recognition!” She grinned and continued in a lower voice “Besides, we'd have to seriously rework the whole setup here to accommodate that hunk.”

He smirked at her. “Let me guess. You'd prefer to have my side adjusted, wouldn't you?”

“Weelllll...” she smiled wistfully.

“Hate to disappoint you then. Not going to happen,” he gruffly cut the conversation short.

She pouted.

“Enough fooling around. EVERYONE IN PLACE? MOVE!” he commanded and put his weight into the collar with a grunt, hooves digging into the hard packed soil and muscles visibly straining on his hindquarters as the trailer began to move with a crunching sound.

The two horses at the back, also from the northern tribes, lifted their heads from the push plate bolted to the rear end. Each of them took a long pole in their mouth and quickly moved into position to use it to prevent the top layer of hay from swaying too much, the two already walking at the side of the trailer positioning themselves further ahead to accommodate them.

It was small moments like these that filled him with the warm feeling of honest pride, when all the practising and training he put everyone through, including himself, paid off in the form of the smoothest teamwork.

He wasn't generous with praise but none of them seemed to mind, and he usually let a content silence suffice as comment. That way the praise had all the more impact when it came, lavishly and heartfelt then, a lesson from father he'd taken to heart. For all their disagreements and silent grudges, he missed him dearly on some days. Especially on days like this when it all came together just so. Father would have been proud.

After a few hundred yards there was a nicker from behind, prompting him to look up from the ground he'd been concentrating on. Two ponies were trotting in their direction, having just rounded the bend after which the path led down to the main road. His mood soured when he recognized them as Moorland and Dawn.

“SLOWING DOWN!” Those at the side moved forward to catch the load's momentum with their poles. “Good. STOP.” The trailer rattled to a soft halt. Since he obviously was going to have a conversation with his brothers, he'd have to delay their way back. No way they could talk over the din. He snorted irritatedly and unhitched himself.

With a frown he realized that Moorland was flanking his youngest brother, with an inscrutable expression on his face, while Dawn himself held his head high and had even arched his neck a tiny bit when they'd come closer. His tail swished as he trotted forward to get out of earshot of his team. Something was up and he didn't like the way it looked.

He planted his hooves firmly on the ground and waited for them to arrive. “So you're back. Took you long enough,” he said dismissively. “What is it?”

“And a good afternoon to you too brother,” Moorland replied.

“I've had a long day already and I don't need this, Harvest,” Dawn said wearily, albeit with the slightest of tremors in his voice. He took a deep breath and glanced at Moorland for a second who nodded firmly. “Right. We need to set something straight.”

“And what would that be?”

Dawn locked eyes with him, even if it seemed to immediately take a toll on his resolve, ears beginning to splay back. Nevertheless, he continued. “We need to work together, not against each other.”

He snorted. “That's it? Sure. Just give me the resources I need and the freedom to use them as I see fit. Stop diverting things to your pet projects like father did in the beginning before I talked some sense into him. Could have learned a thing or two from him in that regard. You done? I have folks waiting over there who want to get home and call it a day.” He began to turn away. “They've actually really earned it,” he added with some fondness to his voice.

“Wait!” Dawn called out.

Harvest shrugged and made to walk back to his team.

“I said wait.” There was an unusual edge to his youngest brother's tone.

He looked back and noticed that Moorland had taken a step closer to Dawn and was giving him a disapproving look. There were few things he found more grating than that look. “THIS MAY TAKE A WHILE!” he called back to his workers who began to settle down, a groan or two just audible from this distance. He felt bad about it. He scowled.

Dawn had changed his stance, positioning his forehooves a little further apart. “Look, Harvest. I've realized a few things over the past couple of days. I need to delegate stuff. I need you to help run this settlement, not just doing your thing out here, no matter how good you are at it.”

“Isn't that your job, running things?” he deadpanned. He sighed. “Look, can you two let me get back to wrapping up today's work and maybe we can have this conversation later?”

His youngest sibling looked unsure for a moment. Then he did something unexpected. He narrowed his eyes and lowered his voice while staring at him. “No, we can't. This is private. And I want this over with today.”

“Alright. But I can't see what there's to talk about.” With a smirk he noticed that Dawn still almost had his tail tucked in, belying his assertiveness. Moorland had sat down, seeming slightly amused.

“I need you to organize and optimize projects of mine and Moorland's as well, not just your own. You're good at that. You're a brilliant lead worker. I won't try and get in your way if you agree to that. You explain your need for resources and I'll see to it you get them.” He held up a hoof. “Leave the research, planning and design to us. That's all.”

“No,” he stated flatly.

“What?! But... why?!” the young one exclaimed, startled.

“Because,” he growled, “That's your job. We're done here.” When there was no immediate reply he began to turn away again.

“I think not,” came Moorland's casual statement.

When he turned around once more with an angry huff he saw Dawn scowling at him. Equally angry.

“Fine,” his young brother said, “I guess you won't mind then if your friends out here don't have adequate dwellings come winter because Solstice's enthusiasm only will get us that far. Or if we can't get new storage space, proper storage space, mind you, built before you bring in enough food for our growing town to last over winter because Moor here has more than enough to do with maintenance that we also rely on.”

“You know full well that's not true!” he spat, his tone dangerously low.

“But that will be the result if you don't drop this silliness right now! Damn it Harvest. I'll do my part just like everybody else. I'll be the first out there in autumn when its time to get the muck out onto the fields if that's what it takes. No one can do all this on their own. I can't. And you can't either. I want the best pony for the job, and that means you. I've got my hooves full as it is, and you also know that full well!”

He sneered at Dawn. “Let me know when you're prepared to leave your job to someone who can handle it. Get out of my sight!”

Dawn's ears flattened as his tail began to swish. “You want full authority over all this out here? Well, you have it.”

That caught him off guard. “Just like that?”

“One condition.” Dawn took a step towards him, prompting him to unconsciously take on a fighting stance. He dimly noticed Moorland rise to his hooves. “You guarantee,” Dawn continued tersely, “That you won't let us starve or have us out grazing soggy compost in February because you messed up the calculations for what we need.

Because you didn't care if we have enough or the right kind of storage space. Because you messed up the sowing schedules, crop rotations and intercropping combinations. Because you didn't ask for the tools or workers or whatever in time. Because you took those out to the fields that should have been repairing your equipment. Because you always know better!” He took a deep breath and glared at him. “Can you guarantee to not mess up the planning?!”

“You little...,” he bit out before being interrupted.

“Yes. Or. No?” Dawn was bristling by now.

He lunged at him, taking the pegasus by surprise and easily bowling the much more lightly built pony over and throwing him to the ground with a strangled gasp, the air knocked out of his lungs by the blow right under the left wing joint. He stood over his little brother, chest heaving, unsure of what to do next. He felt the wide-eyed gazes of his team on him. He hesitated.

Dawn caught his breath again, gave a pained cough and rolled fully onto his back under Harvest, seemingly in a gesture of submission. Then he unfurled his wings and whipped them up into Harvest's face, the stiff primaries slashing painfully across his sensitive muzzle and leaving thin red streaks in their wake.

His yelp turned into a snarl as he reared up to strike the pegasus, who was trying to scramble to his hooves and avoid the impending blow, when Moorland barrelled into him head first without any sound but the SMACK of impact. He staggered on his hind legs, lost his balance and fell onto his side. Hard.

A little later, Moorland sat between his two brothers and rubbed his forehead with a hoof, watching them as they dazedly tried to get to their hooves again. “I admit I hadn't anticipated you stooping so low,” he nodded to Harvest, “Or you being foolish enough to challenge your eldest brother like that,” he added to Dawn. “Are you both quite done now with this indignity?”

“Get out of my way,” Dawn growled and locked his gaze on Harvest who'd just risen again as well, muzzle smeared with a thin coating of blood.

Moorland stopped nonchalantly brushing some dust from his left foreleg and looked up in alarm. “Have you lost your mind?”

“Bring it!” he challenged the pegasus. “Those bloody wings of yours are only good for one surprise! And nothing else! You'd be nothing without the things!”

Dawn advanced on him, shoving Moorland out of the way. “You know what?” he sneered, “You're right! I'd ripped them off and glued them to your back a long time ago if I could! See how you'd like grooming and preening them for ages every morning and then being completely ignored behind the shiny pretty things! Don't let them get dirty though. Dishonour fathers memory and all that.” He took a few more steps.

“Dawn, I fear you'll regret this,” Moorland advised from behind before standing up again with a sigh.

Dawn ignored him. “You've earned loyalty and respect for what you actually do,” he said, his voice dropping to an almost whisper. “I have it only because of my appendages, and if I don't make sure everything runs as smoothly as possible I'll lose it.” He stopped some six yards away and took on a fighting stance.

“It'll take months for this settlement here to find back to something resembling order under a new leader who'd have to make it up as he goes along. There were enough hickups when I took over – and everything and everyone was prepared for that transition!

We're not tribals anymore who'd just cope no matter what, regardless of fuel or foodstocks. There'd be deaths next winter.” He raised his voice again although it sounded thick with... something. “And you know that. And you're prepared to risk that. Or did you never think that far ahead?”

He scowled at his young brother but said nothing, concentrating on not letting the adrenaline getting the upper hoof again just yet. He also realized that his team members had inched their way up to the scene and possibly had heard Dawn's statement. The disbelieving looks hinted at it at least.

“And these?” Dawn unfurled his wings halfway. “Useless, by the way.” He suddenly grinned and nodded to the audience before looking back to him. “I can't fly.”

Moorland winced and looked away.

He gaped at the pegasus, trying to process what he'd just heard.

“There you have it,” Dawn said almost conversationally, yet shaking very slightly. “Father wouldn't teach me. I have no idea how I should go about learning it. For all I know I never will.” He chuckled, sounding relieved. “I. Can't. Fly.”

The shaking became clearly visible for a moment before it stopped abruptly and he smiled. Dawn looked genuinely, bizarrely happy just then, poised to attack, coat full of dirt and softly laughing at some beautiful joke only he had understood. Slowly he fell silent.

For a little while, the only sound was the wind whistling in the grass.

He started to open his mouth at last, but the pegasus pre-empted him by unfurling his wings to their full extent and starting to walk towards him again. The young one's gaze was suddenly cold.

“Let me know when you're ready to stop sabotaging my efforts to make this town prosper. I can't do this alone! And neither can you or anyone else for that matter!” He slowly flapped his wings once, still advancing. The afternoon sun glistened on the smooth keratin.

He found his voice at last. “I could! Father should have let the right one try! He knew I could do it! He knew!” The words sounded strained, defiant, even to his own ears. “You're just weak!”

In an instant, in a flurry of feathers and dust, Dawn was in his face, ears splayed back and shouting. “I don't care if you hate me or not! I want you-,” his wings beat the ground, pigeon blue downs blowing away in the eddies, “No, I damn well order you to fall in line and help me!”

He felt his tail sneak in between his legs as he backed up, his young brother's muzzle only an inch or two from his own, swishing wingbeats making him squint against the gusts of dusty air and blurry motion.

Dawn was yelling now. “If you can't do that: leave! Father got something right after all!! You're too proud, stubborn, narrow minded, arrogant and wilfully INCOMPETENT to lead!!!”

Dawn abruptly stopped and folded up, staring him down, panting. When he didn't reply, his young leader turned and trotted off. “Let me know your decision within a week,” he said hoarsely, without looking back.

A shocked silence descended on the field, lasting several minutes after the sound of the pegasus' hoofsteps had faded away in the distance.

“I say.”

Moorland was inspecting the ground before Harvest. It showed a lack of hoofprints for the last couple of yards, except for four somewhat deeper ones, created simultaneously right in front of his eldest brother who still stood motionless, an empty look in his eyes.

Finally he cleared his dry throat and looked first at Moorland, then at the ground. He felt numb. “How come you switched sides?” he said tonelessly.

Moorland looked up with a contemplative expression, as if giving the question some serious thought. “One should be able to accommodate newly emerged evidence.” He coughed at the blank stare he received in return. “Means: common sense.”

“Get out of my sight,” he said in a forlorn voice that carried no anger. That didn't carry much at all.

“If you insist. I'll follow our leader's advice though and re-enlist two technically adept pairs of hooves that you somehow acquired.”

He looked after the retreating form of the heather green stallion until he was out of sight and then turned back to his shell-shocked team. Two of them tried to offer consoling words or a soft touch to his withers but he brushed them off.

It helped when he put all his might into the collar and almost pulled the trailer alone by the feel of it, ignoring the occasional protest from those responsible for keeping the load stable through bumps and swerves. Only half an hour later they left their cargo in front of the granary for Moorland's team to unload and stow away.

They'd been lounging around in the early evening sun in front of the building and grumbled something about the lazy mudstompers who'd taken forever to get there.

He didn't comment and sent his friends off to their well deserved rest, fully aware that they'd spread the word. It wouldn't even be rumours, just facts. Maybe exaggerated facts, but still facts all the same. It didn't matter. His chest felt tight when he made his way out of town, up the road to Lynedardy Hill to the west.

When he reached the summit he sat down and just stared off into the distance, watching the shadows lengthen as the light turned the reddish purple of the midnight sun.

“Father got something right after all!”

Dawn had taken nothing from him. Father would have dismissed him anyway.

The everlasting wind tousled his mane as he finally turned his head a little and looked down on old Stromness, lying quiet in the murky twilight.

He'd been a little foal the last time he cried.

Author's Note

There we go, the set is complete. Damn, Harvest is hard to write... and the chapter just wouldn't accept any more content, no matter how hard I tried.

Dear Wanderer (part one)

In the end, they had made camp halfway between Finstown and Kirkwall, a good ways after they left the main road that followed a large arc along the northern coast. As quick as one could travel along it, the detour on the way to the city wasn't worth it, especially since their goal lay to the south of the island's former largest settlement.

Solstice was back to sulking in silence and even kept it up throughout the morning. The difference this time was that she did not feel like doing anything about it. Or rather, she felt he deserved it. That, in turn, made her feel stupid. If there was anything she could not abide, it was feeling stupid.

The overcast sky seemed eager to match her mood as the cloud cover kept increasing in thickness along with the increasing daylight, thus maintaining a near constant level of greyness since daybreak.

The rejection had hurt, and hurt a lot, especially because of how unexpected it was. Why had he returned spéis to her when she had offered it if he had not believed her to be sincere? And why had she done it in the first place? Because it had felt right somehow, there in the sunshine after fooling around in that pond. Because she had somehow felt incredibly at ease, more than she had felt for years.

She kicked a grey stone down the grey road, hitting a rusty car that sat in front of a ruined, grey house with a dull clunk. A rabbit darted out from under it and disappeared into the greyish green prickly gorse that was taking over the grey building and the adjoining grey stretch of road.

On the other hoof, had he really rejected her? Did he know what he had implied? And did he even know what he had said yes to? Well, he should have known. She had never met anyone who did not know that one.

She glared at some brambles that had snaked some thorny branches out over a low drystone wall and into her way. The annoying vegetation was unimpressed and made her step around it anyway.

There was a flaw in her thoughts, she knew, a rather glaring one at that. She had very rarely met anyone who was not... was not... she mentally scowled at the offending word... tribal. That was one of Moorland's words. At least that pony had used it openly to describe her. At first. Did Solstice think it? Probably not. Of one of the tribes. Better.

There had been those two that had taught her the Stromness language. They had joined South Ronaldsay after a while though. So they would have known then. Maybe. She should have sought the one of them still alive out again a long time ago and ask about Stromness customs. Come to think of it, Dawn had not even known the most basic of declarations. Friendship.

But Dawn would know this one. The pony she had met three days ago and who had no real experience with the more intimate customs of... one of the tribes. Who had introduced her to her travelling companion yesterday afternoon. Who was a dufus. An extremely lovable one, but still. Who would not know since he barely even knew her language. Which she had offered to teach him because she already cared enough for him to go against what she knew was her uncle's will. So he would not look stupid back home. Which was stupid. Immensely stupid. Why?!

She stopped abruptly and stomped her hoof in frustration, which caused Solstice to bump into her hindquarters because he only looked at the ground. He gave a mumbled “Sorry,” and backed up a bit. She sighed deeply.

She hesitatingly turned around, took a deep breath and told him in a strained voice “I want... to apologize. I am...,” she ground her teeth, “Stupid.”

He looked up at that. “No. No you aren't. My mouth is always faster than my head. 'Specially with mares. Sorry.”

“Stop it! It is... my fault. I was...,” she fumbled for words. She then forced out “Do you know... this?” and lifted her forehoof, angling her fetlock so that her hoof pointed back at herself and offering it to him.

“Uh... friends?” he ventured carefully.

She lowered her head a little. “Spéis.”

He gave her an utterly uncomprehending look.

She looked away. “Means... 'Like'. Uh... a lot.”

His lips formed a silent 'oh'.

She gave him a careful sideways glance and quickly turned away, squeaking “Sorry! Just forget!” before beginning to trot away. She hated herself and the indignity of it all. And the sound of her voice. And her stupidity. She had only met Sol yesterday! And made the offer of affection two hours later. Two hours. Not even at least waited the customary two days after first meeting as was proper. What was she thinking?!

She was thinking that she might not have the opportunity in two days if she had to stay on Ronaldsay for the foreseeable future. Well, she was thinking that now. She certainly had not yesterday. It was infuriating.

“Wait!” she heard him call out and canter after her. She increased her pace. This was ridiculous. She would never live this down. “Buidhe! Stop!” No way. “Stop dammit! BUIDHE! Stop being STUPID!” That did it. She almost lost her balance as she skidded to a halt.

“I'm sorry! I had no idea, I mean, had I... uh... Sorry! I'd... I'd...” She winced while staring straight ahead. “I'd... I... ah dammit! Idiot! Stupid idiot! I'd... Ah... I'ddoneitanyway!” She felt her ears turn backwards towards him on their own volition, as far as they would go.

She heard him cough. She was pretty sure the next sound was him shifting his weight from one foreleg to the other and then scratching his mane with a hoof. Another strained cough.

Then, very carefully, “Can... can we try this again?”

She took a deep breath and slowly turned around and saw him mirroring her gesture as he offered a hoof to her with a sheepish and hopeful and wavering smile. “Mare offers first!” she blurted out and saw his smile fall to pieces.

“But... I didn't know! I just ruined it again? Oh come on! Nobody can be that stupid!” He looked close to tears now.

Curse traditions! “Wait! Tribal!” She almost jumped over to him and snatched his hoof with her fetlock, just before he could put it fully down again. They both froze.

“Eh... heh?”

When they drew close to the large city that sat on the coast to the east, they left the road and turned towards the small bay to the south that they would pass on the way to her tribe's territory. The city resembled a shallow mound with the houses on its outskirts having crumbled long since. Closer to the centre the old buildings made of sturdy masonry still stood, as of yet defying the slow decay that was patiently erasing the former dwellings of those who came before. A spire jutted from the middle. It belonged to a huge building surrounded by a field of engravings-covered, minuscule standing stones that listed in every direction. She'd visited it only once but quickly left.

Solstice cocked his head, looked up to her and smiled. “Hey, it'd be much faster if we simply follow the road. Didn't you want to make good time? My hooves aren't as sore as you'd like yet!”

She snorted and took a step to the right, bumping into him and nearly throwing the smaller pony off balance. “I do not like it. Not enough view.” She frowned. “And dogs,” she added as an afterthought.

“Mmh... good point I guess.”

The remaining packs of dogs had taken up residence in the inhospitable city when they gave up hunting members of her herd. The city provided shelter and was full of small prey anyway, which she suspected made for a much more comfortable existence.

“Better for soft hooves,” she smirked and got an indignant snort as reply. She turned her head away and gave a little sigh of relief. In truth, she was not overly afraid of the dogs since a fit horse was much too much hassle to hunt. She just... hated the enclosed space. The feeling of desolation. Of some indescribable dread. It made her afraid. And she really, really did not want to look weak right then.

Solstice trotted past her with a spring to his step. “Hey, good thing Stromness only has Moor's cats! And nice houses, intact roofs and all. My work by the way, those! Well, some of it. Uhm. And currently also fresh carrots. You'll love it!”

She swallowed lightly. “I... I guess.” she said in a slightly nervous voice and gave the grey city an uneasy glance. The unobstructed view and free flowing wind that ruffled her coat and played with her mane suddenly felt wonderful. It also casually reminded her that, like it or not, there were some of her actions today she had not quite thought through. She looked at the smaller stallion who was all but prancing along and was actually leading the way instead of her.

He certainly was a unique sight, starting with the silvery green splotch that coloured his right ear and a third of his face around one large golden eye and the white star on his forehead. It continued down his neck until his chest where his coat abruptly turned white, then just as suddenly a warm brown down to one white and one green fetlock. The left side of his face and most of his body was also brown, interspersed with green and white areas of different shapes and sizes before ending in a completely green flank and hindleg.

Could she not be excused for not thinking straight? Who could think straight, presented with something like this? She chuckled.

Solstice playfully jumped first left, then right and then leapt over a ditch in one beautiful, fluid motion that ended abruptly with one of his forehooves sinking into the soft ground on the other side upon landing. She was pretty sure his brother would have flared his wings to stay upright. Solstice on the other hoof did an awkward sideways double hop much like a startled puffin on an unexpectedly slick rock.

He narrowly avoided a faceful of rush and laughed before looking back with a grin and some small spots of dirt on his face. His shaggy grey and white mane flopped back into place, meaning all over his neck and into his eyes.

“That was planned!” he called.

She shook her head with a warm smile. “Sure. Dancer.”

She caught up to him and gave his shoulder a soft nudge with her forehead before falling in step beside him, which actually meant she had to slow her gait if she did not want to make him trot briskly on the uneven terrain while she herself was only walking quickly. At least she had realized that by now and cut him some slack, which did not mean he would not have to learn to keep up. She grinned to herself. In the not too distant future he would be Stromness' fastest and most surehooved pony.

If she had her way, that was. She bit her lower lip. “Solstice? How much Whinny do you speak?”

“Uhm...,” was his reply. She was just about to repeat the question when he said, “Not much, really. I understand a fair bit from the northerners. When they speak slowly. And, yeah, we can have something resembling a conversation. Ronaldsay...” He winced. “Well, we tried that already, didn't we?”

She nodded with a sigh. “We did. I must teach you soon.”

“Why the rush?”

She gave him a long look.

“Oh... right. That. This is going to be all kinds of difficult... didn't think that one through, did I? Uh, no offence! Sorry!”

She gave him an even longer look that made him squirm which in turn made him walk in a rather awkward way. “I agree.” She had to chuckle at his expression of near endless relief. “I made the same mistake,” she stated matter of factly before continuing in slow and simple Whinny, “[Dawn's brother learns our language quickly? I will be asked why. And how.]”

“You... need permission to teach me? What if I pretend not to understand anything even then?” He frowned. “Kinda counterproductive. Uh... [I mean], what is it... [I want-] dammit!” He broke off when the gesture he was trying to use caused him to almost trip over his own hooves.

“What did you want to say?”

“[I wanted...,]” he said, sighed, and changed language. “I wanted to say that I want to be able to speak to your folk down there.”

She smirked. “Well, you did not.”

“Thought as much,” he muttered. “Ow. That actually hurt,” he complained, shaking his left hoof a little. “Don't walk and talk.”

“[You did not really talk.]”

He snorted. “Thanks for reminding me. How do you people do it?”

“[We just do.]”

“Hmph. Thanks for being so helpful!”

“[You are welcome,]” she teased with a chuckle before, just then, his right forehoof somehow happened to be in the way of her left foreleg for a second, sending her face first into the meadow.

“Whoops! Careful with that pronunciation!” he exclaimed and galloped away, pieces of dirt and grass flying up behind him.

As it turned out, he was not as slow as she thought, not by a long shot. It almost took her a whole mile to catch him, on the incline up towards the ridge on which ran the main southward road. The smaller and lighter pony had an advantage on soft and uneven ground when he was actually concentrating on where he was going and getting the jumps over clogged ditches, stone walls and remnants of fencing right. On firm ground on a hillside he was no match for her though. But then, few were.

She was in no mood for retaliation though and thus they just ended up at the summit together, sweating, panting and laughing, leaning against each other. When they had both caught their breath, they set off again along the road that wound its way up from the city behind them and stretched towards the southern horizon and their goal in a long, straight line.

In the distance to the west, across the sheltered bay that demarcated the northern limits to where her tribe usually roamed, there sat the ruins of a group of large buildings. The remnants of the partially collapsed seaward wall was adorned with two large and weathered markings, obviously once part of something bigger.

SC___

They paid it no heed.

A little short of two hours later they had reached the first of the four similar structures connecting the southern islands to the mainland.

“Be careful. Some cracks are deep,” she advised him when he gingerly took the first steps onto the dam.

A massive causeway of grey stone blocks spanned the three hundred yards width of the strait, hardly any signs of erosion on the rectangular surfaces. The road on top was another matter though, having been exposed to weather and saltwater for so long. It was treacherous ground full of cracks and pieces of road that might not hold the weight of a horse or pony, above holes through which came the faint gurgling sound of ebbing and flowing seawater.

Halfway across he stopped and pointed to the corroded wreck of a large ship, just visible a little distance to the east, under the surface of the shallow and clear water. “Should've thought you wouldn't run a ship aground on a wall like this... specially if you built it yourself? Wonder what they were up to here.”

She shrugged. “I do not know.”

“Mmm... sure, 'course you wouldn't,” he said dismissively and without registering the annoyed look she gave him. “I'll ask Dawn. He knows that kind of stuff... or at least he knows where to look. Hey, bet Moor's going to love to have a look at this...,” he continued before looking up again and cocked his head at her expression. “Uh... what?”

“Nothing,” she said over her shoulder as she continued on toward the little islet and along the road that took them over another two similar dams. When they reached land that did not feel like a stepping stone again she stopped and waited for him to catch up. She sighed.

After clearing her throat, she intoned in a formal tone, “[Welcome to our lands, Solstice Spirit of Stromness, brother of Chieftain Dawn Horizon.]”. She smiled a little smile on seeing his bewildered expression. “It is what we say, so I must say it. Do not worry.”

He swallowed, cleared his throat and said in a nervous voice, “I... I just realized something. I have... no idea how I should act?!” He sat down heavily. “I'll have a hard enough time even pronouncing your uncle's name right! Falea... no... Faoilieagh. Right. Right?" his voice increasingly higher pitched.

Her smile fell and was replaced by a worried expression before she shook her head a little and cantered over to him. “Shhh...,” she softly whispered while giving him a little nuzzle. “I had not thought about this. I am Sorry. I will show you. Come.” Pointing south with her head after another nuzzle, she assured him that he got the name right, almost perfectly at that. Not exactly the truth, but he looked very much as if he needed the reassurance right then.

After only a little while she fell back into her steady gait, the one that Solstice needed to trot fairly quickly to keep up with. Since she had gotten the impression that it for some reason made him feel better, maybe because he had something else to concentrate on than his own thoughts, she thought it could be helpful.

“When we arrive, you walk at my side. Not close. A half length away. Not closer, that means family. Or, for you, tribe.” She half expected him to ask a silly question or to be looking at the landscape, yet when she turned her head she found him staring at her, ears at attention, his expression a mix of worry and determination. She nodded.

“If you cannot, a length behind me. Not closer. Not!” she asserted and gave him a long look.

“Ah...,” came the hesitant reply a moment later. “I guess... I guess I know what that would mean.”

With a nod she continued, “Not two lengths: no respect. Do not flank me like Dawn: lower rank. Side by side.” She heard him give an apprehensive sigh. “I will help keep the right distance.”

“Uh... side by side because you're his niece and I'm Dawn's brother?”

“Yes, and because I am his scout. Old rank. But same... very easy,” she stated, to which he gave an unhappy snort.

“Buidhe? Just... just please walk slower when we get there, yes? I'm... uhm... smaller than you lot...” He looked the two hooves up to her and added, slightly awkward, “And we don't need to draw extra attention towards that? Please?”

When they crested the last hill of the island before the dam that led onto South Ronaldsay the weather had turned from a merely depressing grey to an unpleasant depressing grey. Low hanging clouds were drifting in from the southwest in a second layer under the overcast sky. They brought with them a steady, cold and almost horizontal drizzle.

With an eyeroll, she had accepted Solstice grumpily moving around her and in close on her left side. Or probably leeward side from his point of view. Since his ears where in a convenient height where she neither needed to reach up or lower her head, she took advantage of his position, leaned over a little and softly bit down on the right one. He gave a little yelp and looked up indignantly. She smiled warmly at him and enjoyed seeing his sour expression melt away into something slightly dreamy before he leaned in himself and nudged her on the neck. She chuckled quietly and moved a little closer to better shield the stallion from the weather. He was clearly used to shelter in warm houses - and a little too soft, she decided. She would change that. She smirked to herself.

Half a mile later they reached the last barrier that spanned the length of what they called the Black Bay. A wide beach had formed to the east of the dam, yet there was no white sand down at the waterline. Instead there was a mass of viscous, brownish black sludge, most of it partially hardened and almost a yard high in some places where rocks protruded from the ground and provided more surface area for the sticky mass to cling to. The whole visible shoreline further out looked the same.

“Do not step on the black pieces. Very hard to get off hooves,” she advised, pointing to some strewn about black lumps of varying sizes that storms had thrown further up the dam and onto the road.

“What...?” Solstice carefully inspected one of the things lying in a little puddle, which glistened with a rainbow sheen, and wrinkled his muzzle in disgust. “Yuck! That smells nasty! What is this stuff?”

“I do not know. It is on much of our east coast. We just stay away.”

“Hmm... more for Dawn I guess,” he stated and, after a little pause, added, “Heh... I'd never want his job. Too many stupid questions that everybody wants their answers to right there and then.” He grinned and leaned into her side with a content sigh and looked out along the dam. A few moments later he drew a sharp breath and slumped. “And we have company.”

She took her gaze off of him and looked in the direction he was pointing. On the far side of the causeway and a little up a grassy hill there stood two horses, their forms outlined against the sky. With a weary sigh she brought a body length between herself and her companion.

“[I just made sure you had not injured yourself when you... slipped. It is not serious. You will not limp for longer than a mile, I think.]”

“Oh come on!”

Author's Note

Couldn't resist. Have some inter-culturally challenged Buidhstice. Meanwhile in Kirkwall...

Dear Wanderer (part two)

There was a pit in her stomach when they reached the other side of the structure leading onto South Ronaldsay proper. She had often felt a sense of unease on return, a sense of not belonging, but never anything like this. She could only imagine how it had to be for Solstice right then, under the gaze of two members of her tribe.

Apparently not too bad as it turned out a few moments later. Maybe her instruction to act like having a slight limp prevented his jumpy mind to concentrate on worrying? When he drew even with her after walking single file over the dam, she noticed that it looked very convincing. He also got the appropriate distance just right.

Breathing a sigh of relief, she took a few more steps onto their home soil and stopped. When Solstice had stopped on equal height, three quarters of a length away; she collected herself, arched her neck a little and waited for the two sentries to approach.

The grey mare and brownish black stallion walked up to her and bowed respectfully. “[Welcome home scout Buidhe, niece of Faoileag,]” the mare said in a formal tone.

“[Greetings,]” she intoned and nodded to them, “[To what do I owe the honour of an escort?]”

“[Your uncle expects your long absence to have an important reason that he is eager to learn about. He sent us to lead you home without delay.]”

It took some conscious effort to keep her ears from flicking about nervously. She collected herself and lifted her chin for a brief moment.

The grey mare stood at ease at the gesture but did not take her eyes off of her. The stallion on the other hand was openly staring at Solstice after standing up from his bow. She could not really blame him; in fact, she admired the grey mare's self-control in the face of such temptation. The little scene put her at ease, at least for the moment.

She coughed politely, making the stallion flinch and snap his gaze back to her. She gave him an encouraging little smile and turned to her travelling companion, thus allowing the two others to finally do the same. Luckily, Solstice had already experienced her acting formal when he stepped onto their soil the first time a little while ago, if only very briefly.

After introducing her guest, the two Iceland ponies bowed to Solstice in the same manner as to herself. Luckily he did not return the bow or react emotionally but just nodded lightly in response, the same way she had done. Clearly he could be a lot more attentive and quick on the uptake than she had thought and also more than he gave himself credit for.

Still, seeing the smaller, multicoloured stallion with the wild mane and the too large eyes of a strange colour act stately, with as much self-control as he could muster in the spontaneous setting, was almost comical. At least it would have been, had she not been genuinely proud of him right then.

'Solstice' proved to be difficult to pronounce for a tribal tongue, a little thing that seemed to take a lot of tension away from him. There was even a little upward twitch at the side side of his mouth.

She had to smile at the surprise on the faces of their escorts when he returned the simple greeting in quite passable Whinny. He even mimicked her own gesture of briefly lifting the chin afterwards to release them from their bow.

In front of herself they would more have felt than seen the movement above their heads, yet when Solstice performed it, he did so at little more than eye height. It effectively forced them to make eye-contact with one of superior rank while bowing.

It was all she could do to not burst out laughing at her poor fellow tribe members, who Solstice unknowingly and inevitably made commit a major breach of protocol, simply by acting precisely the way a higher ranking tribe member would have done. At the last possible moment before the customary formalities were concluded at that.

“Buidhe, what did I do?” her companion asked in an insecure tone when he noticed the miserable expressions the other two were wearing.

“Nothing. You did very good.”

“Really?” He cleared his throat. “I don't want these two to feel bad about some trivial misstep on their side that I didn't even notice.”

“Not trivial.” Her serious tone was mellowed by a little smile. “Just tell them to not worry.”

He did so in not too mangled Whinny and they actually gave him a second brief bow, their whole body language speaking of relief. Having their escorts look impressed by the messenger, she mused, would make introductions much easier. A little smile played over her muzzle when they set off in formation, their two guides in front and they themselves a length behind and apart from each other.

“Buidhe? Can they understand anything of what we're saying?”

“No. I will warn you if one can. And uncle can not.”

While he gave a sigh of relief, she noted with dismay that she had drifted closer to him while talking then was proper. Or would have, had he not painstakingly kept them at the required distance by swerving to the left, so that they now were walking half a yard offset to their guides. She quickly returned to her place and hoped he would not notice her embarrassment.

Solstice also kept up his slight limp for the next half hour or so which delayed their progress a good deal. She was simultaneously impressed by, thankful for and annoyed by his performance, the latter because it gave herself more time to become nervous. He even seemed to have forgotten the constant drizzle. His mind probably had no capacity left to also pay heed to that.

When he was done limping, she decided to pass the time by having him repeat some of the knowledge on tribal customs and especially how he was to behave on meeting the chieftain. By then, his calm and her own inability to mimic it was almost irksome.

They turned south to follow the road along the bay of St Margaret's Hope, South Ronaldsay's largest former settlement and the only one really deserving of the title. Sheltered by shallow hills that surrounded the grey town and bay, it had weathered time's passing in relatively good shape. It resembled Stromness in many ways, with the difference of being much smaller and not looking lived in.

The drizzle had stopped and so had the wind, yet the grey sky and sea seemed to merge in the distance, smudging the horizon. Her companion gave a sharp intake of breath when they finally crested the hill and the land stretched out beneath them towards the coastline in the west.

Upwards of three hundred Iceland ponies were slowly drifting across the meadow. The herd was made up of some thirty bands with up to a dozen members that kept close together while a few could be seen walking to and fro between the little congregations. Several of those she new to be good friends out for a little chat, others were likely mares discussing a gathering of some sorts between families.

There were also a mare and a stallion awkwardly walking alongside each other, still at the proper distance but just one angled hoof away from something more. If the mare deemed it a good decision that was – and had the nerves to follow through with it out in the open.

They all meandered through the small gaps and pathways between the more defined groups. From afar, it looked like a slow dance that was only broken here and there by foals who didn't know and didn't care where they ran yet.

She noticed how Solstice had gone completely still at the sight, staring down at what had to look like complicated chaos to him.

“Welcome home Buidhe,” the grey mare said with a friendly smile and stepped to the right. The stallion followed her example and walked up close to his companion.

So she'd offered somewhen in the past fortnight and these two had finally found together? Took them long enough, she mused with a smile. Unlike her own approach. Her smile turned nervous. “Thank you. And congratulations!” She swallowed.

“Thank you! Mother was very pleased,” the mare told her happily. “We will be off then, if you do not have further need of us. Your family is right over there.” She flicked her head towards the largest group that also was the closest.

Their two escorts bowed to her, yet it was not nearly as formal or deep a bow than the one they received at first introductions. When it was Solstice's turn though, they seemingly wanted to leave a good impression by making something of a show of it.

Their bow was deeper than the one they had given her and also performed slower and with more accuracy. They also tried hard to not look the small stallion in the eyes. Solstice played along with it, pointedly looking down when he lifted his chin very slowly so as to give them the second they needed to get over eye height again.

This time she openly stared at him as he stood there and bid the two farewell in a friendly voice that lacked all its usual upbeat quality.

“[Who are you and what did you do to Solstice?]” she hissed. “[How can you be so calm and so... so in control?!]”

“Easy,” he said in a strained voice, “I've been considering different ways of killing Dawn.” Then a too bright smile lit up his face before he exclaimed “Let's go meet your uncle!”

A hundred yards could not possibly stretch for this long. Why in the name of Teacher was she this apprehensive? She had not done anything that broke tradition! She had achieved something potentially very important. Right now that achievement was walking beside her. An emissary!

But not just that. It was not as if anybody was able to read her mind? He was acting exactly the way he should, much better than she had feared. In fact, better than herself. She had not done anything forbidden! She felt her ears beginning to splay back and quickly arched her neck a tiny bit to counter the motion. It worked, to her immense relief, finally some self-control. She got her breathing under control as well.

Her youngest brother and her older sister and one of her sister's foals were looking her way and had certainly seen the display Solstice had received. They all whinnied a friendly greeting which she happily returned. It helped her to relax further.

Now she had everyone's attention, but that did not last for more than a few seconds, since a moment later they were all openly staring at Solstice, some of them with their mouth agape. She heard his breathing quicken as he tensed up and had the distinct impression that his muzzle had become paler, as impossible as that should have been.

A stoutly built stallion came walking over from the far side of the group, a lopsided yet friendly smile on his muzzle. The others parted smoothly to let him through. Faoileag was an unremarkable individual, his smudgy orange coat and brown mane and tail made him blend in with any group. His presence, though, did not.

“[Stand back you lot and give these two some space to breathe,]” he chuckled in a gravelly voice. His gaze did linger on her companion long enough for her to recognize his surprise and curiosity, but she truly admired his composure even when faced with the more bizarre. Was that mean? Well, in this setting, Solstice certainly was bizarre.

“Gairghean,” he addressed Buidhe with a warm voice that contained some firmness as well and nodded to her.

Buidhe gave a very slight bow and replied “Bràthair-màthar,” with a timid undertone she failed to suppress and which she knew he noticed. She mentally kicked herself when she saw him cock his head for a second.

“[It is good to have you back Buidhe.]” He gave her a friendly and entirely too long look. “[But I see you have brought a guest as well.]”

Buidhe cleared her throat and cast a quick glance at her companion who stood very still, except for his ears that where flicking about nervously. “[Faoileag, this is Solstice Spirit, brother of Chieftain Dawn Horizon from Stromness.]”

Faoileag raised his eyebrows but nodded courteously. “Well met, Solstice of Stromness. Good you come, talk,” he said with a little smile.

She heard Solstice gasp while she just stared in disbelief at uncle, whose smile was gradually turning into an almost grin while his eyes sparkled with mirth. Then she remembered that she was not done yet.

She tried and failed to keep her voice from wavering. “[S... Solstice, this is Chieftain Faoileag of South Ronaldsay.]”

Solstice blinked his large eyes that conveyed far too much emotion for a setting like this. It took two endless seconds for him to react, then he bowed a little shakily and a little too deeply, making her wince.

“[Greetings, Chieftain,]” the slightest of pauses, “[Faoileag of South Ronaldsay.]” He took a deep breath, seemed to rally himself and spoke again, very carefully “[Is good, meet you.]”

Faoileag looked surprised for a moment and then chuckled. “[So, two can play this game, mmm? You impress me, son. So. I talk slow, simple. You talk slow, simple. No... hm... double meanings.]”

Her companion swallowed visibly, but at least his ears were pointing forward again. “Thank you, Chieftain. Guess we'll be able to get this done... uhm... sorry. I mean: can do that.” He gave a timid smile.

She almost sagged with relief. He did it. He got through that part without offending anyone or making a fool of himself, much against her expectations. 'How much credit you give him,' she scolded herself. The rest should not be so difficult, now that she could help him.

“[...and say... difficult(?)... in English?]” she heard Solstice say in a hopeful voice, still in Whinny.

“[No need. We speak our own language. It will be fine,]” Faoileag replied matter of factly.

She shook her head and went to fall in line beside uncle and her emissary. The former turned his head and gave her a stern look.

“[Were you not listening Buidhe? You are not needed for this conversation.]”

'What'? She stopped up short and blinked at her Chieftain.

“[There will be time for us to talk later. Do not feel set aside, I am curious about many things. Now go and give your family some company.]” He gave her a little smile, though his tone made it clear there would be no arguing about this.

She watched the two walk away towards the ridge of the hill, where everyone was sure to notice Faoileag having a conversation with a peculiar stranger while also being out of earshot by a long way.

Solstice kept the exact distance and position that she had taught him to be required, even though he had to fall into a slow trot to keep pace with Faoileag's long strides. It made him look so very small, inexperienced and out of place beside the self confident leader. She desperately wanted to give him a long, warm and reassuring nuzzle.

“[That one sure looks weird,]” her older sister good-naturedly commented from behind in a bemused voice. “[Cute, in a way. Strange to send a colt as messenger though.]”

She came very close to biting her.

About an hour later Faoileag came back with an exhausted and unhappy looking Solstice who was immediately swarmed and obscured by the other members of her family. A lean stallion with a coat and mane the colour of dark rust positioned himself between them and the messenger. Her youngest brother Ruadh, seemingly assigned as guard.

On the one hoof she could understand their curiosity, on the other she would very much have liked some alone time with him then.
Instead she got alone time with her uncle.

It took close to an hour to give him the abridged version of the events around Stromness that had led to her bringing back a messenger. She carefully left out the more personal details concerning herself, Dawn and his brothers though.

Her uncle looked thoughtful. “[So Dawn Horizon has yet to secure his position and is only now trying to get his brothers' support? How can he claim to be chieftain then?]”

“[His father is seen as a legend by his tribe whose word still is not disputed by the great majority. And he chose Dawn because he has wings like he had.]”

Faoileag snorted. “[Unwise.]”

“[Dawn did not even want his new rank.]”

He lifted his eyebrows at that. “[Impressively unwise.]”

Somehow she felt the need to defend the young leader. “[He works very hard and has now won over his older brother Moorland Song.]” Faoileag cocked his head at her assertive expression.

“[I see he has won you over too. As has his messenger I dare say, the way you seem to care for him,]” he said with a chuckle. “[Oh do not look so alarmed Buidhe. Why should I object to you making friends with an emissary? Quite the contrary. I was merely amused.]”

She tried to bring her breathing back under control and get her tail out between her legs again. “[I apologize for making such a scene of it.]” She hung her head.

“[Do drop it dear Buidhe. I was not being entirely fair to the both of you,]” he said with a friendly grin, one that finally made her stop sweating. “[I was not going to let an opportunity like this pass me by. Apologies for doing so at your expense.

He has a good head on his shoulders when you look past his appearance. Quick thinker, even if he's still easy to wrong-foot. Can adapt. Loyal. I can see his brother is a good judge of character.]” He looked pleased with himself and the world in general.

A little smile crept unto her lips. “[So what happens now?]”

“[I planned to take us north past the Black Bay in three weeks time and give our pastures around here time to recover before winter; that should be just right to make them have the best condition before the first snow. We still need to weed them as well.

There is also a lot of shelter for the young ones up there on Burray. So I suggested to meet on our northernmost island by that time.]”

Her ears perked up. “[You think something could come from this?]”

“[Mmmm... things seem to have changed a lot. We just need to wrap up some old grievances I guess. Lay the old times to rest the old way,]” he said with a contemplative smile before continuing in a much more serious and determined voice, “[I will be looking forward to it.]”

The morning was wet and cold after a stormy night with torrential rain, but the sky had cleared in the small hours and promised a bright and pleasant day. With the wind that had turned from southwest to south came wispy clouds and calm weather. It made her look forward to the journey.

She had spent the night huddled together with her family in the shelter of the little woodland adjoining the open meadow. Solstice on the other hand had been given a resting place in the only dilapidated building nearby that still sported three walls and a mostly intact roof and dry floor.

Shaking the wetness out of her coat, she walked over and bid the honour guard Faoileag had assigned him a good morning. It consisted of her surly second cousin and an equally grumpy Ruadh, both wet and cold from having spent the night without a warm body to lean or lie against and with the only shelter being the roof's short and leaky overhang.

The guard was another old tradition. Faoileag seemed to relish the opportunity to bring out all the anachronisms he could think of for the occasion of having an important guest. Whether he meant to impress or intimidate she was not sure of, yet she was quite certain the effect on Solstice was the latter.

He lay in the middle of the large room that formed the entrance, curled up against a wooden counter and looking uncomfortable. It occurred to her that he in all likelihood felt more imprisoned than honoured. Definitely cold though. She sighed, he wasn't used to something like this after all.

“Good morning, Solstice Spirit,” she called out in a reserved voice. “You slept well?”

He opened an eye and scowled at her before he seemed to remember where he was. “'Course I did,” he grumbled and stiffly rose to his hooves. The floorboards that were covered in blown-in leaves (which he had made a kind of nest from) creaked under his weight. “At least better than those two I guess.”

“Look at good side,” she intoned in a formal voice, certain that the two others could not understand her. “Kept away my family.”

“Heh. True that. That little one kept prodding me until I shoved him away real hard. Guess he wanted to make sure I'm real. And none of them tried to get him off of me... didn't want to come closer than proper?”

She nodded with a pained smile. “I am sorry. They are nice but not used to... well... you. I did not want to leave. Had talk with uncle.”

“Yeah I know. At least he sent me these two here somewhat soon.”

She brightened a little. “We can have real talk on way back. Can explain many things.”

“[You will stay here Buidhe,]” Faoileag's voice came from behind. “[Enough scouting for a while.]”

She spun around. “[What?!]”

Her uncle blinked, then cocked his head. “[You sound distressed. Is it too much to ask of my niece to spend some time with her family?]”

She looked away guiltily. “[No uncle, of course not.]” Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Solstice looking disappointed. Disappointed with her, no doubt.

“[I sense a 'but' coming, dear Buidhe,]” Faoileag stated with an irritated tone. “[Your little expeditions take longer with each time you go. You are a tribesmare and it is high time you started acting like one. We have had this talk before.]”

Frustrated, she stomped a fore hoof. Or she would have, had it not been for the uncomfortable truth in his words. So the stomp became more of a tap, although the gesture definitively was still not lost on him, judging by his disapproving look. She had it coming and yet she had acted like she had. She did not dare look in Solstice's direction.

Her brother quietly snickered while the other stallion tried to inch away, looking increasingly uncomfortable.

Faoileag dismissed her cousin with a flick of his head and glared at Ruadh. “[I do neither admonish your sister out of spite, nor for your amusement,]” he reprimanded him. Then he smiled a little. “[You will have the honour of escorting our guest back.]”

Anger welled up in her, almost strong enough to break her composure. Had uncle already seen through her and thought this a fitting punishment? She hung her head, letting the demure gesture bleed away most of her agitation. No, he would be straightforward and not like this. And she had done nothing wrong!

Ruadh groaned before he could stop himself. There was a frosty pause in which he slowly pulled his tail in between his legs and lowered his head. Faoileag's flat expression said 'Consequences. Later. In private.' in bold letters.

A second, much softer groan came from her right, followed by a quiet, miserable “bloody tribal traditions...”

She flinched and was immediately angry with Solstice again. But this time he did not deserve it. He should be angry with her. And was not. Well of course he was not, he had no idea of the dilemma she found herself in. Which should not be one.

She had made an offer she found herself unprepared to follow through on. Not like this. She needed to explain it to him first! She was afraid. The realization that it was as simple as that hurt. She needed time to think!

Faoileag was turning away, having put them both in their place. Rightly so.

'You stupid tribal'. It hurt to even think that. 'You stupid, idiotic, tribal coward!' And she was dragging him into this world without even wanting to, no, she had already done it. It should be the other way round!

She took a deep breath and decided to take a gamble. Teacher let her be right about this. She said, as calmly as she could, “[Wait, uncle.]” She was certain that she would pay for this in some way or other. Especially if she was wrong. There would be no talking her way out of this.

He looked back over his shoulder, his expression tired. “[What is it now?]”

“[Tradition demands],” she swallowed, her ears flicking about nervously, “[Tradition demands the emissary be escorted back by the one who escorted them here.]”

To say that the chieftain's look darkened would have been a serious understatement. She held her ground and kept eye contact. She would not be weak in front of Solstice. If only she could get through this stand-off she would get her way. If only her guess was right.

She was absolutely certain uncle would not let himself lose face for the fact that his niece seemed to be as well versed as himself in parts of the old lore. She hoped. They both knew this was not the case.

The silence stretched while her heart was slowly working its way up her throat.

With stiff movements, Faoileag finally turned around again. “[You are, of course, correct in your assumption, Buidhe. It had slipped my mind. For that I... apologize.]”

He narrowed his eyes yet spoke in a calm, scholarly tone, “[However, as you also will be aware then, every important guest should always receive an escort of two. Solstice Spirit of Stromness certainly qualifies, as I am certain you agree. Your brother Ruadh will receive the honour of accompanying you.]”

Of course she had to lose in one way or another. She bowed slightly. “[Thank you, dear uncle.]”

They set off soon after Solstice had finished saying his goodbyes to her family. They had hosted him after all, even though that mainly had entailed staring and, in one young case, prodding. At least her older sister had gotten over herself, apologized for her colt's behaviour and actually tried to have a little conversation.

Solstice had done his best to reciprocate, tried to answer questions, tried to ask some of his own. That seemed to have disheartened him even further, as he had to discover that real South Ronaldsay was not nearly as easy to understand as her 'scouting version'.

On the bright side, her brother understood just as much English as her sister.

“[Would you stop pretending I am not even here!]”

“[I am honouring our guest by using his language, as is proper.]”

“[Whatever it is, I am quite sure that 'honouring' has little to do with it.]”

“[And how would you know?]”

Solstice snerked, his morose expression finally broken. Ruadh shot him a dirty look.

“Seems my new lackey needs to learn some manners,” he commented dryly, albeit with a weak smile. A tiny bit of that spark was back in his eyes again, that spark largely responsible for the situation she had manoeuvred herself into. Them both into.

“It wood be good, yes,” she declared while moving as close as possible to the permitted half-length away from him. Ruadh on the other hoof barely stayed close enough to not count as disrespectful.
They made for an odd trio whenever they fanned out again after walking single-file across a causeway.

He gave her a sideways glance. “Why did you pick a fight with Faoileag over this here?”

The grass swishing past her hooves became very interesting for a few moments. “I... wanted to be with you.”

With a sigh he turned away to look out over the calm seas to the west. “So I won't see you again anytime soon then, right? Just my luck I guess... that why you were all on edge the whole time? You messed up?”

“No! I did not! It is... not that.”

“Then what's the problem?” He turned his head towards her again, making her squirm. “Ah, I get it. It's me. Can't say I'm surprised after yesterday and today.”

“No one rejects! No one knows. I want to explain!”

Her brother looked over to them with an irritated snort. “[You two sound like a bickering couple.]”

“[Be quiet! This is important!]”

“[Because our future depends on you two trading gossip?]” He bent down while walking and snatched a mouthful of long grass.

“Shut up.” Solstice sighed deeply, looking up the road towards Kirkwall again. “Drop the explaining Buidhe. It just wasn't to be, right? Like I said: too difficult. And I don't even want to know the details. Just be done with it the simple way.”

She stared at him. Why did he suddenly think so low of her? “But... but then all honour lost!” she blurted out. “I do not want for you! I nev-”

“More traditions, eh? Alright, then I'll help you out and drop you instead, better?”

He actually smiled fondly at her. He smiled at her while saying something like this! That did not make any sense at all. “But you cannot!”

“What?” he said, nonplussed.

“Stallion cannot leave mare when accept!” She did not even try to hide the desperation in her voice. “Will be outcast! Only mare can take back offer! Still dishonour for stallion!”

He stopped up at that, but he was still smiling when he turned fully towards her. If anything, his smile was approaching a friendly smirk by now, accompanied by a soft shake of the head. His unruly mane flopped back and forth with the motion as if to put special emphasis on it.

She ignored the drawn-out groan coming from her brother.

“Look, Buidhe...,” his voice turned soft before he fixed her with those large, gold brown eyes of his, “This isn't how my world works. Finding that special other is terribly difficult. For one, there is no 'offer'.”

She blinked and wanted to say something, but he was not finished. He even chuckled!

“Might be something we should adopt though. All for it. There are no rules who asks who or asks what in what order and it's all complicated, confusing and generally awful. Doesn't work despite all that? Just leave and start over.” He shrugged. “Don't worry about me.”

“Ruadh!” he called out, “[Culture(?) difficult... thing... stuff. Move soon.]”

Her brother started to graze a little way off after grumbling something unintelligible. For the first time she felt a little envy towards him.

“Hey, you said that no one knows, so nothing will happen to neither me nor you. I'd give you a serious hug right now but... I guess then somebody would know.” He gave a sad little smile.

“For me would still feel same,” she said in a low voice. “Wanted to explain all. Not enough English words.”

“Don't think this doesn't hurt, you know,” the reply equally subdued. “I get why you're afraid and wanted a few hours to explain; too bad we had to have your brother tag along. Maybe we should have done the explaining first?”

He shrugged and put his smile back on, though it was not very convincing anymore. “Heh. At least I can tell Dawn quite a bit about your uncle now, that display this morning was really informative.

You know,” he began while turning around again, “Let's see what comes from that meeting I arranged.” After a little sigh, he called out “[Ruadh! We finish!]” Over his shoulder he added “I'll wait for you.”

“[Finally. Was wondering if my sister wanted to make uncle angry on purpose now.]” Ruadh trotted over and took his place at Solstice's side.

For a moment she looked at the two from behind before she hurried to take up her own station, this time keeping the same distance as her brother. Solstice's voice was already a little more distanced and with a hint of that perpetual carefreeness and he also had a little bit of that spring back in his gait.

Like he had just escaped something. Because he had, thanks to her cowardice. She should have announced it! She still did not dare.

Tribesmare Buidhe of South Ronaldsay tried to swallow the lump in her throat and carried on escorting Dawn Horizon's messenger back to the edge of their lands. She hated herself.

Author's Note

Next up: joining this story arc with our (un)lucky returnee's. I've also begun to re-write the earliest chapters to make them less exposition-dumpy. May take a while though.

Highland Park Distillery – Burning Amber

The beautiful midsummer weather did nothing at all to lift her spirits. Soon the outskirts of Kirkwall came into view. The large buildings along the main road marked the spot where they would say goodbye to the emissary.

Solstice had declared that he would rather take the main road home. It was faster than crossing the meadows south of the city and that way he could make it home within the day. He would just have to canter or gallop until he left the city limits again; that would cut the amount of time he could be spotted by dog packs. In any case, he was fast enough to outrun them.

When they finally reached the first of the large one-storey structures, he bade his two escorts stop. He turned around and addressed Buidhe in a formal voice, just as she had taught him was important.

“I thank you and your tribe for the hospitality I enjoyed and will report this and the good outcome to my leader. Buidhe, please translate this for Ruadh.” He bowed a little to her and her brother respectively. She related it to Ruadh who of course already knew what he would hear from her.

This was it then. If only she had time to discuss all the implications with Solstice. If only she had not been so stupid in the first place.

She realized the others were waiting for her to conclude the formalities. Ruadh had an impatient and irritated expression on his face while Solstice had his head cocked and a questioning look in his eyes. “[My apologies,]” she muttered. She was just about to bow when she registered movement somewhere downslope to the west.

Instinctively she snapped her head around.

Ruadh groaned. “[What in Teacher's name is it this time? Can we not just be done with this and go home?]”

“[Down there. It is...,]” she squinted, “[It is a pony.]”

“[So what?]”

Solstice had turned around as well. “Yeah, could be one of ours. I'll go meet up with him or her.” He frowned. “Wait... that doesn't look good.”

She saw the pony sink to its knees and then fall over.

“HEY THERE! YOU OKAY?” her companion cried out.

It tried to rise again at the call but fell over once more. A moment later she was in a fast canter before she even registered what she was doing. So was Solstice and, a length and a curse behind, her brother.

She gasped when she saw the small, stocky pony close up. It resembled Dawn in many ways, but the pale yellow coat was full of dirt and blood. The hooves were chipped and the bright orange mane and tail a was a matted mess full of thorny twigs and more dirt. And the wounds. This pony should be dead already.

“Sun and moon! Buidhe! We need to get her up there! Tell Ruadh to stop being a damn jerk and help!”

Turning away from the whimpering little mare she addressed her brother in an angry voice. “[Will you now stop complaining and help!? There is clean water up there. We only have to get her to her hooves again and support her!]”

“[She is as good as dead already! Why would you want to make her suffer even more? Just stay with her until she fades away! Why not once listen to me instead of your messenger?!]”

“[Because he gives the better advice! Now help us or I swear you will regret it!]”

“[Fine! Have it your way then!]” he snarled, giving in.

Supported between two larger horses, the wounded pony was indeed able to walk. Slow, wobbly, but able to do it, much to her amazement.

“Just a little more! You're safe now girl!” Solstice was encouraging the pony from a little left and behind her. “We'll-” His hoofsteps came to an abrupt halt.

Whatever it was it would have to wait. “Solstice! Do not delay! Lead us!” He had to come to the front and look for obstacles on the ground. They should not force the little mare to use more strength than absolutely necessary.

When he spoke again, seemingly oblivious to her command, his voice was wavering. As if in awe. “Buidhe! She... She has a mark!”

“Yes! Bite marks!” she shot back. “Stare flank later!” She knew she was being unfair, but of all things to concentrate on right then!

“What?!” he spluttered but rallied immediately. “Sorry! Coming.”

Beside the main building was a pond with crystal clear water that welled up close by. They waded into it, the pony still between them. The mare cried out when the cold water washed over her injuries for the first time but soon seemed to relax a little. At least she ceased crying and started drinking greedily instead until they stopped her.

The pond had turned a brownish reddish colour around them when they finally deemed her clean enough. She now at least had a slight chance of not being killed by her wounds starting to rot. They helped her out of the water and over to the arched metal gate where Solstice had disappeared.

He had busied himself with cleaning a spot on the floor. The entrance room of the largest building right behind the gate was full of stands with faded, crumbling pictures. There were glass cases along the walls and behind a long counter, containing glasses, cups and dishes of blackened metal and leather-bound flasks.

Paintings hung on the walls, the surfaces cracked and the frames distorted. In front of the desk lay what looked like a small book, colourful cards sticking out of it. Their was a strange smell in the air that mixed with dust and the odour of rotting timber.

Judging by the amount of dirt hanging in it, Solstice had used his tail to sweep a part of the old wooden floor. She made him support the mare while she herself lay down on the floor. “[Make her head rest on my legs. Then go and clean yourselves up!]”

Only minutes later, the smaller stallion was also lying beside the stranger and murmuring comforting words into her ears. It seemed to help as she relaxed a little and her breathing went from wheezing to drawing quick breaths interspersed with small gasps.

Then she opened her huge, bloodshot eyes again. She coughed and forced out “Need... stairs somewhere here... down.”

Solstice was on his hooves in an instant and began checking along the walls, kicking away assorted debris to get a look at the floor beneath. “[Ruadh! Help me!]”

[“She will die anyway. These wounds will not heal. Dog bites this big are poison.]” Ruadh was looking on with an irritated frown, standing at the far wall.

“Little one. What is of need?” She asked while keeping her forehooves under the injured pony's head as to cause her as little additional discomfort as possible.

“Bottles...,” a painful cough made her grimace before she added “Metal shelves... many bottles.”

“Found it!” Solstice called out, “Over here under all this rubbish!” He turned to her brother. “[Help...clear!]”

Ruadh just scoffed. “[No point.]”

“[Get... tribe flank... move!]”

“[Ruadh! Do what he says!]” she interjected before her brother could answer, ignoring the general insult.

The two stallions began to pull away large pieces of the first floor that had fallen down into the room, brittle with dry rot. Ruadh was cursing the foul taste while Solstice seemed to have no problem whatsoever with it. The dirt that immediately covered his legs also did not appear to bother him. His words about restoring buildings came to her mind.

The noise of thrown about boards and timber and the splintering of smaller parts of masonry, kicked away hard enough to smash against the stone walls, made the small mare try to look up. It only took a careful nuzzle and a little downward pressure to make her lie down again.

“Thank you... whatever... whoever you are.” She clenched her eyes shut.

“I am Buidhe. Your name is?”

“Brenda.”

“Brenda, what is in bottles?” she inquired. To keep on talking to her was the only way she could think of how to keep the other one conscious. Whatever she was on about, it seemed important and they did not know what to do.

“Whisky.”

She blinked. “What?”

There was a weak laugh, followed by a cough that made her wince. “A... a horse... wouldn't know... sorry.” She took a long and shaky breath. “Alcohol. Disinfect.”

“What do you mean?”

“Kill... kill bacteria.”

She was beginning to feel very stupid. “...what?”

There was a long pause that made her begin to worry again. “Make sure... wounds don't go bad. Can use Whisky. Horses sturdier than... than humans,” she swallowed heavily, “I hope.”

“Humans?” this was getting mystifying. Before the small pony could answer though, there was a loud noise from the other side of the room.

“Ah shit!” There was a skidding sound, together with the clatter and crunching of small bits of wood and masonry and metal. “Ow. Think I found it,” came Solstice's muffled voice. “Damn, it's dark down here.” Clank. “OW! Found the metal shelves alright.” More muffled cursing. “Feels like lots of stuff here.” He sneezed, several times. “Hey! Got it!”

After a series of slow and careful hoofsteps, Solstice's head emerged from the hole in the floor. He was holding a short but somewhat wide glass bottle between his teeth. The remnants of something black with letters on clung to one side.

He came over and held it in front of the wounded pony's eyes. “Yish ish o-ell?”

“That's it! Thank god... it's still here.” The initial smile on her lips died as fast as it had emerged. “Must pour over wounds.” He nodded and began to try and open it. “Wait!” An unsettling look of dread was creeping into her eyes. “Must...,” her voice wavered, “Must rub it in! Es.... especially the,” she took a shaky breath, “The deep ones.”

“What is it Brenda?” she asked. “Will it not help you?”

“It's gonna hurt dammit!” She snapped, then coughed again and gasped for air. “Fucking more than now!” The mare had begun to smell of fear, making her own ears splay back. “Get... Get another bottle! That one alone's not gonna cut it!” Brenda forced out quickly before the next cough.

When Solstice returned with the second bottle, he set about to open it but soon had to give up. “I can't get the damn thing open! Buidhe, you have to help me. Hold it so I can pull that top off!”

She nodded but all of a sudden felt nervous. “[How should I do that? Your hooves are better at this.]”

“Well, just bite down on the neck so I can get some some leverage. I'll keep my hooves on it as well.”

With only the slightest bit of hesitation she did as instructed and laid Brenda's head down with great care. She moved over to lie down opposite of Solstice, the bottom of the bottle between her hooves. He in turn put his own hooves on top of hers.

When they both bit down on the bottle she felt his breath on her cheek and swallowed a little nervously. Then he grunted and began to twist the top back and forth, gnawing through the material holding it in place.

When he turned it to the right the third time he pressed his muzzle against her own. She clenched her eyes shut when she felt a little lopsided grin on his lips despite the circumstances. A moment later the top came off with a resounding fump.

A strange smell filled the air that bit into her nostrils and made her eyes water. She released her hold. “[What on earth is that?!]”

“No idea. Pretty intense. [Ruadh! Two bottle!]”

She did not dare look up when her brother came over and put the other bottle between her and the little stallion with a disdainful snort.

A minute later they were done. “Alright Brenda, ready when you are.”

The pony nodded and clenched her eyes shut. She noticed how her muscles went taut. Solstice held the bottle over one of the smaller cuts on her flank and poured a little bit of the light amber liquid over it.

The effect was immediate. The pony gave a sharp gasp and jolted, almost knocking the bottle out of his hooves. “SHIT! Oh god! Stop! Oh god dammit stop!” She lay her head back down and whimpered a little.

“Uhm... you sure about this? There's a lot of cuts on that side. And those bites on the other side, and those, uhm, wounds on your chest,” he said with a lot of doubt in his voice.

“Better than to die of blood poisoning you... you stupid...you stupid quadruped!”

“Hey! I'm trying to help you!”

“Sorry... sorry...,” she bit out with tears in her eyes. “I know... it's just... that's going to hurt so fucking much!” She took a deep and shaky breath and continued in a small and fearful voice, “Guess that's...,” she gulped, “That's where you do like in those stupid old westerns. Hold the hero down, light the gunpowder and all that.”

Her voice was beginning to teeter on the hysterical. “Look! I'm starring in my own stupid trippy fantasy-action film! Get the fuck on with it!! And don't you fucking stop!!!” her shout petered out and she began to cry.

She looked down at the crying mare and up again at Solstice who was looking extremely uncomfortable. “You do... 'Whisky'. And rub in,” she said, avoiding eye contact, “[I am strongest. I hold down hindlegs and Ruadh forelegs. Ruadh! No I do not care if you are too weak for this! So you are not? Then come here before I make you!]”

They got on with it.
The room filled with the stench of sweat and blood dissolved in smoky alcohol.
Never in her life had she heard any creature scream like this.

She was shaken. She realized she was trembling a little with exhaustion. And crying. Looking up, she found that the stallions were not faring any better. At one point she had started sobbing while holding the ludicrously strong pony down with all her might.

Ruadh had been yelling at the mare to stop fighting and screaming and at Solstice to work faster and at herself to pull herself together. And also because he had to use every ounce of strength he possessed. Now he was staring blankly into the air before him, wet streaks under his eyes.

Solstice had gone completely quiet in the process, with a blank look on his face and working as fast as possible with jerky yet somehow still accurate movements. He was lying on the floor with his hooves over his eyes and sobbing.

Brenda was utterly drenched in sweat and was wheezing in quiet gasps and trembling all over.

It took them more than half an hour to collect themselves enough to talk more or less normally to each other again. They avoided looking at each other though. She looked up when she heard a quiet groan from their patient and bent down her head to try and make out if she was actually trying to say something.

The little mare had hardly any of her voice left after the ordeal, but she still managed to croak out “Please... some for me.”

She blinked. “Solstice?” She pointed at the almost empty second bottle. “She wants... that?”

“Just... a little... please,” the battered pony rasped.

“Uhm... looks like it?” he said while slowly scratching his mane with a still shaky hoof. “She's the one who knows the stuff.” He hesitated. “Ah well, if it's good...,” he swallowed, “Good on the outside, maybe it's also good on the inside?”

Before she could react, her companion had gingerly picked up the bottle, held it close to the other pony's muzzle and tipped it very carefully. A thin trickle of 'whisky' splashed onto her lips and into her mouth. He jumped back as not to be hit by the sudden jerk that she expected as well.

A second later Brenda gasped, then coughed violently, tears flooding her eyes once more as the hacking movement put a lot of strain on all her injuries.

She jumped forward to snatch the bottle away from Solstice so he would not go on to hurt the poor thing even more in his stupidity. Before she could do so however, the mare spoke again. She noticed that the intensely pained expression from seconds ago had been replaced by the slightest of smiles.

“More...,” the voice emerged as barely more than a whisper, yet its dry, rasping quality had diminished considerably. That made no sense at all.

“[Solstice, that is not a good idea I think!]”

“What? She's the one who asks for it. She knows what she's doing, she's got a mark,” he stated matter of factly.”

“[What has that got to do with anything?!]” she inquired, deeply irritated, and shook her head at the stallion's behaviour. Was that girl his new chieftain?! She stomped a hoof and glared at her brother when she heard him snicker.

Completely ignoring her, Solstice was already pouring more of the amber fluid into the mare's mouth when she looked back. It was enough that some of it trickled out the other side again, yet to her surprise and extreme relief the pony did not cough this time, but swallowed after a few seconds, followed by a little sigh.

She put the hoof she had intended to smack Solstice with down again.

The stranger's face relaxed in what could only be called an expression of bliss. Moments later the pony's head dropped the last half inch to the ground and her body went entirely still, except for the slow and steady breathing of the deep sleep of utter exhaustion.

When she looked up from the finally and mercifully unconscious mare and turned her head towards Solstice, the words she had intended to say died on her lips. He was sniffing the bottle with an entirely too curious expression to her liking. “Solstice! What are you doing?!”

“Hey, this stuff actually smells real nice when you don't mix it with all kinds of dirt and nasties first. Like... kinda like heather actually. Really sweet heather.” He took another sniff. “And grain! And like a baking fire!”

He sniffed again. “You think they figured out a way to make heather and peat palatable? What? Don't look at me like that. That'd be seriously great!”

“[You want to drink this? After what it did to her? It burned her and knocked her out! Drink it?!]” she exclaimed incredulously and commanded “I will not have you do this!”

She stared at Solstice in disbelief when he took the bottle between his teeth anyway and tilted his head backwards. A second later he coughed violently but still managed to catch it before it would have shattered on the floor. “Wow.”

“[Did you tell him no? Your little pony does not seem to listen to you,]” came the sarcastic comment from the back wall. Ruadh seemed to have recovered enough to be back to his usual self.

“[He is not 'my little pony',]” she replied tersely while turning to face her brother. She really did not need this right now. Not after what she just had been through. Especially not from her obnoxious sibling, even if it just might be his way of trying to cope with what he had just been part of.

“[Oh?]” He grinned smugly. “[Is he your stallion then, dearest sister? Did you perform a special offer with short notice? You sure seemed flustered when he nuzzled you.]”

She felt her ears splay back against her head when he snickered again, grinding her teeth as to not bare them at her own kin. She did not say a word. She just glared at him. She could not find a fitting retort, apart from a blatant lie that she would surely choke on.

Finally she broke eye contact and her hard gaze came to rest somewhere above his right shoulder. A second later his pleased expression turned into one of nervousness and she could almost hear him swallow.

“[You did not,]” he stated flatly.

Solstice was having something of a coughing fit in the background, accompanied by the faint sound of glass clinking on wood. She dimly registered him slinking away a moment later. She continued to stare at the point of the wall behind Ruadh, but in the end she could not help but to finally bare her teeth.

“[You did.]” Her brother looked stunned.

Why now? Why on earth now? Why like this? “[This does not concern you!]” she bit out, barely keeping her voice under control.

Ruadh was suddenly highly agitated, a mix of disbelief, concern and anger on his features. His voice was still hoarse. “[What?! You must be aware of what this means for you! For all of us! When uncle receives word-]”

“[You would not dare!]”

“[And lie to uncle because of your stupidity?!]” he shouted back. “[Have you lost your mind?! Did his ridiculous colours do something to your head?! Since when does my sister do her thinking with her lifted tail?!]”

She gaped at him for a few seconds before the fuse reached the keg.

“[HOW DARE YOU?! A FINE BROTHER YOU ARE!]” There was only so much her frayed nerves could take anymore today. “[GO RUT A EWE RUADH!!!]”

Blood boiling and chest heaving, she began to advance on him with slow hoofsteps that sent small tremors through the floorboards. He simultaneously looked furious, shocked and intimidated, his tail between his legs where it was trying to swish all on its own.

Never before had she yelled at him like this. Or with words like these. He began to back up, looking ready to bolt but having nowhere to run. “[Sister! This is... How can you-]”

Solstice chose that moment to emerge from the staircase he had disappeared into again when she was having the stand-off with Ruadh, cautiously looking over the edge to gauge the situation.

She stopped up sharply and glared at him. “[And where did you run off to?! This is about you! You will be part of this!]”

He was holding another bottle in his mouth but hurriedly set it down, looking abashed. “Uhm... you two sounded kinda busy, so I thought, uhm... might as well, ah, like, heh …?”

“[Just look at him sister! How-]”

Spittle flew from her mouth. “[BE QUIET! BOTH OF YOU!]” She clenched her eyes shut, reared up and slammed her hooves down on the floor. Both Solstice and Ruadh flinched away and even the unconscious pony stirred for a moment when the floor reverberated under the impact.

“[You!]” she pointed a shaking hoof at her companion. “[Do not make me regret my choice! My choice that I will stand by!]” She glowered at him until he gulped, looked away and shrank down the stairs again.

“[And you,]” she said to Ruadh in a suddenly very cold voice, “[You will stay here and help my mate watch over that pony over there while I go and get help in Stromness.]”

“My mate?” an incredulous whisper came from Solstice's hiding place.

“[You cannot just order me to do something!]” Ruadh blurted out in disbelief, “[We are of the same standing! This pony is not our concern! I will return home now!]” He made for the exit, but she blocked his way.

“[I can give you orders. I still am the chieftain's scout.]” She took a step towards him. “[Here I can order you around as much as I please, dearest brother. Outside our lands I outrank you!]”

She took a deep breath and growled “[You. Stay. Here,]” before adding in a more normal voice, “[And maybe our chieftain will not receive word of your insults and your ignorance.]” Another step brought her forehead to forehead with him. “[Depends.]”

“Ooohh... that had to hurt,” the staircase commented with an audible grin. She pointedly ignored it.

Rarely had she been so relieved to step out into the cool air of a summer night. Insufferable. Both of them. There was a task to perform and if she was the only one capable of doing so, she would do it alone. All on her own. As she was wont to do.

She leaned heavily against the wall and tried to collect herself. From here on out it was uncharted territory and having a nervous breakdown would not be helpful right then. All she needed to do right then was to take slow, deep breaths and calm down.

For a minute or so it was quiet back in the distillery. Then Solstice's muffled voice carried out to her. “[Try drink?]” Quiet. “[Is good! Warm! Sweet! Smoke!]”

A pause.“[I do not need to try this poison. Leave me be.]” Her brother, sounding both sullen and angry.

Solstice spoke again in a mocking tone. “Heh, yeah, sure. [You fear? Filly drink.]”

She could almost hear her brother's ears splay back.

“[Watch your tongue! Were you not my sister's...,]” Ruadh was clearly trying to keep a hold on himself.

“[Mate,]” Solstice helpfully supplied in a smooth voice.

“[Then I would make you eat dust this very moment!!!]”

A snerk. “[Coward.]”

A snarl. “[Give me this. I will have more of this foul liquid than you could ever hope to take!]”

A chuckle. “[Is on!]”

She took a deep breath. Then another one. Then she cursed the two of them, her life and the world in general and galloped off towards Stromness, as fast as she deemed safe and doable for herself in the late evening twilight and her current state of mind.

In other words, she flew west.

Author's Note

I've tried this method once and I really don't recommend it. Was backpacking in the highlands and had forgotten to bring real wound disinfectant; what I did have was a little flask of Highland Park. Go figure. It was only a badly scraped knee. Unmanly noises may have been heard a mile away. It was truly amazing how much that hurt.

Anyway, at last we're done with Buidhe's perspective. Up next: back to Stromness. Just not entirely sure from which perspective I'll write that. Any preferences?

Royal Hotel - Safe Haven

The first thing Brenda noticed when her mind drifted back to consciousness was the sweet smell of fresh hay. She remembered she'd once heard that the sense of smell was the last one to go. Figured that it was also the first one to come to back. Or was that hearing? That this would be the first thing to go through her mind made her chuckle. That, in turn, hurt enough to elicit a little gasp.

With the slight pain, the memories came flooding back. They reminded her that all the awfulness she'd gone through hadn't just been a nightmare. Wherever she was, it wasn't the distillery any more since her surroundings didn't smell of dust, dry rot, wet horse and strong alcohol. Instead, the smell reminded her of a mix between a museum and a very clean and well maintained stable.

Then came the itch in all the wounds and scratches. Spreading from her chest outwards, it crept over her sides and made her bedding prickly and uncomfortable. With a groan, she forced herself to crack open an eyelid. Going back to sleep definitely wasn't an option any more anyway. Resisting the urge to rub her side against her bed, she tried to roll onto her belly. She discovered she couldn't move.

Her eyes snapped open. The first thing she registered was that, indeed, she was still some sort of horse. She still had forelegs that ended in hooves. What startled her was the fact that her fore and hind legs were bound with thick blue nylon rope, locked in place from the knees and hocks on downward.

Being immobilized had the effect of making the itching almost unbearable. “Hello?!” she croaked out, her parched throat almost making her choke on the single word. The coughing that followed replaced the itch with pain across her chest and she gave a hoarse cry.

She had already begun to struggle against her bindings when she heard quick hooffalls from outside the old and battered hardwood door. She froze and held her breath. Seconds later, the door opened a little and a sea green head peeked inside. The horse's ears were pointed forward, its cautious expression shifting to a warm smile a moment later.

“You're awake!” the mare exclaimed. “Buidhe told me you were a real fighter, but I didn't allow myself too much hope and... oh I'm so sorry! Let me get these off of you!” She walked over and began to deftly untie her forelegs. “You were thrashing about so much that we were afraid you'd hurt yourself even more! Sorry for giving you a fright!”

“You're... a green Fjord Pony,” she stated lamely while watching the mare remove her bindings, “That tied me up.”

“And aren't you a bright one,” the pony chuckled after spitting out the end of the rope she had just untangled from the last knot. “I am Springtide, Solstice's mother. You do remember him, don't you?”

She blinked in confusion. “I... I guess? Little piebald stallion with an Iceland mare?”

Springtide paused in untying her hindlegs and perked up, a lopsided grin forming on her muzzle. “Oh my. Really?”

All of a sudden, solitary itching and pain seemed much less uncomfortable than the scrutinizing gaze she found herself under. “Ah. I... thought... I mean... can I have some water?” The last part was more of a raspy squeak.

The green mare gave a little disappointed sigh and finished removing the rope. The warm smile didn't leave her muzzle though. “Of course you can, little one. I just finished cleaning you up after all and I always make sure to bring more water than I'll need. Give me a moment.”

“Cleaning me up? Wait! How long was I out?” She became aware that her hindquarters were a little damp and cold. She felt her face turn hot.

“No need to feel ashamed,” the other mare said in a soothing voice. “You have four foals of your own, you won't even spare a single thought on something like that. Let me tell you about that time Moorland wanted to research how many Rowan berries a colt can eat before getting sick.” She shook her head with a little chuckle. “Or maybe not. So don't worry. You've been out for a little more than two days and in good hooves all the time. Now let me get you something to drink.” With that she gave her a friendly nod and left.

She stretched her legs, with joints, muscles and skin protesting the movement. It was tolerable though, since the discomfort lacked a single pronounced source. Rolling onto her belly was taxing, but also a great relief since it took the pressure of off her side. Now that she finally had a chance of having a good look at where she had ended up, she noticed that her mat of hay wasn't the room's only feature.

A single, intact window spilled grey daylight onto a small and well used oaken desk. The window's frame, she noted, showed no signs of rot under its earthen red coating. The floorboards made of ancient pinewood had accumulated so many stains that they had blended into a smooth patina. For all its discolouration though, she couldn't spot any actual dirt. There weren't even cobwebs in the corners.

There was a narrow, gold framed floor to ceiling mirror on the wall next to the door, with a single crack running through its bottom third. Next to it, at the same height as the crack, was a crude little painting of a flower and a horse's head. It was drawn in erratic lines with what looked like charcoal. A child's drawing. She smiled at the typical unauthorized mural.

A clumsily drawn mural at that. She blinked. Mouth drawn, of course. This had to be a foal's painting. A giggle bubbled up from her chest at the thought of how the green mare must have found the culprit. The image of a little piebald colt came to her mind: forelegs, chest and muzzle all smeared with saliva-dissolved charcoal. Some of the floor as well.

He would have received a thorough scolding, a whole afternoon bath and no dinner. Then the mare would have felt bad and refrained from removing the artwork. Just like mum.

Outside her room there was a muffled exchange between a young male and the mare tending to her. Shortly after, the soft clip-clop of hooves on wood drew close to the door. The pony carefully shoved it open with a forehoof and entered. In her mouth she held a large enamelled carafe, with a shallow bowl of the same material balanced on top of it.

In looking up she caught sight of her own reflection in the mirror. Maybe it was for the best that she hadn't seen her own image in anything better than a still puddle until now. Otherwise she might have become too fond of her former appearance to handle this.

The creature staring back at her was a mess. Most of her forelock and some parts of her mane were missing. Her face and muzzle looked as if somebody had dragged a rake across it. One of her ears ended in a frayed edge at a little more than half its original height.

Her chest was covered in a caked, greenish brown mud. It concealed the wounds that she knew to be there but was happy not having to look at just yet. At least her eyes were undamaged, except for a gash through one eyebrow. A narrow miss.

The other pony gently closed the door and gave her charge a short glance. With a little sigh she then set the water down and lay down beside her, mindful of the many cuts and bruises on her sides. “Shhh... it's alright,” she murmured and gave her a soft nuzzle.

She buried her face in Springtide's mane, whose soft voice and warm friendliness reminded her so much of her mother.

She awoke to the sound of heavy rain pattering against the window. Springtide had agreed to her meek request that she stay by her side through the night. The green mare's deep and steady breathing filled her with contentment and she snuggled up against the warm body with a sigh. Shifting a little in her sleep, the Fjord pony murmured something incomprehensible in response. For the first time, she noticed the mare's scent and smiled a little at how it put her at ease.

Solstice's mother not only reminded her of mum; she had also pretty much acted like her. Here she was, a strange, talking pony lying on a mat of hay in a centuries old town house. By her side lay a somewhat less strange, talking pony that had comforted her through hours of crying. Fresh tears were rolling down her face, but they came across a little smile on their way down.

Grief was a strange thing. It had overwhelmed her the moment she had that sense of security. She knew it would come back in time, but for now the need to deal with her loss had receded. Here was warmth, safety and maybe even friendship. The nightmare had turned into a surreal dreamscape that wasn't even a dreamscape at all.

She resolved to not even try to understand what had happened. Where was the point? Being warm and safe was what counted now. Everything else? She'd cross those bridges when she came to them.

With a sigh she realized the need to relief herself and inched away from the mare. It took a great deal of effort to get onto her hooves without making too much noise. When she finally stood on her still wobbly legs it was a little triumph: she wouldn't have to use the pile of straw in the corner this time.

The door hardly made a sound when she nosed it open and peered into the lobby beyond. Even though the room had a lot more windows, it was still gloomy and grey. The heavy rain clouds made gauging the time next to impossible; but judging by the stillness it had to be quite early morning. Her ears swivelled at the sound of rustling paper.

Close to a window in the far corner of the room, a figure sat on its haunches at a long, low table; on which sat a well used book-stand. A glowing pinewood spill in a narrow vase supplemented the dim light with just enough orange brightness for reading.

The pony seemed to have finished the last paragraph and leaned a little sideways. Then it unfolded an appendage she hadn't noticed until just then. With the soft whisper of feathers gliding against each other and the pony's smooth coat, a wing stretched out halfway. She watched in awe as the tip of the outermost primary touched the corner of the book and gently turned the page.

She took a breath and stepped through the doorway, closing the door behind herself. The reader didn't gaze away from the book when she made her way over in slow and not entirely sure movements. Her hooves clopped softly on the wooden floor.

“I couldn't sleep, mother. Is everything alright?” the pegasus said in a hushed voice.

She swallowed, suddenly nervous. “I'm... I'm okay. Springtide's still sleeping.”

He looked up in surprise and turned around. “You're up!” he exclaimed, wings fluttering a little. Then a small smile lit up his face and he gave a slow and rather deep nod. “What can I do for you, Brenda?” The words almost sounded reverent. He gave a quiet cough. “I'm Dawn, by the way.”

She fidgeted a little. “I... uh... good morning Dawn. You know my name?”

At that he chuckled. “Everyone does. Who wouldn't want to know what the marked one is called? Besides, it isn't every day that a half dead stranger comes to town on a stretcher.” Again he gave that soft little smile, in strange contrast to his serious expression.

It struck her how much his appearance resembled her own, even though he was a few inches taller and a tiny bit more horselike. Were there more of her species? Were... that had to wait. “I'm sorry,” she cleared her throat, “Where is the...” It occurred to her that there wouldn't be any. How would that work anyway? Yet the place was so clean. How did... people like these...?

“Sorry... of course. Down the corridor over there and out the back door. Can't miss it.” He pointed past her with a wing.

“Thank you.” She began to turn away but hesitated. Then she took a breath and blurted out “Can you actually fly with these?” She bit her lip and shrunk back a little upon seeing his smile fall.

Dawn sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. “No, I can't.” With that he turned back to his book.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered. “I didn't mean to hurt you.”

“It's alright,” he murmured and added “Sorry to disappoint,” with a half-hearted smirk.

She turned away and walked towards the back entrance, feeling awful. At least the outhouse, if one could call it that, was easy to find. The roof's overhang had been extended with sheet metal. Below it were two elongated, shallow pits filled with straw; each of them was narrow enough to comfortably stand over with one's hooves spread apart. Close by, a pitchfork, a shovel and a broom were leaning against the wall in a neat row. A battered trailer stood at the other end, two feet lower so that it was level with the bottom of the pits. There even was a little basin filled with clean water, no doubt to clean one's hooves and fetlocks.

The whole thing made her smile and lifted her spirits. For some reason, this felt like the ultimate proof she had ended up in a civilized society, despite all the mind-bending weirdness. A little later she remembered why she had actually come here and stopped giggling. This required concentration after all and she did not want to have to explain a mishap in this case.

Dawn wasn't alone when she returned, happy to have taken an important little step towards finding her place in this strange new world. Springtide had joined him in the murky room. The mare looked up with genuine relief on her features when she saw her coming back in and went to greet her.

“It's wonderful you could get up all on your own, but please don't disappear on me like that again Brenda!” She put a careful hoof to her withers and gave her a soft nuzzle. “You can't be sure how long your legs will hold you just yet.” She nuzzled her again. “I don't want to have to worry about you lying out in the rain somewhere because you stumbled and hurt yourself and can't get up again on your own.”

Springtide's tone irritated her the moment she began to speak, yet she had to smile. She returned the nuzzle and buried her face in Springtide's mane, mumbling “Sorry mum,” while doing so. They both froze. “Uh... I mean... sorry, don't know where that came... from...,” she trailed off. Something in the back of her mind gave a happy nicker, relishing the close contact and refusing to end it.

A short, awkward pause later Springtide gave a soft snort but didn't lean away. “It's alright, little one." She rested her chin on her neck. "You know, I never had a filly.” There was a comforting warmth in that voice. “And I guess it's never too late to learn,” she added with an audible smile before she pulled back to look her in the eyes. “And before you ask, you don't have to tell me or Dawn here everything about you just yet. That can wait until you're better. That is, until I think you're better.”

“I'm not really a filly you know, even if I'm smaller than you. And I know pretty much everything about horses, so-”

“But very little about mothering, I'll wager,” Springtide cut her off with a firm voice but a twinkle in the eyes. “Now off to bed with you young lady! I have something to discuss with our leader.” The mare valiantly held back a laugh. Dawn on the other hand didn't even try. It was a beautiful sound.

“Aww mum!” she happily played her part, even stomping a hoof for added effect – something that instantly made her wince at the sharp spike of pain it caused. It felt good anyway. Real good. The part about having something to discuss in private sounded serious enough though; so she went for her room without further delay.

Springtide was right as it turned out. Her legs didn't exactly give out under her when she tried to lower herself down, but it was close. Soon she dozed off again, a little smile on the pony's lips.

Having never fought for her life before, she'd done quite well; she would need to remind herself of that every now and then. To be fair, her reflection wasn't even close to as scary as three days ago when she'd come to in her room. Actually Springtide's room, as she learned a day later. The green mare was currently fussing over her, grooming her coat.

She was using a brush made of wild teasel that she was holding in her mouth. It was a surprisingly pleasant sensation, except for when she by accident touched one of the many cuts. They were healing up nicely, but they and the areas around them were still sensitive.

She was sure she'd have nightmares about the treatment that prevented them from getting infected. Most likely for the rest of her life. Many of the injuries would stay visible through a slight discolouration of her coat, others by leaving an irregular structure in the fur. It was nothing compared to the marks on her face and the hideous scarring on her chest though.

She closed her eyes and winced when Springtide began to disentangle and brush her mane with some ancient stable equipment. Being real gentle wasn't as easy here and her maneline still hurt a lot where she'd lost some chunks of it.

That at least would grow back in time, she was pretty certain of that. The upper half of her ear wouldn't. She'd liked that ear. The ears were the cutest part of a horse in her opinion. Especially hers had been really cute. She sighed. Nothing to do about that; at least she still had one of them and also those large and pretty rust coloured eyes. Minus most of an eyebrow on one side.

The healing paste her unexpected stepmother had applied, whatever it was made of, had done an amazing job of sealing the chest wounds. It had prevented them from going bad after the initial whisky treatment had burnt out any germs already present. She shuddered at the memory.

“OW!” she exclaimed when Springtide's tool caught on a stubborn knot on her lower neck. The muffled reply, spoken through teeth gripping a handle, sounded rather exasperated. Of course she needed to be made presentable when being introduced to the rest of the household and the herd. Of course she agreed with that. That didn't mean she'd have to enjoy it.

She looked at the mirror again and was reminded of a TV show she'd once watched. It had been about some tribe somewhere in sub-Saharan Africa that practised ritual scarification and used colourful earths that were rubbed into fresh cuts. She couldn't remember if they did it to their animals too, but in that case she'd fit right in. She had her doubts about the whole 'presentable' thing.

“There you go. You'll be a beauty again in no time,” Springtide announced. Her voice held the kind of rock solid conviction that only a mother could muster in the face of all evidence.

“I'm going to do your tail now. I know it's a bit uncomfortable, but if you don't want to just cut the thing off and look ridiculous it needs to be done now. Two days more and it'll be too matted to do anything about it. And if you kick me again like the first time we tried this I will bite you. Right on that mark of yours. Just so you know it.”

She sighed and craned her neck to look at the dark shape of an anvil emblazoned on her flank. At least that was unblemished, since the dog that had sunk its fangs into her had missed it by an inch. Somehow that felt really important, as if she'd avoided a truly horrible injury.

She also felt a constant need to look at it, always just one more time to make sure it really was undamaged. It was beginning to feel like a compulsion. That was getting on her nerves, especially since there were two of them that both demanded her attention. 'Marked one'. As if there wasn't enough weirdness in the world already.

She grit her teeth and did her best as not to whimper while Springtide was ripping her tail to pieces. Never had she imagined the root of a horse's tail to be that sensitive. Or maybe that was just her? In any case she'd apologize to Freya, so they met in the afterlife, and commend her on her stoicism. Maybe she'd allow her a kick or two as well.

“Hnng... agh! Oh gosh, sorry! SORRY! OWOWOWWW!”

“I warned you,” 'mum' grumbled. “Now hold still!”

Dear Stranger (part one)

The Royal Hotel's windows on the ground floor were all open and let in a soft breeze. Pale morning sunshine glistened on the surface of the main street, still damp from yesterday’s heavy showers. It illuminated the lobby in clear light, making the room welcoming and the atmosphere fitting for a special occasion.

She wasn't exactly happy about today being a special occasion. Of course introductions had to be made and an important change marked, now that Springtide had deemed her recovered enough to be up and about again. Still, she'd never been especially fond of too much personal attention.

University had helped, what with all the presentations one had to give over the course of the time spent there. But that had been in a safe environment. A normal environment. And not as a small, scarred and nervous alien horse. Of course she couldn't be sure what went for normal here in this new version of Stromness; but she had the distinct feeling that her new family had decided to really make the day special.

Family. She hadn't quite gotten over the fact yet she'd been taken in just like that. Maybe the outcome of herd animals building a civilization? What on earth had made her initiate it in the first place, calling a Fjord pony 'mum'? She was human, wasn't she? So why did it feel so normal to her, even the next day? So right. Why did being near Springtide make her feel calm, secure and, yes, happy?

Part of herself was mystified, another part saw it as a happy turn of something taken for granted in any case. Extraordinarily happy because it was the leader's family she ended up in: she'd lucked out beyond all expectation. That detail in turn worried the mystified part. A lot.

The mystified part worried and wondered about a great deal. Like, what had even happened? Ten days ago she was a shop assistant and it was May 2015. Ten days ago something happened; all logic and reason went out the window and she lost everything and everyone and – stop. Stop. That way lay madness and despair.

Better aim for madness and happiness. Could have been worse. Could have been eaten alive. Could have been alone forever in the ruins of Kirkwall. She took a deep breath and tried to get her brain back into reality. Try looking at something undeniably real right in front of her. The low, broad table she encountered Dawn reading at.

She first realized today that it had once been a regular pub table, but with the legs shortened quite a bit. It was laden with food, a veritable mountain range of mouth watering deliciousness. She caught herself being close to drooling; at the sight of raw vegetables and salad without dressing no less. For that matter, even the fragrance of good hay had become appetizing. Amazing.

Of course she had all the time in the world to marvel at the produce since her current responsibility was not getting in the way too much. She'd overheard Springtide complain about the fact that they already had brought in 'the first cut' and she as a result couldn't offer Brenda some fresh, tender goodness from their meadows. The next quality pasture was over a mile away after all. Almost immediately some stallion she'd been talking to offered to take care of that in reply.

Now she was watching the sweating, muddy-blue pony with an almost white mane drag in a large zinc-tub full of even more food. Seeing her sitting there startled him and he dropped the tub with a metallic thud. He stared at her for maybe five seconds before he rallied himself and pushed the tub into place with his forehead. “Good morning!” he exclaimed after standing upright again. “I, uh, hadn't expected to meet you before everybody else.”

She noticed him trying to steal a glance at her flank in the brief, awkward pause that followed. “Uh... hi.” All of a sudden she was painfully aware of her battered appearance and looked down at her chipped hooves. “I'm Brenda.”

He cleared his throat. “I know! I mean, sorry Brenda. Salt Marsh, at your service!” With a hopeful smile he held out a hoof.

If there was anything she wanted to avoid, it was coming across as rude or aloof. She forced herself to make eye contact and took the few steps over to bump hooves. That done she felt better; nobody here was out to hurt her after all. She turned a little sideways before sitting down again so that he would be able to see her mark and be done with it. No need to make this any more awkward.

As expected, he gaped at her before he snapped his mouth shut and went back to work without further comment. Now that was rude, but she couldn't really blame him, freak that she was.

As opposed to the leisurely pace from before, the stallion's movements were crisp and efficient when he brought in the rest of the containers in short succession. Two of the four were filled with tender grass, one with a multitude of herbs. One even contained watercress, wherever he found so much of the latter. Everything was meticulously washed and sorted. A fond smile worked its way onto her lips at the memory of egg and watercress sandwiches. Please let those somehow still exist.

When she looked up again he gave her a proud nod and a flourish with a hoof. She swallowed, partly out of nervousness, but even more because she was salivating like Freya used to do when presented with some ripe apples. Oh god. She hoped the latter wasn't too obvious. Who was she kidding? She felt herself blush.

She'd seen in the mirror that she could blush through fur. Or that the fur could change colour. Whichever it was, it was ridiculous. It was also unfair; normal horses didn't have to deal with this! Maybe the pony in front of her did, but he was looking anything but ashamed, quite the opposite in fact. She hurried to return the nod and mumbled “Thank you, that looks wonderful.”

He beamed with pride. “My pleasure!” He bowed, turned elegantly on his hindhooves alone and walked out the entrance, head held high and neck arched. She wondered what she'd just done. If she even did anything. Where had her ears pointed? Did she keep eye contact or not? How had she held herself? Did anything of that have any meaning for these people? She went back to her spot at the wall and sat down with a little thump. She was not looking forward to this evening.

A short while later, a sea green head peeked around the corner of the doorway that lead to the former hotel kitchen “Hello there Brenda, are you standing guard?” the mare inquired with a chuckle. “How are you? Salt told me you acknowledged him and approve of his work. And that you even let him see your mark.” She grinned. “Fine stallion that one.”

“I'm fine, m- Springtide. I've got nothing else– wait, what?!” Judging by the mare's lopsided smile she was blushing again. She felt her ears splay back. “You don't want me to go out and I'm trying to stay out of the way! But I'll die of boredom if I sit in our room all day! And... And no!”

Springtide's expression softened. “I'm sorry dear, just teasing. I stand by my comment about Salt though.” The mare held up a hoof when she started to protest. “Without the innuendo. Anyway. I know you feel superfluous but that's going to change after today, don't you worry.”

She slumped a little. “You think Dawn would mind me waiting in his study? He's got a lot of books, hasn't he?”

“I'm sure he won't mind, Brenda.” With that she hurried out of the room.

Stairs weren't on the list of things she'd tried to master in her new body yet and they proved a lot more difficult than anticipated. At least nobody was around to notice her stumbling and almost fall on the first step. Stairs were hard and she was already getting nervous about going down again. She didn't want to look stupid on top of everything else. She'd seen Dawn canter down here, even without using his wings to keep his balance. In the end she made it up there, even without bruises.

Dawn's study was fascinating. The free wall-space was covered in lists and drawings. A map of Stromness with a multitude of coloured markings lay on the large desk and a pile of what looked like schedules sat beside it. Mouthwritten in pencil, she had to remind herself in amazement at the clear and concise lettering. The script on the more elaborate documents pinned to the wood panelling resembled calligraphy, done in flowing movements. Could he write with inked wingtips?

Large metal office cabinets took up two of the walls, fastened in a way that allowed for air circulation all around them. When she opened one of them she found that it contained a huge collection of maps: land ranger, topographical and geological maps covering all of Orkney and the northern Scottish mainland. Even soil survey charts and detailed climate diagrams.

The cabinet was lined with smooth, synthetic black cloth, double layered on the inside of the door. She presumed this was done to block out even the faintest amount of light that might slip through the narrow gaps when closed.

She realized the contents had to be worth their weight in gold, at least if gold still had the same value. Doubtful. Maybe their weight in metal tools? The thought somehow appealed to her. Steel tools. She shook her head at the notion; where'd that come from?

Behind the next double door she found a collection of naval charts. Charts of the North Sea, a small part of the north Atlantic and a whole lot of the Scottish coastal waters. Even northern Ireland. Then there were tide calendars. Tidal currents overviews. Port infrastructure and shipping lanes. A history of shipwrecks in the Pentland firth from 1792 to 2011. Records of locations where remains washed ashore and overviews over the type of debris. Lifeboat service reports.

The remaining third of the cabinet's contents consisted of more literature on ship building, yachting, boat maintenance and navigation than she'd ever seen in one place. Why on earth did a town of horses need all this? They weren't seafaring, were they? It was mystifying. She'd have to ask Dawn about the meaning behind all this and why he would preserve these items with such care.

In the next one there were books and scientific publications on agriculture, land management and soil science. Thesis collections around similar themes. Technical manuals and guidebooks on everything from food preservation to metal working. Entry level textbooks on equine anatomy and veterinary practice. There were even a few texts on prehistoric tools.

Somebody had raided the council and harbour offices and public libraries in Kirkwall and Stromness. The scientific library in the UHI Agricultural College close by had been next. Everything even remotely useful to preserve a simple civilization was here, maybe to even build one from scratch. Except for the naval stuff of course. That was just weird.

There was a tightness in her chest that grew ever more persistent the longer she scanned the little library. Finally she realized what she was searching for and her eyes flicked back up to the scientific journals. Licking her dry lips she examined the thin spines. There it was, the last edition of 'Agricultural Ecology' from April 2015. She stared at it for several seconds, then rushed to cross-reference with the lifeboat reports. The last document in the orange folder showed the date 21st May 2015, barely legible on the yellowed paper.

Ten minutes later she sat down on her haunches and let out a deep breath, staring at the wall of evidence before her. The dates on library markings or official stamps ran up to the 22nd, but in no case beyond that point. Yet the collection could not have been put together while the institutions its contents originated from were staffed - and who would steal the publicly available parts anyway?

The world had ended on May 23rd 2015. Just not for everyone, that much was obvious. Then why for her?!

She almost kicked the cabinet closed, yet she caught herself at the last moment. Instead, she shut the door with the underside of a shaking hoof, the lock giving only a quiet click. She took a deep breath to calm herself, to force back the tears she could feel coming. What was today's date anyway? She never thought to ask up until now. Had they even continued to count the days like this or was there a new calendar?

She tried to remind herself about her resolution not to try and understand what had transpired. After looking through Dawn's little library though, keeping that resolution would be hard. She stomped a hoof. Where was her happy other part when she needed it, the one that couldn't care less? “Horseshit,” she muttered while walking over to the window that looked out over the street down to the harbour. Dawn's heather green brother was trotting by down there. He looked irritated.

After a few minutes of listless pony spotting she heard hoofsteps on the stairs. Despite everything, she found herself smiling at the fact that she recognized Springtide by her gait alone. The mare was carrying the enamel carafe and drinking bowl from their room in her mouth.

“Sorry about that whole staying indoors the last two days,” she said after putting the two things on the floor. “It's Dawn. He needs to handle this in his own way; he's lost quite a bit of sleep over you. It's that mark of yours.” She sighed. “Well, you probably guessed that.”

She looked back at her flank. It was still there. Of course it was still there, why wouldn't it be? Because it weirded her out and felt reassuring at the same time and it didn't make sense. “He has? But what's... I mean I kinda was quite fond...” she trailed off, biting her lower lip. How on earth should she go about talking about that? She looked at her mark again, this time with suspicion.

Springtide was saying something. “...only one who has one. There's only ever been one other and that was his father.”

There was a knot forming in her stomach. The thought that she was unique and that they'd want to know where she was from and where her mark came from hadn't crossed her mind up until now. She was afraid that 'I have no idea about both things' wouldn't cut it. She'd look as if she were withholding something. Lying to them. She'd lose all their trust! And... and Springtide was giving her a curious look and waiting for an answer. “Sorry. I didn't know,” she said in a small voice.

“Of course you didn't. Scapa, my mate, died in early summer this year. He had wings like Dawn, but he also had a mark like you have. It was a pair of saddlebags. If he ever figured out if it meant something he kept it to himself.” The green mare gave her a sad little smile. “He didn't like to talk about where he came from or anything of the past really.” Her face lit up with a smile. “You, on the other hoof, are from Kirkwall. No mystery about that!”

A sudden realization hit her: this would be brought up later today for sure. In front of everyone. And everybody would freak out if she told them the truth! Or declare her crazy. She was a real bad liar and she'd need to spin a convincing tale without obvious gaps. There was no way she was able to pull that off. If there was anyone she could confide in it had to be the mare in front of her, and it had to happen now.

“Uh... about that,” she began. Her mouth went dry. Springtide wouldn't freak out. Not her. At least maybe only a little, and then she'd protect her again. She took a deep and shaky breath. “Springt-” No. Wrong. Not for this. “Mum, I-”

Springtide held up a hoof with a warm smile. “No need to talk about that to every single one of us separately. Save your story for our get together, otherwise you'll just have to tell it twenty times over.”

“No that's not a problem! I mean-”

“Oh and I've already told Dawn not to treat you like a walking mark. He hates being treated as a pair of wings, if you know what I mean. I think he got it. Just bear with him please.”

“Thank you, I will! Please, it's just that-”

The green mare sniffed the air and her expression changed to one of urgency. “I need to get back to my bread or it'll burn! Sorry, I'll be all ears for you later. Promise.” She gave her a kind smile and hurried down the stairs.

“Oh. Okay,” she mumbled to the empty air in defeat.

With a final shake of her head she tore her gaze away from the spot Springtide had occupied seconds ago and tried to remember why she'd come here in the first place. That was it, some light-hearted reading. Something to take her mind off of the mystery and not to submerge herself in it. Right. Everything would turn out alright. Distraction.

A smaller cabinet furthest away from the desk finally yielded what she was looking for. The first thing she saw when she opened it was a black hardcover with DON'T PANIC imprinted on its spine in big, friendly letters. Exactly what she needed right now. “Talk about improbability,” she mused with a weak little smile. She blinked the moisture in the corners of her eyes away and settled down for some much needed relaxation.

Two frustrating hours later she already felt intense envy towards the pegasus. As if her un-alleviated nervousness wasn't enough. Everything in the little office was put in place with an extra pair of nimble appendages in mind. Appendages that eliminated the need to use one's mouth for everything.

Removing a book from a packed shelf proved difficult. This wasn't a plastic folder, so teeth weren't an option. On the other, well, hoof, using the tip of a hoof with enough care to not damage the precious item was an arduous process. Luckily there was a bowl filled with fresh hay on the desk. She used it to make certain the book wouldn't fall onto the hard floor in case she didn't catch it when it finally came loose.

She found that, for people who were bound to spent most of the daylight hours working, reading fiction had to be a luxury. It took forever to even get started; it took tools. Tools!

She lay on her belly with the book flat before her. Propping it up against the shelf would have made for more comfortable reading, but then she'd have the wrong angle to turn the page with the ruler between her lips. Holding the pages down on each side without crumpling them required great care and clean hooves. It was slow going. Real slow. At least the fur on her forelegs did a passable job of alleviating the latter problem. Still.

She'd get better with practice of course, but right now turning and 'preparing' a page took almost as long as reading one. With a defeated sigh she placed the ruler between the pages as a bookmark and let herself roll onto her side, stretching out her legs. She was just about to doze off when she was startled awake again by a familiar male voice from below.

“Brenda? You still up there?” A moment later Dawn appeared at the top of the stairs and looked around the room. Taking in the scene before him, a broad smile spread across his muzzle. “You can read! And you like to read actual literature? Not just 'useful' things?” He sounded genuinely happy, as if he'd just found something precious and endearing.

She blinked a few times and looked up, about to ask why the hell he'd assumed her to be illiterate. Her snide remark died on her lips when she saw his expression though, that smile was just too warm and infectious. And of course he'd assume that. Why wouldn't he? It wasn't as if there still were a lot of schools in Kirkwall. She couldn't help but return the smile, no matter how frustrated she'd been just a little before. “Yes, I do. This one here is actually one of my all time favourites.”

He looked positively giddy at the reply. “Finally someone! Love that one too, even if I don't get most of the references there have to be in there. I have a lot of fiction stashed away!” He sighed. “Never have the time to read them though. But you could and then you can tell me what I should give a try!” He was grinning and close to prancing in place as it looked.

The stallion's antics reminded her of a foal at Christmas and she couldn't help but laugh. Wait. A child at Christmas. A child. She'd never seen a foal sitting in front of a Christmas tree. Well, she had, but that had been in a stable and without glittery decorations and only a bunch of carrots under it. Also, children usually didn't gnaw on the branches. Well, except her nephew. He was an adorable little colt who could be forgiven for something like that though. “Hnngg!” she shook her head, grimacing.

“Brenda, are you alright?” Dawn asked carefully.

“What? Yes! Was just distracted, I mean, thought about something. Sorry. Eh, fiction stuff. You know Terry Pratchett?”

“Sure do! I think I've got most...,” he trailed of. A puzzled expression crossed his face and he cocked his head. “Where'd you find those in Kirkwall?” His eyes lit up. “Is there an intact library I don't know about?!” The giddiness was back. “Who taught you how to read?” He looked as if he was about to burst with excited curiosity.

She gulped. If she was prepared to trust Springtide, she could trust Dawn to not freak out, couldn't she? Only one way to find out. Still better than having a whole group freak out! She took a deep breath. “Uh, there... there's something you-”

“Dawn?” a male voice called out from the lobby.

Dawn rolled his eyes. “Moor? What is it?”

“Could you please join me down here? Apparently we have a roster conflict.” The sour expression on the speaker's face was audible. “Your usual diligence appears to have suffered under recent events.”

“Ah damn. Just what I need right now.” He sighed. “I think mother will be done baking soon; then we can get to the nice part of the day and finally sit down together. Been looking forward to it all week.” A warm smile touched his muzzle before he looked to the heavens with a heartfelt sigh and replied to the stallion downstairs. “I messed up the scheduling?”

“You could say that, dear brother.”

“Dawn?” she tried, holding up an angled foreleg and with her ears splayed half back, half sideways.

“Sorry Brenda.” He gave her an apologetic shrug with his wings. “Have to run. I want this out of the way before dinner or I won't be able to enjoy it as much as I should. I'll be all ears then, after all it's your day today! See you later!” He turned and disappeared down the stairs, leaving her so sit alone in his study.

Dear Stranger (part two)

Brenda still hadn't gotten quite used to how sensitive her new hooves were. Maybe it was the strange contrast between the hard rim of the hoof and the comparatively soft frog, so very unlike human feet. The tactile result was an acute awareness of the surface's properties.

Had the floor not consisted of old wooden boards, it would have sparkled in the afternoon sun. Springtide had made sure of that. As it was, its matte surface had a smooth, velvety feel to it, the result of a thorough scouring with fine sand. It was also nice to sit on with a bare rump, though that did little to diminish her unease.

Springtide had placed her right in the middle of the room, “So that you can properly greet our guests. And so they can get a good look at you too.” She had apologized for the latter sentence almost immediately, but of course she was right. That was the whole point after all and she couldn't find it in her to be angry. Freak.

Not even when defending her thesis had she been this nervous. Bipedal Brenda would have had clammy hands and also wet spots under the armpits by now. Quadrupedal Brenda was merely sweating a little all over and flicking her one good ear back and forth. Her tail was tucked around her to an extent that it covered her hooves, which she was looking down at.

A soft touch to her withers made her look up into the warm eyes of Springtide. The ever present teasing little smile was gone from the green mare's muzzle, as was the usual mirth in her eyes. It had been replaced by an expression of affection and a tiny bit of worry.

“Hey,” she began in a low voice, “It's all going to be alright. We're all here for you and nobody is expecting anything from you.” She gave a little sigh and sat down beside her adoptive daughter. “There's just no way around making it an official event; you ended up in the wrong family to avoid that.” A somewhat guilty look crossed her features in the little pause that followed. “I'll stay here with you.” She nuzzled her. “Okay?”

She nodded and leaned against Springtide, taking in her scent that was as calming as ever. Maybe there was a chance that all this would go over in a good way. As long as she wasn't alone.

She hadn't expected the first arrivals to be three regular horses. They were introduced by Springtide as close friends to the family and of high standing in the more tribal part of the Stromness community. One was a nondescript greyish Welsh mountain pony (or at least that had to be the main ancestry). He whinnied something to the brown mare and white stallion, both Icelands, that had followed him in. The three stopped up short and stared when they saw her, muttering something to each other in their strange language. Then they bowed and gave a formal sounding greeting.

She pressed herself up at Springtide, taken aback by the show of deference. The mare gently shoved her away with a foreleg and spoke up. “Now now, Brenda here doesn't understand a word of Whinny.” There was an embarrassed pause. “Yes, even less than Moorland,” she added in a conspiratorial tone after looking over her shoulder and around the room.

The resulting snorts and chuckles broke the ice a little. After clearing her throat she managed a friendly 'hello, nice to meet you' to the guests, taking care to seek eye contact and not to flatten her ears. It worked, the relief turning her smile sincere. Even so, the others still gazed at her with something that was close enough to awe for it to be uncomfortable.

Out of nowhere, someone poked a hoof at her leg. “Heya lass, you're quite the sight,” came a gravelly voice from in front and a little below. “And with a sensible height. Ne'r mind those tall numbnuts.”

She blinked and realized that Springtide hadn't just announced three but four names. In looking up to the one or almost two feet taller newcomers she had missed the last one.

He was a stout, chestnut Shetland stallion who'd just walked right up to her without further ado. There wasn't a trace of reverence in his demeanour, quite the opposite in fact. He grinned at her, with sparkling black eyes that looked out from under a wild and broad mane that was streaked with reddish, black and grey strands.

She couldn't help but giggle at the sight.

“That's the spirit. I tend to have that effect you know. Word of advice though,” he added with a wink, “My temper's just as short as my legs.” He took a step sideways and gave her flank an appraising look. “Gotta say, that's nice to look at. No exaggeration there.”

“Uh... my mark?” she managed.

“Mm?” His good natured grin seemed to grow even wider. “Oh sure, that too.”

“Spray!” Springtide snapped.

He rolled his eyes. “Yep, that's my name Spring. Mother's been dead for years so I can't kill her for it. Loved her with all my heart though.” He held out a hoof. “Good to meet ya Brenda.”

She bumped hooves with him, blushing furiously and trying to stammer a reply.

“Just messing with you,” he chuckled. “On the other hoof...” He smiled, looking wistful. “Ne'r mind. An anvil, eh? You sure look tough like that. Talk to you later!” He sauntered off towards the table and what she now realized was his designated place: two upturned sturdy plastic boxes. They were placed adjacent to each other and low enough to step up on with ease.

“Maybe I should have warned you about him,” Springtide muttered.

Hoofsteps on the stairs behind her distracted her before she could reply. Turning her head, she spotted Moorland coming down into the lobby. He was the very picture of refinement.

A moment later Dawn also arrived, annoyance clear on his face. He was giving his brother's back some silent words with a childish theatrical mimic of irritation. A little too late, the young leader realized what he was doing and a fond smile materialized on his muzzle without so much as a moment of transition.

So she wasn't the only one who could blush. She had to stifle a giggle at how weird it looked on a horse, even an alien one. It occurred to her that it also was a bad time to laugh at the one who was her leader now. That realization killed any merriment in an instant and made her look down at her hooves again. The anxiety that Spray had dissolved came back in full force.

“So, Brenda,” Moorland addressed her after she had looked up again, “Good to see you up and about after your ordeal; I'm very much looking forward to get to know our new family member. I'm sure that I'm not the only one highly anticipating you telling your story. Welcome to our household.”

Her mouth went dry. “Thank you,” she croaked, “M- Moorland Song.”

He nodded with the approving half-smile of the polite official. “I'll leave you to your other guests then, we'll have ample opportunity to talk later.” With that he walked over to greet an ice blue Fjord mare that had appeared in the meantime.

The remaining introductions, bows and hoof-bumps quickly blurred together as she struggled to remember names and discerning features. It was amazing and awful. On one- Don't think it! -hoof, the kindness and acceptance aimed at her was wonderful. On the other hoof, the reverence that came along with it in most cases was disturbing.

She was special. She wished she'd never have to leave again. She also wanted to run away screaming. Had it not been for Springtide at her side she might have just broken down into hysterical giggling.

Someone cleared his throat next to her. When she looked up she saw Dawn giving her a reassuring and, above all, understanding smile.

“You get used to it,” he said in a low voice before stomping a hoof and speaking up. “Welcome everybody. Since you've all got the introductions behind you already, I'll make this short. It's not everyday we get a new pony living under this roof, much less one that just escaped death by a hair's width.” He nodded at her. “Of course, knowing mother, it was all but inevitable once she got to see her.”

There were quiet chuckles all around, accompanied by an indignant snort from her left.

He smiled and continued, “I'd like to remind you all to be gentle with Brenda. I hope you don't mind me speaking for you?” He added, looking at her once more.

She quickly shook her head.

“Alright. She's been through a lot and isn't used to being around larger groups. I'm as curious as you are as to why that is, but I guess we'll know more about that by the end of the day.” He looked back at her with a wink.

Her heart jumped into her throat and she felt her ears flatten despite her best efforts to prevent it. She forced a nod.

He gave her a sympathetic smile and mouthed “Don't worry,” before turning to the guests again. “You see what I mean. Please don't hold it against her, she's a wonderful person. Anyway. I know you're all pretending to be here to see her and her mark, but you can stop doing that now.” He smirked. “Let's get to the important part,” he proclaimed and pointed a hoof at the table.

The 'important part' was astonishing. Of all the different kinds of greens and vegetables on display she only recognized about half. Curly and smooth varieties of leaf salads, ranging in colour from bright green to red, filled large wooden trays. Seeing them served still attached to the stalks or roots was weird. Crispy lettuce heads, cut into quarters, lay in small piles surrounded by different radishes. Bunches of baby carrots complete with tops accompanied them. Speckled cos-salads were piled on top of each other like corn cobs.

Fresh peas in their pods were arranged around blue-green savoy cabbages of the very earliest varieties. Those were offset by the pale green of the last endives available before the autumn crop could be planted. She hated everything related to kale, cabbage and bitter leaf vegetables. Except these somehow smelled mouthwatering. Was that leafy rapeseed over there? It smelled a bit of mustard, so there was good chance that it was.

The arrangements were broken up by evenly spaced hedgerows of soft meadow grass and a multitude of fragrant herbs. Small enamel bowls sat in between it all, filled with something she couldn't identify at first. It was the only thing with a large fork beside it and a closer look revealed it to be dry, chopped seaweed. Why would anyone want to eat that? Of course. You didn't eat it by the mouthful. Just like you wouldn't eat table salt with a spoon.

The dark old oak table was soaking wet. The food on it had been sprinkled with water every now and then over the course of the day. Only in the small clearings before each sitting space was the surface even visible.

Small tubs with clear water were positioned at regular distances on the floor along the table. That was a rather impractical way of providing something to drink in her opinion. Dawn seemed to have the right to one for him alone.

Her place was between Solstice on her left and Dawn, who was seated at the head of the table, to her right. When she sat down, she by accident dipped the tip of her tail into the tub. “Oh I'm sorry!” she said with wide eyes. “I... I guess you're not going to want to drink of that now.”

Solstice gave her an odd look, followed by a little snort. “That's just there to wash your hooves.” He cocked his head. “Shouldn't get dirt on something as nice as this meal.” There was a little pause. “You, uh, you usually don't do that?”

She felt her face heat up. “I... I just... don't those four down there drink it?” She pointed a shaky hoof at the horses at the far end of the table.

Solstice wriggled his hooves in front of her with a smirk. “Well, they'll only be using these things to stand on, not for eating.” The smirk turned into a frown. “That's not their fault, no?” Now he looked almost angry.

A regular horse's legs didn't bend the way her own could! How could she have forgotten that? Their food wasn't arranged like some kind of artwork but in neat little piles and rows. Easy to eat without making a mess when you only had your mouth to pick it up. Oh god. “No!” she squeaked.

His voice lost the sudden edge again, although the warmth with which he had greeted her was missing now. “Ours is over there,” he said and pointed to some zinc tubs lined up on a bench below the windows.

“But how do we...,” she began, looking down at the table

With a snort he pointed at the empty bowl on the table, placed a little to the side. Everybody had one. Of course. The table was the plate, the bowl was just for water. “And before you ask, if you got any kind of waste, that goes down there.” He pointed to a small box under the table.

She shook her head while looking down at her hooves. Five minutes in and she'd already made a fool of herself. Please don't let Dawn or Springtide have followed this.

“Damn,” Solstice said under his breath.

There was an awkward pause in which she only could hear uninterrupted conversations all around her. No one had noticed.

When the stallion spoke again it was in a much softer tone. “Hey, I'm sorry for going all Harvest on you Brenda. Uhm. seriously. Set me off there, 'cause... uhm...” There was the shortest of breaks. “It's just that I've got... Dawn didn't exaggerate, like, for effect. You really are kind of a wild thing I guess. Not your fault then.”

She looked up to see him scratch himself behind an ear while looking away in embarrassment. It wasn't his fault! He was so nice and protective of his people and she didn't want to embarrass him or anyone else. “Solstice Spirit, I... I've got no idea about...,” she began in a small voice.

“Just call me Sol.” He put a hoof to her shoulder, smiling again. “It's okay. I'm kinda bad at using that thing between my ears sometimes,” he said, the smile turning into a grin. “I'll make up for it! How about you ask me every time you're unsure of something? I promise not to laugh!”

She breathed a sigh of relief and gave a little smile. “Thank you Sol, I'd be grateful.”

“Hey, no problem. Could even learn something from you I guess, what with you having lived out there for so long, all on your own. You're damn tough as well! Not sure I could have survived that; would be something if I had proof of doing that kind of thing. Even if I like to have both my ears.”

With a wince she looked down at the table again and tried not to sniffle.

He stopped chuckling when he saw her reaction, blinked, then put a hoof between his eyes and looked down at the table as well. “Ah, shit.” After a deep sigh he continued, “Guess I can't save that with a 'be proud'.” He pushed a carrot back and forth before him. “I'll just shut up now.”

She shook her head. “No, it's alright. I need to get used to it anyway. And,” she put a hoof on his shoulder, “Now we've both made a bit of a fool of ourselves, no?” A sad little smile played around her muzzle.

He looked up with a sheepish expression. “Guess you're right. Now I guess mom's already worrying that you don't like what's on the table because you haven't touched it yet. Let's change that.”

She nodded in relief but hesitated when she turned to the food in front of her. “Sol?”

“Mmhm?” The carrot top, not entirely vanished into his mouth yet, almost brushed over her muzzle when he turned his head. “Sorry, yeah?” After looking where she pointed, he smiled, cleared his throat and intoned in a serious voice: “Lesson one: how to eat a lettuce head and garnish without offending your mother.”

She scowled at him.

To her relief, much of what constituted good table manners in her new family wasn't all that different from her former one. She hadn't made any embarrassing mistakes so far, and Solstice's approval lifted her spirits. She found herself enjoying the communal meal. Learning the proper techniques was a challenge, albeit great fun in its own right. Hooves were funny to eat with, what with the outside being hard and the underside much softer.

“Hey, you're doing great Brenda,” Solstice commented on her chasing a quarter lettuce head around that eluded her attempts at capturing it.

She scowled at the uncooperative thing.

“Just grip it, I think you've made it clear now that this is yours and you are planning on eating it.”

With a snort she stopped trying to pick up the lettuce between the rims of her hooves and gripped it with the soft undersides instead. 'You touch you eat' made sense of course. What took some getting used to was that hooves were assigned two different functions in that context. The outside counted as a kind of utensil, for lack of a better word. The soft underside was the equivalent of using your fingers.

“Now, you take it like this,” he instructed and then supervised her in eating it.

Baby carrots turned out to be an unmatched delicacy. After the first few bites, she wasn't sure what would come first; drooling on the table or drowning in her own saliva. She had to clamp down on a part of her that wanted to devour every last one of them within her reach. No wonder Freya had always tried to dig through her pockets in search of more. Just one more. She reined in the greedy equine and just licked her muzzle instead with an audible slurp.

“Tsk tsk,” came from her left.

Her face heated up in an instant. “But they're so good! I've never tasted anything like them!”

“You should tell Harvest,” Dawn commented from her right.

“You were listening?” she squeaked.

“Of course.” When she turned her head, he smiled at her with a glint in his eyes and waggled an ear at her.

Her own still did what they wanted. Or rather, what it wanted, she corrected herself with an inward sigh. She'd never seen any of the others do it though, so maybe that was just him. Wings and waggly ears! She giggled, which made him grin in turn.

“He won't respond with more than a huff of course, but he'll appreciate it. But I think your teacher wants your attention again, regardless of how much I enjoy it.” He pointed a hoof at Solstice. “I promise not to disturb you two any more,” he said with a wink.

“Wh- hey! I'm just trying to help!” his brother protested.

Dawn turned away with a good natured chuckle.

“Oh god, I've no idea what I'm doing.” The approving little nicker in the back of her mind implied that someone knew exactly what she was doing. She clamped down on it and gave a nervous little cough.

Solstice's long, suffering sigh was reassuring in a way. “Chieftainish shenanigans notwithstanding-”

“I heard that!”

He took a short breath. “-you're going to try some of the stuff that Salt collected for you next.” After a tiny pause he put a hoof to his chin and added with a lopsided grin, “Just for you.”

“For f- Ow!” A face... hoof turned out to be something you had to practice for it to be painless. “Stupid giant eyes,” she muttered, rubbing the one in question with the back of her fetlock. “Stop laughing!”

“Sorry. Heh.” Solstice snickered but waved an apologetic hoof. “And your eyes are beautiful – no, don't look at me like that.” He blinked. “Uhm... I mean... did that come out wrong again?”

It was her turn to chuckle. “No. If you weren't a- uh-” A really nice stallion? – Shut.Up. “-well what I mean is I'll take it as a compliment!” She shook her head. “What was it you wanted me to try?”

With an apologetic smile he turned and pointed at the small hedges of meadow cuttings that ran across the table at regular intervals. “It's the first cut. I'm always looking forward to that.” with that he reached across and deposited a little mound of grass in front of her.

She looked at it with mixed feelings. On one hoof- one hand- on- she shook her head with a little shudder. On one hoof, she was afraid of trying real grass. What if she didn't like it? On the other, she was curious.

“You okay Brenda?” Solstice asked, tilting his head.

“Yes yes,” she replied without paying any real attention. “Just want to have a look.”

“Uhm. Okay?”

“Yeah.” Identifying grasses in the earlier stages of growth hadn't been her strongest suit at university. “Hm, cocksfoot, meadow fescue and smooth meadow grass, pretty sure of that,” she murmured. “Guess that’s timothy.” She put a hoof to her chin. “Ribgrass, yarrow…” She'd tried those two while still human and that had been pleasant even then. There were a few things she didn't recognize, but they seemed similar to the rest.

Then it hit her. This was a quality pasture composition, balanced in nutrients and suitable for long time grazing. There also wasn't any ryegrass, which was puzzling. Was it because ryegrass was thought to increase the risk of laminitis in some horses? To her knowledge, that hadn’t been established as fact yet. When you removed the highly productive and resilient plant from the mixture, you had to balance the composition much more carefully. Like here. Someone here really knew what they were doing.

Right. Horses expertly designing their own seed mix.

“Let’s see,” she mumbled and began to look for a telltale leaf or stalk of the erosion preventing and hoofstep tolerant red fescue. She was interrupted by a polite cough from Solstice. “Sorry,” she said with a sheepish smile, “I was just looking at what's in there.”

With a little apprehension, she picked up a small amount of the grass. She hesitated for a moment before she remembered how horses ate something like this when being fed by hand. Her exaggerated lip movement produced an amused snort from her mentor, but it worked. Only a single leaf dropped back on the table.

It was weird. Surprisingly good, but weird. Of course it made sense for her tastebuds to be this sensitive. The ability to discern the different tastes in a whole mouthful of grass and herbs was still unexpected. A smile crept onto her face. Maybe she could manage to be a pony after all, despite the unpleasant memory of the one time she had tried to graze before.

“And?”

“It's great!”

Solstice smiled and nodded. “Yup, that's something different than stuff from some random patch of grass. Wish there was some meadowsweet as well, but, uhm, someone ate all of that already.”

That was something she would have liked to try as well. Maybe she could find some on her own. She smiled. A whole new culinary world had just opened for her. “Salt Marsh brought in some watercress as well... is it okay if I sprinkle that on?”

“Sure is! Try some seasoning as well.”

Emboldened, she heaped watercress onto her grass and also gave the little mound a generous dose of the strange seaweed condiment. What followed with the next mouthful she could only describe as a flavour explosion. “Wow! This is amazing!” She was about to dig in when she realized that her outburst had made her the centre of attention for Dawn, Moorland and Springtide. They were all looking at her with amused expressions.

“But it is! I've never had anything like this!” She beamed at Springtide. “Thank you mum!”

The mare gave her a happy smile. “You're more than welcome. Don't let us distract you!”

She didn't need any encouragement for that and went for it.

“You know,” Solstice commented, “You don't necessarily have to use your hooves for this, it's okay to eat it like our friends down there.” He pointed to the other end of the table where the regular horses were standing.

“But I can!” she retorted with a grin, looking at him instead of her hooves. She promptly lost her grip, the rims of her hooves slipping against each other. A second later there was grass on the table, the floor, her muzzle and her mane. “Eh... heh.” A piece of seaweed fell from her forelock.

Solstice snorted so hard he hiccuped, then put his head in his hooves and shook with laughter. Dawn thumped a hoof on the table and laughed while Springtide just shook her head with an eye-roll and a warm smile. Even Moorland gave an amused smirk and mock respectful nod. In short succession the amusement travelled down the table, making her blush hard.

She couldn't help but laugh herself too. “Hey! I was doing well until you distracted me Sol!”

“Yeah, yeah, blame it on me!” he retorted between gasps for air.

Even without taking the last two weeks into account, she hadn't had this much fun for quite a while. She smirked while trying to remove some watercress that had lodged around the stump of her ear. “Seriously, this is like eating Spaghetti with your hands only. Or two spoons. That takes practice!” She sighed an overly wistful sigh. “Would be a lot easier with a fork.”

The laughter around her died down as Moorland tilted his head and mum's amusement was replaced with a confused expression.

She blinked and gave a nervous little laugh that ended in a dry croak. “Uh, you know, like humans do. Eh, did! ,” she gulped. Silence. “W-with, like... hands?” There was a sharp intake of breath to her right. When she turned her head she saw that Dawn was looking at her with wide eyes. “When they were still around?” she squeaked.

Dawn leaned forward. “From where do you know of this? You really have found-”

“Now that is interesting,” Moorland interrupted him, also leaning forward and regarding her with a piercing gaze. “How much do you know of the old folk?”

“W-what? Who?”

“That's, uhm, Moorland speak for those that made all the stuff around here. Uhm. Humans.” She whipped her head around to a grinning Solstice. “Hey, uhm, are you alright?” he added when he looked her in the face, his expression turning to one of slight concern.

Her mouth was dry. “No. I-I mean yes! Why not?!”

“'Cause you look like you've seen a ghost,” said Solstice and put a hoof to her withers.

Suddenly it took all of her self-control not to pull away from the friendly touch. A ghost. He was right. Something long dead.

“Shh, little one,” came Springtide's concerned voice.

Dead like mum. Real mum. Not this fantasy one.

“It's all good, didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I, well, I just want to know all there is to know about them. That's all, really.” Dawn's wing draping itself over her back made her jump.
The winged horse's voice was calm and friendly. “Brenda, I don't know what the problem is, but nobody here is going to hurt you in any way, you know that.” He tapped a hoof to his chin. “How about we talk about something different and you tell mother what frightened you sometime later?”

She nodded. Please let him change the subject as far away from this one as possible! Anything but-

“Let's hear your story instead,” said Dawn with a smile. “I've been dying to hear it anyway ever since you tried to tell me recently.”

She froze.

After a few moments, Springtide asked in a careful voice, “Brenda?”

It was too late. Why hadn't she managed to talk to the mare about it? “Because she's a horse,” her mind whispered, “You can't talk to horses. And horses can't talk. You can't talk.” Her other part was gone, as if it had never existed. Because it couldn't have existed.

The silence stretched, sucking the air from her lungs. As if looking down on herself from far away, she watched the creature that was her open its muzzle and force out a whispered “This is all wrong.”

“Uhm, what is?” asked the ridiculous piebald stallion to her left. “Could you stop being cryptic?” he added with uncertainty.

Her awareness snapped back into her body. “This is!” she bit out, holding up her forehooves.

The green mare spoke again, by the looks of it trying to be as gentle and reassuring as she could. “Brenda, your hooves are just a bit chipped. You've been through a lot,” she paused and smiled, “But you'll be fine. Think about something nice, why don't you? Like where you're from, where such a lovely mare as you came from. Home?”

“Kirkwall!” she snapped, wanting to strangle the mare.

“But that's ridiculous,” Moorland dismissed the notion. “Nobody could grow up there. You barely made it out alive. Thinking that a foal could-”

“Moorland...” Springtide warned, narrowing her eyes at him.

Unperturbed, he continued, “What is so bad? Why are you lying?”

“Moorland!” his mother hissed, “Stop it!”

The room was spinning out of focus as she felt wetness seeping down her cheeks. She drew a shaky breath, then another. Then she exploded. “I'm a human! I'm not a horse! Two weeks ago I was human! Not this bad joke of a creature!”

In the stunned silence that followed, one could have heard a pin drop. A few moments later, Moorland broke it with a derisive snort but she pre-empted him by jumping to her hooves. Hit by her hind hooves, the zinc tub flew backwards and spilled its contents all over the floor. The dented tub was still clattering over the floor when she started yelling over the noise.

“I just wanted to grab some lunch! Next thing I know I'm a pony in a wasteland and about to get eaten alive! How was I supposed to tell you that!?”

Dawn rose to his hooves, planting them firmly on the floor, wings half extended. “Brenda. Calm down,” he said in a steady voice.

She ignored him as she retreated backwards towards the window and out of his reach. The wooden boards were slippery and seemed to be swaying as well. “What day is it?” she croaked at Moorland. “Date.”

He cocked his head. “Tenth of June, 2135,” he replied, his words slow and deliberate.

Ice formed in her gut. Hearing the actual date connected this surreal environment to reality. Maybe her subconscious had clung on to the notion that this was all a dream after all. She stared at the stallion open-mouthed, dumbfounded by a fact that was obvious.

“Must have hit her head pretty hard after all,” came the dry comment from Harvest Moon.

It hit her like cold water. “Shut up!” she screamed, “I'm not crazy! I was human! I've lived in Kirkwall all my life!

Springtide spoke up, her voice stern. “Brenda, that's enough. I think you-”

She stomped a hoof, cutting Springtide off and eliciting a scowl from the mare. She couldn't stop now, the weight on her chest was becoming unbearable. “Why do you think I couldn’t eat with these?!” She waved a forehoof. “I only got them two weeks ago! I had to figure out how to walk first, for god's sake!” She gasped for breath, a moment Moorland seized to interject.

“I was told you fought and escaped a pack of dogs. Impressive for a mare who is unable to-”

Crack!

A thick floorboard splintered under yet another hoofstomp as she turned to face the stallion. “I've studied equine sciences at Wrexham Glyndŵr; I bloody well know how a horse moves, it just needed to click! And I've worked as a farrier! If I still had hands, I could shoe the lot of you!

Moorland closed his mouth and slowly put down the hoof he'd held up as if to protect himself, giving it an unsure glance as he did so. At the same time, the noise of agitated conversation in both English and tribal nickering trickled away.

A rasping, choked sound filled her ears instead, her own sobbing escaping from a sore throat. Her tail was swishing back and forth and she had no control over it whatsoever. It was maddening. Her one good ear pinned back against her skull so tight it hurt, she retreated into her corner. “I wanted to tell you,” she forced out, a salty taste entering her mouth when she opened her muzzle.

“Uhm...,” Salt Marsh cleared his throat, causing almost everyone to turn to him. “She's got that mark,” he said in a strained voice, “and-”

“And she says she was a farrier,” Moorland finished for him, cocking his head as he fixed her with a curious gaze.

“What’s a farrier?” came a reluctant question from further down the table.

“Nah, the lass is just tough as iron,” Spray spoke up, banging a hoof onto the table for emphasis. “Even if she's short a few nails,” the Shetland finished, chuckling at his own joke. No one else laughed.

There was a snort from Harvest who shook his head and started eating again.

“How can you think of food right now?” a perplexed Moorland asked.

“I'm not going to let the result of so many hours of hard work wilt on the table,” his brother gave back between mouthfuls. “Girl's nuts and I'm hungry. Simple.”

Solstice, who had been casting her unsure glances while inspecting his forehooves turned to Dawn. “Uhm, hey.” He looked at the pegasus between his hooves before remembering to put them down, somehow fitting a quick ear-scratch into the motion. “I mean, now with that mark, you know, farrier and all that and, and. If that's true. Uhm. Anyway. Heh.” There was a drawn out pause. “Uhm. What'd you think two Saddlebags stand for?”

“You are not dragging your father into this!” his mother snapped.

“Hah! Wouldn't that be something,” Spray mused aloud, accompanied by the crunch of two radishes. “Always told ya that old Scapa was hiding something.”

“My mate wasn't hiding anything!” Springtide called out with a tremor in her voice.

Only moments later everyone needed to air their opinion, if possible louder than everyone else. Nobody seemed to pay her attention any more.

Her tears had stopped even though they still burned behind her eyelids. She watched the water from the overturned tubs seep towards her along the cracks between the floorboards. There was a little puddle now where she'd ruined one of them. It all felt surreal, as if she'd just removed herself from this existence.

There were even good-natured laughs interspersed in the conversations and arguments. About half of the attendants followed Harvest's example and started eating again. She had her personal disaster all to her own.

When the water reached her hooves and began to wet her tail she finally looked up again. She found Dawn staring at her, oblivious to the goings-on in the rest of the room, his jaw muscles working. When their eyes met she shuddered at the anger burning there. She pressed herself further into the corner as he rose to his hooves. As he advanced toward her she could see his chest moving with deep but quick intakes of breath. She whimpered.

“How did you get to Wrexham?”

The question and the flat tone in which it was delivered caught her off guard. She gaped at him. “H- How did I what?” The total insignificance of that topic to the here and now was almost comical. She felt a hysterical giggle coming. “I'd fly to...” she tried to prevent it with a hiccup.

In an instant she had his muzzle only an inch from her face. “Don't tease me!” he hissed, flaring his wings.

“But-” she started to protest but broke off when he bared his teeth at her. She raised her hooves to cover her face. “Then- then my car! The ferry!” she cried out.

“How would you do that?” he growled, his ears pinning back against his skull.

She felt her voice cracking as the tears came back. “From here! Stromness to Thurso!” She shrunk back when he put a hoof forward with a thud. “Please don't hurt me!” She covered her eyes, her tears wetting the fur on her forelegs.

The room fell silent again.

When someone in the background tried to suppress a cough but nothing else happened, she risked a glance between her fetlocks. The pegasus was looking down on her, a strange, far away look in his eyes. A moment later the anger flowed back into his expression, but at least he gave her a little more room. He flicked his head, prompting her to raise her own.

“What kind of ferry?” The flat tone was back and it made her shudder.

“Vehicles and passenger!” When he didn't respond but just kept staring at her she added, “I took my car with me once.”

“Where did it berth?”

“Right down by the carpark and the gangway.”

Dawn clenched his teeth so hard she could hear them grinding together. “Timetable!” he bit out.

“B-but I-”

“I said, timetable!”

“Six thirty out, back at- at- I'm not sure! Nine?”

His wings quivered. “Duration!”

“Ninety minutes! What-”

“Fare price!”

“Sixteen pounds!” She pressed herself into the corner, as far away as possible from the furious stallion before her.

“Wrong! It was eighteen!”

“Student ticket! About sixty for a car!” She gulped for air before crying out “What do you want from me?!”

His wings filled her field of sight. “Company name!” he bellowed.

“Northlink!” Stars exploded across her vision as a wing connected with her temple.

“You can't know all this! Kirkwall is empty! You have no sources!”

She cowered on the wet floor, trying to shield herself from the next blow with her forelegs.

“Dawn Horizon! Stop this instant!” Springtide.

She yelped as his tail lashed over her tear streaked muzzle when he spun around.

“What!?” he yelled back. “She's lying! We took her in and she's lying! She has to be! She can't know this! She can't! Only father knew!” His voice caught. “He told me all of this a hundred times! I was so fucking sick of it!”

“Dawn!” his mother admonished.

“Shut up! Didn't he tell you how we're all worthless because we can't cross the firth? How our life isn't worth living?!” There were a few gasps, followed by some nervous shuffling and muttering. Before the chatter could pick up again he continued. “I should change all that.” He turned away from the others and rounded on her again. “You're hiding something! You're lying! You went through my library! It's all there!”

“I didn't,” she sobbed. “I swear I didn't read anything about it! I was on that ferry!”

“Liar!” He unfolded his right wing again.

“I can't read everything there! I don't have wings! I can't get all the thin stuff out!” She took a shaky breath and shouted out, “Not with these stupid hooves!”

He froze in mid-movement. “Give me a reason to believe your story.” His voice turned dangerously low. “Just one reason.”

Everyone but Springtide had vacated his vicinity, producing a clearing some three lengths in diameter.

Her mind was racing, her eyes searching the room for any kind of help. “The little piebald! He's got to remember!” her mind latched onto Dawn's brother. “I can prove it! My leather trousers! I kept them but I lost them when the dogs came after me but my wallet and phone and stuff was in there. I know where I lost them too! I was still wearing my t-shirt and sweater when they found me,” she blurted out in a breathless staccato. “Solstice saw it!”

The stallion in question gaped at her. “Uhm, w-what? Me?! I... uhm... well...”

Dawn folded back up and looked over his shoulder, giving her a little respite. She saw him tense up and Solstice trying to look for support and finding that he was a length away from everyone else. “Is that true?”

He gulped. “I think there were some rags hanging off of her... I- I'm not sure! Could have been anything!”

Anger welled up in her at his weak attempt to get out and cut the lifeline that had just appeared. “You ripped it off of me before you dragged me into that pond! I remember that. You and your mate and that other stallion.”

“M-m-m-my mate?” he stammered, the splotch of green on his face becoming much lighter and greyish.

“Yes!” she pressed on in desperation. “She pulled the rest of my shirt off! That orange Iceland mare! Please!”

With slow and stiff movements, the pegasus turned away from her to face his brother. The dry clopping of his hooves on the wood floor was the only sound in the room. “What.” No one moved. “Buidhe is... your mate.”

“N- no! Not as such! I mean, eh-”

“Liar!” she shouted past Dawn's swishing tail and rose to her hooves. “She couldn't have made it more obvious if she tried! Where is she anyway?!”

“She offered!” he cried while retreating a step, looking anywhere but her or Dawn. “I couldn't refuse! I'd dishonour her and- and- but I- oh dammit. Alright! Yes! She's amazing! What-”

She noticed Dawn beginning to shake, followed by two dry clacks as he planted his forehooves more apart from each other. Solstice shut up, tail between his legs. Springtide gave a nervous snort but moved to position herself between Dawn and her, blocking her sight.

“Does Faoileag know?” she heard Dawn snap.

“I don't think so,” came the subdued reply.

“So, four days before the most important meeting in decades you go and mess with the chieftain's niece and ambassador. And you do it behind my and his back at that,” mused Dawn in his flat voice. “Who else knows?”

“Ruadh,” Solstice squeaked.

“Brenda,” Springtide said in a low voice that didn't hold any of the hostility she'd expected. “Go to your room.” Her voice didn't contain much of anything.

She lowered her head and complied as she felt her tail sneak in between her legs. The green mare stayed at her side, shielding her from what was going on and the onlookers.

“Get out,” she heard Dawn growl and almost stumbled. He wasn't addressing her though.

“Dawn, I... I'm... sorry, I'm an idiot, I-” Solstice sounded close to crying.

“Get. Out.”

No one moved except herself and Springtide. The little distance to her room had become impossibly long.

“Get out! All of you!”

Solstice gave a whimper and fled, accompanied by startled exclamations and whinnies of surprise from outside the Royal Hotel. A little crowd must have gathered in the street.

“THAT WAS AN ORDER!”

Dawn snapped his wings shut, turned around and stomped up the stairs, the steps creaking under his hooves. There was a bang from the door being kicked open, the rattling of the hinges mostly drowned out by a shouted expletive. A second later, the door flew shut with a crash and a splintering crack. Small pieces of plaster and bits of the ancient door frame came raining down into the lobby.

Shell-shocked silence filled the room, even Springtide had stopped in her tracks. From outside came excited chatter and the irregular clip-clop of several sets of hooves. After a minute or so, someone cleared their throat, breaking the collective paralysis. Harvest, who had remained sitting during everything, finished eating a last carrot and rose to his hooves.

He spoke in an uncharacteristic calm and even tone, “You heard him. Do what he said.” He turned and strode out the door, soon followed by the others one by one. “Show’s over, move on!” his voice drifted in from the street.

Moorland was the last one to leave, giving her a long look over a shoulder.

She slunk into her room on heavy legs, head hanging low with exhaustion and a bruise already forming where Dawn had hit her. Never before in her life had she felt this miserable, no matter if all of this was her fault or not. Mum wouldn't be there for her tonight, that much was certain. For all she knew, she might not even have one come morning.

It took her half an hour to pull a third of the thick hay mat she shared with Springtide apart and move it to the opposite side of the room. There she piled the now loose material into a vaguely nest-shaped heap and curled up in it, so that she ended up half covered. She was drained and deathly tired, but also relieved in a strange way. Covering her head with a foreleg, she closed her eyes and waited for exhaustion to claim her.

Sleep wouldn't come though. An eternity of watching the light in the room turn from orange to red to murky purple later, there was the soft sound of careful hoofsteps. She buried deeper into her nest when the floorboards gave a little creak and the door was nosed open. Springtide stepped into the room, almost completely silent. Had it not been for her remaining ear’s ability to pinpoint sound so well she might not even have noticed.

The mare just stood there for several minutes, occasionally shifting her weight but not doing anything apart from that. Finally, Springtide entered and pushed the door closed with a soft shove of a hind hoof. A quiet clip-clop moved towards her nest but stopped before it got up close, followed by a weary sigh. A minute passed. She heard how the mare turned around again and moved over to her own bedding where she lowered herself down with a little thud.

After a while there was another sigh. “Brenda?” She gave no answer and just curled up tighter. “Brenda, I know you're awake.” Springtide's voice was soft but resigned. “I don't know what to think of you. I've never heard anything so ludicrous... but you don't have a reason to lie, do you?” There was the rustling of hay. “And I've also never seen my son so out of it.”

From above came the dull sound of intermittent hoofsteps on the thick floorboards, growing louder and fading again. Someone was walking in slow circles in the room above them.

Just as the heavy silence was becoming unbearable, Springtide spoke again in a voice that was little more than a whisper. “Give me some time.”

The light in the room became a little murkier still and Springtide's breathing eventually turned slow and steady. She wished she could follow her example, but sleep kept eluding her. The hooffalls from above didn't help. She needed to pee.

For a long time, she debated with herself if she even should go back inside or stay out in the cool night. Sleep wouldn't come anyway. What finally made her go back into the house was the thought of food. Of course no one had bothered with tidying up after the disaster, so the remains of the feast were still on the table. Her feast. There was no point in being miserable and also starving, so she might as well eat a bit, however little she felt like it. Would she even get anything like this again?

When she went back into the lobby, one of her hooves crunched on a piece of mortar, ripped out of the masonry when Dawn broke the door frame. She looked up the dark stairs. If anybody would have seen her first attempt at climbing the steps, there would have been questions right then and there. Maybe that would have been better.

It was still hard, even more so in the darkness. Twice she stumbled and almost slipped on a splinter. She wasn't sure why she was doing it or where she was getting the courage from. She needed to see Dawn. She needed to, even if only to get being thrown out of Stromness behind her.

With great care she pushed open the door that hung askew on its hinges. It made a pained, creaking sound on being forced to move once more. The room was dark and quiet. “Dawn?” she asked in a timid voice. Maybe he was asleep? She was about to turn around when there finally came a toneless answer.

“What do you want?”

“I want,” she began but broke off. “I... I don't know,” she forced out, her courage faltering. “I- I'll just leave. I'm sorry.” About to turn away, the tired voice in the darkness stopped her.

“For what?”

The words wanted to strangle her. “For everything. I messed it all up.”

There was the sound of Dawn turning around, followed by silence. His outline was just about visible before the window now.

“You'll send me away, won't you?” Silence. “Her name was Buidhe, no?” she tried, wavering, “Maybe she'll let me,” her voice finally broke, “Live with her tribe?” A last, desperate attempt against the continuing stillness. “No? Are there any others? I- I don't want to be alone.”

Dawn snorted. “Don't be ridiculous,” he dismissed her questions. Then, after another long silence, “There's something I need to ask you.”

Her heart still hammered in her chest. “Y...yes?”

“Do you like to graze?”

A nervous laugh escaped her. “What?”

“Grazing. Do you like it?” he asked again without a trace of humour.

Her laughter died as she began to rub her forehooves and fetlocks against each other. “I... uh... I guess? I'm a pony, no?”

“Yes, you are.” A pregnant pause. “So?”

“Only tried it once,” she squeaked. “Sorry! I mean. I mean, maybe with practice?” She realized she was sweating. “You know, weeds. Weeds and other stuff. And horses are selective grazers and I thought it would be instinctual but it isn't and... I'll try! I promise!” It was a very long time ago she'd last felt so ashamed and the lack of any kind of comment from Dawn's side made it worse by the second. “It was awful,” she finally forced out and hung her head.

He gave a noncommittal grunt and turned back to the window. “Father hated it. More than anything.”

She felt lost. What was she supposed to answer to that?

“Brenda?”

She could just make him out flicking his head when she didn't react. She swallowed. “Yes?”

The shadow of his left wing unfolded halfway. Going by the motion, he was pointing at a spot beside him.

She almost stumbled on her weak legs as she walked over to his side. A shiver ran down her spine when the feathers on the wing brushed against her coat as she sat down. She gulped, not daring to move any further in any way. From the corner of her eyes she watched him staring out into the reddish twilight. The sun was already beginning to climb into the sky again.

“Tell me,” he began in a whisper but broke off, shaking his head. Another stretch of silence followed, through which he seemed to calm himself before starting over in a low but steady voice. “How's it like for you then?”

“What?” she asked in bewilderment.

“Not having hands any more.”

Kirkwall - Stained Glass

Dawn could smell Brenda's nervousness as they passed the Highland Park distillery on the main road into Kirkwall's ruins. She kept glancing at the compound and came close to stumbling twice on the uneven surface. Sea fog lay over the shallow remains of cheap housing, drifting past them on an only just noticeable breeze. The sun turned the layer of fog above them a leaden yellow colour.

Small animals shuffled into cover and birds stopped singing with their advance, only to pick up their chirping when the travellers had passed by. Maybe as leader he should have been the one to walk beside the scarred little mare, but Harvest had already taken up that station. His eldest brother hadn't left Brenda's side since they were halfway between Stromness and Kirkwall. He found himself indifferent.

Mother was quiet. In fact, she had barely spoken a word since the incident two days ago, except for a harsh rebuttal when he tried to convince her to stay home. Her flicking ears showed that she was paying attention to her surroundings though and wasn't completely lost in her brooding. Salt Marsh at her side and the two large tribals who brought up the rear kept scanning the ruins for any sign of danger. They hadn't spoken anything either since they’d passed the distillery.

Solstice he hadn't seen since he'd thrown him out and for once he didn't mind his absence at all. It was all getting too much. You've pulled through worse, he reminded himself and tried to quell the following 'But nothing like this.'

The fast approaching meeting with the South Ronaldsays already felt like a lost cause. Or maybe it was rather like something that had become inconsequential in the light of recent events. They’d manage some form of cooperation some way or another eventually. It certainly wasn’t a pressing issue now.

A few hundred yards after the point where the remains of the city changed from rubble and grassy mounds to crumbling buildings, Brenda stopped and pointed at a large house near a fork in the main road. The wreck of a car sat close by, showing next to no rust. “Here it is,” she whispered. “And- and I buried him just over there.” After a short break she added, “And my trousers should be around here somewhere as well.”

He cast a glance at the little grave mound she was pointing at and sighed. “Well, let's have a look then.”

Her yellow coat took on a greyish hue around her muzzle. “Y-you want me to dig him out?” she squeaked.

“What?” He blinked. “No, of course not!” Did he really come across as awful as that to her that she'd think that? Well, you hit her and threatened to throw her out, no? With a weary sigh he shook his head. “I meant that we should see if we can find those leather trousers. Wouldn't be surprised if the dogs had taken them though.”

Hope lit up Brenda's eyes and she nodded eagerly before turning away to point towards where the main street took a left turn into the city centre. “I slept in the guest house here and I know I had them on my back when I heard the dogs!”

Salt Marsh sidled up to him as their group turned to follow Brenda. “What are you going to do if we don't find anything?”

He looked away with a soft snort.

“You already believe her, don't you Dawn?”

“Do you?”

“I- well...” Salt took a deep breath and let his eyes linger on the little mare for a few moments. “Yes. Yes I do. And I'm almost certain that you do too. Why exactly are we putting her through this then?”

“Because, Salt, this... those who don't want to believe her need proof,” he said with a tone of finality.

Salt cocked his head. “Right. Doesn't answer my original question though.”

“That’s correct.”

Salt gave him a sour look. “Come on! Don't leave me hanging now. You're becoming as bad as your father, cryptic and hiding behind empty phrases.”

He took a deep breath and swished his tail. “Am I now?”

When Salt Marsh hesitated to answer, he closed his eyes for a second, ears beginning to splay back. When he spoke again, the words left a bitter taste in his mouth. “Anyway. You wouldn't understand,” he stated and quickened his pace.

“Look, Dawn, I'm sorry!” Salt exclaimed and caught up in a trot.

“Then give it a rest!”

“I just want to know how you feel about- about all this,” Salt continued in a hurt tone. “How much is there to understand anyway?” He raised his voice while flattening his ears. “Dammit, Dawn, what is it?! I'm out of my depth with all of this already, I don't need riddles.”

He grit his teeth and stared straight ahead, his ears flattening against his skull as well.

“Stop ignoring me! If it's so much more than a 'yes' or 'no' to you then I want to understand why!” Salt cantered past him and into his way. “Hello? How about some leadership on this issue?!”

Broken asphalt crunched when he stopped up short, flared out his wings and rounded on Salt. Lumps of dirt and pieces of grass rained down from Salt's attempt to scramble out of reach, followed by a pained yelp when he received a bite in the shoulder anyway. Nostrils flared and forehooves spread, he watched the other stallion retreating behind the two tribals. His heartbeat throbbed in his ears, filling the quiet that followed the confrontation.

“Dawn?” Mother's careful enquiry broke the uneasy silence. “What is it?”

A hard look rested on the little colt who had asked about Father's mark again. 'You wouldn't understand.' That dreadful flat voice. He clenched his eyes shut. Mother ushered him out of the room. 'Dawn, I've told you! It hurts your father. Don’t bring up the past. Please?'

It took considerable effort to fold his wings and stand tall again. A deep breath. “Brenda!” he called out, startling the rest of the little expedition.

The mare in question took an unsure step towards him, looking ready to bolt. “Y- yes?”

“I...” he faltered and looked down at his hooves, acutely aware of the confused looks resting on him.

“Are you alright?” came the quiet, hesitating question from Springtide.

A deep sigh, followed by shaking his head.

“What... can I do for you?” Brenda asked, subdued.

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, then another. Finally he scraped a hoof over the ground, clenched his teeth and trotted over to the little mare. Halfway over, he spread his wings a little, making her flinch and back up a step. But he couldn't let himself stop now. When he reached her, he didn't hesitate even a moment but drew her into a hug. First with his wings, then with a foreleg around her withers.

She stiffened up completely. “I'm sorry,” he whispered into her ear, just above the prominent bruise he'd given her. “I'm so, so sorry.” He felt her relax a little, apprehension giving way to confusion. “I don't expect you to forgive me,” he continued in a louder voice and tightened his grip. “I don't even want you to forgive me. And...”

Brenda reached out a tentative foreleg to return the hug, almost losing her balance. “Thank you,” she said in a low voice, “But wh-”

“Because,” he cut in, “I want-” he broke off again and let go of her.

She was looking at him with wide eyes, confusion clear on her face.

“Because I was wrong and I really do believe you.” There was a pause, filled with nervous shuffling and a few quiet snorts from the others. “I should have said so right away. And I want to understand.”

Several hundred yards from where Brenda had said she'd lost them, they finally found her leather trousers. As predicted, they were chewed on and in a sorry state, but the pockets were still intact.

He watched as she gingerly stepped on the piece of clothing and bent down to open the zipper on one of them, grimacing as her muzzle touched the leather. He’d seen one depicted in one of Moorland’s books, but seeing one intact and working was something different. He bent down as well and marvelled at how neatly the tiny metal teeth lined up and fit together. Working Old Folk technology… his brother was going to be very happy indeed. If he had still needed convincing that Brenda was telling the truth, this would have done it for sure.

It took her several tries to get a hold on the slider with her teeth, but eventually she managed to open a pocket on either side. “Just hope it's still dry,” she murmured and closed her eyes for a second. When she took the trouser legs between her forehooves and shook them, two items fell out. One looked like a small, thick book made of leather and the other was a white and shiny rectangle. A few further shakes produced some pristine keys on a ring and a little lump of metal in a red casing that had a white cross on it.

An unexpected, sad little smile briefly touched her lips and she opened a side pocket as well and shook the trousers once more. A tool fell out, bright green and looking like a short brush. On its end was added a short piece of metal that looked a bit like a bent screwdriver.

He watched as Brenda placed the thing with the other items and sat down on her haunches. The other members of their group edged closer and soon stood in a loose circle around them.

“Right,” he began in what he hoped was a confident voice, “Let's have a look then.” Trying to ignore the tight feeling in his chest, he pointed at the most familiar item.

Brenda gave the keys a little push with a hoof. “These?” A deep exhale. “My car, my flat,” she began and then swallowed. She continued much quieter, “Tim's shop, my parent's house and this one here is... was for the stable's tool shed.” She held up a hoof to forestall his next question. “That's my phone,” she said and pointed at the white thing.

A soft prod with his hoof produced nothing but a humourless chuckle from Brenda.

“There's no way in hell you could use this with hooves, even if the touchscreen worked with them. Which I doubt.” With a snort she pushed it aside. “Battery's dead anyway now.” Her ears were beginning to splay back. “Who cares. That thing is my Swiss army knife. No? It's basically a little tool kit that you also have zero chance to use with these.” She held up her forehooves again and the bitterness in her voice was tangible.

He let her have a few seconds before asking the question he'd been dreading to ask. “Do you have a picture?” When he saw her close her eyes and give a tiny nod he realized that this was it. “Can I see it?” he asked in a low and unsteady voice.

With a slow motion she pulled the little leather book towards her. After she managed to open the button holding it shut she nosed it open, revealing several compartments with colourful cards. She opened her mouth as if to say something. Instead she looked down, shook her head and pointed at one of the small cards in there.

“May I?” he asked.

When she didn't object he bent down to take the card, yet the smell made him hesitate. Scenting the thing was a strange experience, intriguing and at the same time somewhat unsettling. Alien. Not unpleasant though, just not something he'd be able to put into words right away. He snorted and shook his head. Carefully he stepped on the left edge and brought his right wing down, slipping a primary under the card. A little wriggling loosened it enough to allow him to grab it with his teeth.

It was a pale pink rectangle with a wavy pattern of slightly darker lines and several lines of text on it. The first thing that caught his eye was a blue rectangle with the white letters 'UK' encircled by yellow stars in the top left corner. Below that was a little black and white portrait of one of the old folk, a young woman with long and smooth dark hair.

On the right side, under the header 'Driving Licence', there was a numbered list. Most of it didn't make much sense to him but for the first three items.

Brenda

Sutherland

01-06-91 United Kingdom

A chill crept down his spine as he stared at the little thing, and he forced himself to close his eyes for a moment and take a deep breath. Beside him, the little mare started to cry. For the longest time he just stood there, staring into empty space with a feeling of numbness. 'With our stupid, fucking hooves.'

No one dared to interrupt him until he finally shook his head and tried to focus on the here and now again. He cleared his throat. “Brenda? We should let the others have a look as well,” he said and rose to his hooves. “Walk with me a little?”

She nodded in silence and followed him.

A hundred yards later they came to a shallow pond where he bade her sit down next to a willow tree. He opened his mouth to say something but thought better of it. 'I can imagine how you feel'... what an empty thing to say. He was certain that he couldn't, since he wasn't even sure how he himself felt. Instead he watched the clouds reflected on the water pass by, listening to the soft wind in the leaves.

To his surprise it was Brenda who spoke first, her voice still thick with tears. “I don't blame you for not believing me, it's... it's pretty ridiculous, no?”

“Yes,” he breathed, “yet here we are.”

“I do blame you for hitting me though.”

He winced.

“As you should.” A deep sigh. Turning his head to look at her he continued, “I’m not sure what I can offer you in compensation though, other than affirming your place at my table and amongst my family.”

A soft exhale accompanied the small smile that lifted the corners of her mouth. “That's plenty enough.” She turned her head to look at him as well. “You know that you sometimes sound like a young chieftain right out of a folk tale?”

“I do?” he said, slightly taken aback.

“Yeah.” She looked back at the pond. “Those were rough times, and in a way not too different from here. Guess I shouldn't complain too much about a bruise or two.” She held up a hoof when he wanted to protest. “Don't. It happened. It's not alright, but I've had worse already.” A little chuckle. “A few weeks ago I'd have been devastated by something like that, now I'm just happy you didn't kick me out.”

“I'd never do that!”

“I know,” she said with a little smile. “I think you're a good man at heart. Or pony.” She put a hoof to her chin. “Don't know how I'd have reacted to finding out that my dad had lived such a lie.”

He clenched his eyes shut, feeling a lump in his throat. Not trusting his voice, he just shook his head. What was there to say anyway? The two orange saddle bags said enough, he was now certain that the mark didn't lie. He was a direct descendant of one of the old folk, just like his brothers, no matter if he was prepared to accept that or not. Everything just fit together too well.

“Wish I knew what he looked like,” he said in a low voice, feeling the old bitterness well up. “Or just who he really was. He never talked about anything from the past. Nothing.” He kicked a small stone into the pond and watched the ripples. “Is 'Scapa' even a real name?”

She cocked her head before slowly turning to him again. “I... don't think so. Never heard it being used for anything but the name of the distillery and the flow.”

“But why? So much of what happened makes sense now. Why just break with everything?”

“The stuff in your library. Maybe he was there just after it happened and that's the way he tried to cope?” A shrug. “I was busy not being eaten alive and then being adopted by a bunch of talking horses and then being outed as an alien. Not sure if I'm coping or just rolling with it.” She managed an actual little laugh at that which made him smile in return.

He cleared his throat and answered, “I'll help you with it if I can. That's a promise.” The little nod and warm smile she gave him in return felt good, and he held out a hoof for her to bump.

“I'll be there for you too,” Mother’s voice came from behind, making both of them jump. None of them had noticed her careful, quiet hoofsteps. The fur under her eyes was still matted, but the gloominess had receded. “Maybe we can help each other?” She cocked her head at the silence that followed. “Did I interrupt something?” she added with a hint of that little wry smile he so hated and loved.

Before he could reply, Brenda rushed over to her and buried her head in Mother's mane.

Mother gave a little laugh and nuzzled her neck. “Let's try this again little one,” she said in a tender voice.

With a long sigh he joined them, embracing them both with his wings. The pressure on his chest finally dissolved when Brenda didn't flinch at the touch but gave a soft nicker in response. A moment later his brain caught up with his ears and he snorted in amusement, folding up again. Brenda's bewildered gaze and subsequent blush was delightful.

“So we take it from here,” Mother said with a chuckle.

When they went back to the others, a subdued Salt Marsh walked up to him. “Sorry, Dawn,” he murmured.

He felt all eyes rest on him and he sighed inwardly, looking at the other stallion with ears halfway back. Maybe he should take Brenda's comment to heart. So he arched his neck and flared out his wings halfway and made sure his voice was calm and steady. “Apology accepted. Next time you have a problem with me, speak to me in private.”

Salt tucked in his tail even more and managed to give the impression of looking up to him despite being of the same height as his leader. The blue stallion nodded with wide eyes. “Will do!” he hurried to reply.

Out of the corner of his eyes he saw his elder brother give a minute nod.

Brenda walked past him and regarded him with the hint of a smirk. When she reached the relics of that other life she took a deep breath and sat down before them once more. He saw her swallow and close her eyes for a moment before she spoke in a voice once more thick with emotion. “I'm gonna keep these.” She started gathering the few things but paused and added, “Maybe they'll be useful some day.”

He softly shook his head and sighed. “Hey,” he began in the hope of lightening the mood again. “I didn't get around to ask about that thing there,” he said and pointed at the strange brush-thing.

To his pleasant surprise, her expression shifted from downtrodden to a kind of wistful amusement. “Don't know why I always carried that thing around wherever I went. It's a hoof pick.”

“A what?”

“A tool to clean hooves. When...” she hesitated, then shook her head with a snort. “When a horse has to carry a rider, there's extra weight on the hooves. So before you take her out you make sure there's nothing lodged there that could cause discomfort. Also, if you ride on roads there could be all kinds of stuff stuck there afterwards, so you do it again when you’re done.”

He blinked. “You had a mare that would let you sit on her back?”

Brenda cleared her throat and all of a sudden seemed unwilling to meet his eyes. Or face anyone for that matter. “I- I was actually a pretty good rider. I think.”

Mother spoke up. “What do you mean by good rider? It was her who did all the work, wasn’t it?” She frowned. “You just had to sit there.”

“Uhm…” Brenda rubbed her fetlocks together. “We were- I mean horses were- they couldn’t talk. And, you know, it was all about teaching them how to respond to position, leg pressure and, you know…” A brief pause. “Reins to make them turn their heads and- and stuff. They were really pretty dumb compared to today.” She ducked her head at the resulting explosion of chatter around her. “I mean to you! Me!” she squeaked.

He ruffled his wings in discomfort and shook himself a little before realising he was doing it. “All of you stop!” he exclaimed. When the noise had died down he addressed Brenda again. “I’m- I’m not sure I like this.” He swished his tail. “But I guess you treated her well?”

“Of course I did! I loved her!”

“You wouldn’t have a picture of her as well, would you?”

She bit her lip and looked away. “No. Wish I had. She was really pretty.” A deep sigh. “Her coat was that kind of yellowish off-white and her mane was all kinds of grey with brown strands in it. And she had that really pronounced dark stripe down her back.” Her expression had turned from uncomfortable to wistful. “She cost me quite a bit of money. The very picture of a Fjord pony, just like Mum here. I called her Freya, don’t know if she had a name in ‘horse’, but-”

“What.”

Brenda clamped her mouth shut with a mortified expression and snapped her head around to face Mother, blushing fiercely.

An awkward silence followed. Finally, Mother cleared her throat and scraped a hoof over the ground, fixing Brenda with a flat stare. “You will tell me all about that when we get home. In private.”

He felt it necessary to intervene before the situation could evolve any further and cleared his throat. “Right, Brenda, enough of that for now. I'm curious; how would you use that hoof tool thing then?”

She gave him a relieved look. “Well, I just made the horse lift a hoof and-”

“Like this?” He said and lifted a foreleg.

“Uh... y-you want me to...?”

He couldn't help but grin. “Of course.”

Brenda looked down at the tool, her ears flicking about. Finally she bent down and sniffed it before closing her teeth around the mid part of the handle. She gave him a nervous glance but looked away again and hurried over to his side. “'ur't I ave' o-” She spat out the tool again and took a deep breath. “I'll stand alongside you but facing in the other direction. Then you do as I say.”

He had to chuckle at that which made her blush in return. “Don't worry,” he said before she could utter the apology that surely was coming. “Proceed.”

With an uneasy swish of her tail she positioned herself at his left foreleg and picked up the tool again. Her sides showed her taking a deep breath before she hooked a fetlock around his leg from behind at knee height. Sliding her grip down his leg, she exclaimed “'oof!'” with far more authority than he’d expected.

He found himself lifting his hoof off the ground without hesitation and felt her shift her grip. Using both her forehooves she bent his leg so that the underside of his hoof pointed upwards. It was the strangest mix of feeling trapped and secure at the same time.

When he turned his head to look he could see her trying out different angles with her head before she seemed satisfied and went to work. There was a scraping sound and a weird sensation around his frog followed by the slight tickle of a brush. The procedure was over in a few seconds. “'own!” she ordered and he planted his hoof on the ground again.

Brenda turned around, hoof pick still in her mouth, some strands of mane over her eyes and with a bit of fresh dirt on her muzzle. In addition to that, her cheeks were burning. “Easier than I thought,” she murmured after dropping the tool again. There was some drool on it. “Sorry Dawn... I- that was how I did it. Or as close as it gets. Sorry for ordering-”

He lifted the newly cleaned hoof. “It's fine,” he chuckled. “And it certainly worked!”

Mother huffed. “You're better at making him do some hoof care than I ever was. Please keep her around, Dawn.”

Brenda looked away as her face managed to get even redder. “I- I’ll have to do all of them now,” she said in a strained voice. “Or you'll walk unbalanced.”

“Well then,” he replied with a little smirk and took the weight off a hind hoof, “By all means.” The rest of their group took that as a cue to surround them in order to get a good look. After Brenda was done and walked off to clean her muzzle in the little pond, Harvest came up to him. “If you're done fooling around, are we going to go further in?”

He refused to take the bait. “Yes. Since Brenda's obviously told the truth, I want to see if there is any trace of others like her. Or would you rather turn back and go home?”

Harvest gave a lopsided smile. “With you all the way, dear brother. With you all the way.”

When they set out again, he felt renewed purpose and took the lead. Rather than the loose group from the beginning, the seven now walked in formation with the two mares in the middle. The fog had lifted during their break and the main road into the city lay before them in bright sunshine. Brenda had slung the leather trousers over her back and she and Mother were chatting in low voices. He realized he'd never been that deep into Kirkwall. It was thrilling.

“Dawn?” Brenda called out, sounding unsure. She pointed to the ruin of a small house with a little tree growing in it. “This is where I came back,” she continued, subdued.

He took in the sad remains and wondered how it might have looked those hundred and twenty years earlier. How would it feel to depart a life you thought secure and be dropped into a wholly alien one, without any notice at that? He shook his head. The long nights of winter would be a good time for this, but not now.

“Do you need a moment?” he asked.

She looked at her hooves. “I... no. I don't think so.” A long pause. “There's nothing here anyway.” Closing her eyes she shook her head and took a few calm breaths. After a moment she looked up at him and declared, her voice firm, “Let's go.”

A little smile formed on his muzzle and he nodded, relieved. As they ventured further into the city he began to notice something that was markedly different from the open land. Trees. Fully grown stands of young trees, loosely grouped within the now much better preserved ruins. Looking around, an idea formed in his head. Here was, in other words, a lot of timber and firewood. So far he'd never thought of the city as a source for anything but old world relics. Because Father never had as well. He grinned.

Just minutes later he got an answer to the question of why the city centre had turned into something resembling a forest. A series of barks was audible to the east of their position. As he contemplated how the presence of predators would have made it possible for most saplings to take root and reach maturity, it took him a few seconds to realize that the others had stopped.

Looking back, he saw Mother nuzzling a wide-eyed Brenda and trying to reassure the little mare. With a sigh he turned and trotted back the few yards. “Keep a tight formation from now on!” he commanded. “Harvest, you stay at Brenda's side.” When Harvest had acknowledged the order he turned to Brenda, hating himself. “Brenda, pull yourself together! You're not alone, and if you panic you’ll put all of us at risk.”

Mother glared daggers at him. “How can you say something like that to her after what she's been through?! At least give her some time!”

“I want to be out of the city again before dusk and I want all of us to be unharmed. Either we continue with her or we all leave if she can't handle it. I'd very much prefer to stay after what we've learned though. We aren't in any real danger if we just don't lose our heads.”

Mother opened her mouth but Brenda held up a hoof before she could deliver a retort. “Mum, he's right,” she croaked and swallowed heavily. “I'll manage.”

Mother looked crestfallen and nuzzled her again. “Are you sure little one?”

“Yeah, I- I'm not backing out now.” she replied, still shaky. “I promise, Dawn.”

He cocked his head, giving her a sceptical look. Inwardly he sighed a sigh of relief. “Alright then. Let's go. Mother, you stay close behind her.” He noted with some satisfaction that she complied without hesitation.

Brenda tried to put on a brave face. “I think we should continue down Bignold Road. Uhm, that’s the one we’re on. After the next bend to the left we'll be close to the centre and St Magnus. That's where I'd have gone if I'd come back in the centre or down at the harbour.”

He gave her an encouraging smile. “We'll do that then, after all you know this place much better than I do. Let's go.”

Apart from fallen chimneys and a roof that had caved in here and there, most houses appeared to be in a fairly good shape. Many windows and doors were still intact, if weathered and opaque of course, due to their frames not being made of wood. Neat, low sandstone walls still lined the street, their wrought iron fences covered in rust but still looking quite solid.

Why hadn't father set up his settlement here? It wouldn't have taken as much work to maintain as it did in Stromness. Or had the predators moved in too quickly? If only he new more about it. If only.

With no one to keep them open, the former front lawns had turned into dense thickets of Rhododendron. Here and there a few light blue and purple flowers remained on the branches. In late spring or early summer, the display had to be a breathtaking sea of colours. Here and there a few sycamore trees had managed to take root and outgrow the smothering undergrowth. Now they formed a sparse canopy high overhead while their roots pushed up the concrete slabs of the pavement. In the cracks, more shoots of the ornamentals were already emerging, forcing the little expedition to walk around or in some places push through the resulting hedges.

Where a hedge was wide enough, the inside was devoid of any leaves due to the lack of light. While inside the second of its kind, Salt called out for them to stop. “I think I found something,” he said and pointed at the ground to his left.

There, between the thick branches, was what looked like a well trodden path. After clambering over the first few branches it started to look more like a natural tunnel. Here and there branches were bent back, twisted or broken, making progress fairly easy. “We'll have a look,” he stated and walked past Salt. “Brenda, Harvest, you come with me, you others stay here, there isn't too much space already.”

The path followed the shape of the natural protective tunnel until it reached what had once been the front lawn of a town house. In the green twilight, they entered and walked along the side of the house in tense silence until they reached the entrance a few moments later.

Kept dry by the evergreen plant cover, the door was in better condition than he expected and wouldn't budge when pushed. He was contemplating how they'd get inside when Brenda walked up to him, gave the door a look and pushed down the door handle. It swung inwards with a quiet creak. He sighed.

Inside it smelled of stale air and old textiles with a note of mould and dry rot. The worn doormat still proclaimed 'Welcome' and beside it sat two pairs of shoes, the leather dry and brittle with age. To the right was a steep staircase with faded pictures, one still on the wall and the rest lying on the steps. At the upper landing the wallpaper was peeling off, revealing damp spots on the plaster.

“Hello?” he called out. “Is anybody here?” Silence.

The door to the living room was ajar. He nosed it fully open and entered, stopping dead in his tracks a few steps in. Dust motes danced in the few rays of sunlight that fell through the windows and broke the green twilight. There, around an open fireplace, somebody had built a camp. A sofa stood in front of it, covered in blankets and sheepskins. On a coffee table there sat a kettle, a pot and a pan as well as several knives, two wooden spoons and a spatula. A few shrivelled up apples lay beside them.

Long fence posts had been wedged in between floor and ceiling behind the sofa. Thick carpets had been hung from them with crude fixtures, thus forming a little room inside the room. Wood ash filled the fireplace, with a few charred pieces of wood around the edges. At the far side of the room there was a large amount of logs and branches, stacked neatly along the walls. An axe, its handle covered in tooth marks, still leaned against a chopping block that stood in a circle of wood chips.

The sofa sported an indentation that would fit Brenda's size and had some bright cyan hair clinging to the surface.

“Hello?” he called again, trying to ignore the undisturbed layer of dust covering every surface.

Brenda gave a defeated sigh. “Give it up, Dawn,” she murmured. “They're not coming back.”

“I know,” he replied. “I wish... I don't know.” He sighed and flicked his head at the entrance. “It's of no use. Let's head out.”

Harvest, who'd stood by in silence and with an unreadable expression on his face, fell in behind Brenda as they left. “Coming closer,” he commented when he’d stepped outside and pulled the door shut again. The barks were clearly distinguishable now. “They're downwind, so I guess we'll have company soon,” he added, matter-of-factly.

“I'm okay, Dawn,” Brenda told him in a valiant attempt not to show fear.

It almost worked as well, and he nodded his acknowledgement. After relaying their findings to the others they set out again. Nobody spoke.

Further down the road, the evergreen jungle receded and was replaced with a closed canopy of huge beech trees and sycamores. A thick layer of damp leaf litter covered the cracked and distorted road surface, making for treacherous footing. Ferns and moss grew on the old stone walls. Up ahead, the red brick walls of Kirkwall's St Magnus Cathedral were visible through the light undergrowth. The church stood bathed in sunlight, its lone central spire still intact and jutting up above the trees.

Brambles and small trees had claimed most of the little graveyard surrounding St Magnus in small patches. The gravestones tilted in every direction and a great number had fallen and lay broken, slowly being covered by detritus and grass. Close to the entrance there stood an undamaged little red car.

“Brenda, what do you make of this?” he asked, careful not to sound commanding and trying to ignore the sound of the roaming predators.

The little mare took a deep breath, nodded to herself and then walked up to the vehicle. “It's... It's like the one I found, just newer.” She cocked her head. “Look, there's even a little air left in one of the tyres.” Guess it was parked here or just trundled to a halt because it's uphill.” She peered through the windows. “The keys are still there and... oh no.” She swallowed, “There's a baby car seat.”

Mother gasped. “Brenda, is there a foal in there?!”

Brenda shook her head. “No. But... dammit I don't know! I don’t know what happened, even if it happened to myself.” She sat on her haunches and dragged the backside of her front hooves over her face. “Nothing of this makes any sense. All I know is that the first thing I'd have done here is to try the church for shelter.”

He nodded. “Well then.”

They had just filed through the gate when Harvest announced, without much discernible emotion, “We have guests.” He moved right in front of Brenda, planted his forehooves a little apart and lowered his head somewhat.

Between the brambles and gravestones, seven canine shapes emerged. “Formation!” Dawn snapped. He cast a quick glance at Brenda who stood wide eyed and ear flattened against her head. “Brenda,” he spoke evenly. It seemed to break her out of it long enough to make eye contact. She shook her head and snorted but seemed to get her breathing back under control. He nodded in return, giving her a grim but acknowledging smile.

The dogs barked to each other and fanned out a little, but then simply sat down again.

“They're going to follow us all day now, just in case. Annoying pests,” Harvest spat. “How about we just make them lose interest now?” He scraped a hoof along the ground.

“No.” He regarded his brother with a flat look. “I don't want any injuries. There aren't enough of them to be any real danger anyway. Just put up with them.”

“Look, Dawn,” Harvest began.

“I'm not having this discussion!” he cut him off, flaring out his wings for emphasis.

His elder brother took a step back, thereby giving Brenda a free line of sight. “Alright, alright. Can I at least have permission-”

“It's them!” Brenda exclaimed.

“You know them?” came the bewildered question from Salt.

“See that one!?” she said, pointing at what looked like the leader. A gash ran along the dog's face in a diagonal line and through where there once had been an eye. “I know him! He wanted me for lunch!”

“Brenda,” he said in a stern voice and lifted a hoof.

“He tried to fucking kill me!” she shouted. “Get them away from me!”

He was aware of the dogs moving, whether out of uncertainty or with a plan in mind to use his group's disarray he couldn't say. “Brenda! Keep it together!”

Before he could do anything, Brenda shouldered Mother aside and planted herself between him and Harvest.

“Fuck off, you bastards!” she yelled at the leader. “You're not getting me!”

Curse her! He turned and was about to shove her back when an amused Harvest interrupted him.

“Dawn. Look.”

He followed his brother's gaze and blinked, nonplussed. Their leader had risen to his feet and was slowly backing away, his one eye fixed on the shouting pony. The rest of the pack looked unsure of what to do, two of them mirroring their leader's reaction.

The dog looked over his shoulder and gave a growl followed by a distinctively wary short bark. A few tense seconds later the pack turned away one by one and disappeared between the bushes.

When the soft rustles of vegetation had subsided, he exhaled deeply and shook his head. “What on earth was that about? Brenda?”

“I- I don't know.” She was still looking with suspicion at where the dogs had vanished. “The one with the scar was with the pack that hunted me.”

Harvest smirked at her. “Nice. How many did you get?”

“I- uh- what?”

“You scared him. I bet there’s a reason.”

“I’m not sure how that happened. The eye, I mean.” She rubbed the scars on her chest with a forehoof, shuddering. “I- I kinda ran down and trampled their leader though.”

Harvest’s smirk turned into a smile. “Looks unlikely that they'll bother us again then.” He nodded at her. “Remind me to ask you about the full story.”

“I- okay- ” She didn’t get any further due to Springtide rushing over to fuss over her.

Yes mother, that’s your ‘little one’. Taking a deep breath, he decided to not admonish Brenda for disobeying him. No need for animosities right now. “Let's move on. You would have sought shelter here then?”

“It's the sturdiest building and it's a landmark.” Brenda sighed. “Doesn't look as if anybody's been around here though. You know, I'd hoped - ah, I'm sorry. Wishful thinking I guess.”

“It's okay,” he said with a little smile. “I already believe you.”

“Thanks.”

He cocked his head at the glum tone. A moment later he lifted a foreleg and dragged the tip of the hoof down between his eyes and along his muzzle with a sigh. Of course. Way to miss the point. “Hey, let's have a look inside. Maybe there are some clues.” As sombre as the situation was, he couldn't help but smile at the way her good ear perked up at that.

As they walked westward along the southern side of the cathedral, he noticed the sandstone bricks had suffered a lot of erosion over the years. Wind and water had eaten away at them and given the wall a brittle patchwork pattern. The original design of alternating red and yellow bricks only added to what looked like a tapestry in stone. Hardy grasses and birch saplings had found their first hold in the increasingly brittle surface as well.

When they reached the small plaza before the cathedral’s front entrance, they got a good look at the oldest part of Kirkwall. Most houses that lined the street were still more or less intact, even the chimneys still sat on the roofs thanks to their broad construction. Still, roof slates and fallen masonry littered the patchy meadow that once had been the main street. Here and there a window had fallen out of a rotting frame.

Directly opposite of where they stood, an imposing building that reminded him of the Stromness Hotel had lost two spires and subsequently most of its eastward roof. No matter how well preserved, all the houses were in the process of being reclaimed by nature. A feeling of pride welled up in him as he thought about how his settlement in Stromness appeared in contrast. With our hooves.

“Look,” Brenda said, interrupting his musing. “All the windows at ground level are smashed. Most of the doors as well.”

His mind turned to the little dwelling they’d found on their way. Those who did this, had they hoped to find supplies? The damage appeared to be very old, even seen from their vantage point. He shuddered. Maybe he hadn’t even been born when they appeared here and died soon after. Maybe they managed to live a long life here all on their own or somewhere else on the mainland. He’d never know. Had Father known about this? He closed his eyes and took a long breath. “Let’s look inside,” he said and turned toward the entrance.

Shattered sandstone bricks littered the area in front of the stairs, the remains of some ornamental structures that seemed to have sat atop the front wall. The gravelly remains crunched underhoof as they picked their way to the front door. It wasn’t very broad but thrice as high as him and the wood still looked sturdy. And it wouldn’t budge.

Brenda came up beside him and gave it a tentative push as well. “Hm. That door was never locked.” He was about to say something when she put her forehead against the door, firmly planted her hooves and pushed. That produced a dry creak and a narrow crack appeared between the wings. It was followed by a pained screech of metal on stone and a very final wooden crunch.

“It’s blocked! Someone’s barricaded themselves in there!” She put her head close to the gap. “Hello!?” Silence. “Dawn! We’ve got to get in there!”

“You two,” he called out to the two tribals, “Get over here and see what you can do.”

They were both about two heads taller than himself, yet the door wouldn’t move even before their combined strength. Both were already grunting with exertion when Brenda gave a frustrated snort and walked over again. “Let me help.”

She ducked under the surprised horse and put her head against the door again, between and below the others. “Alright. Now!” A moment later there was a grinding noise followed by a crash and three panting quadrupeds falling into a heap on the floor. As soon as they’d disentangled themselves he entered as well.

A baptismal font lay broken on the floor amidst some piled up chairs, another door and several pieces of balustrade. Before them, the nave of St Magnus cathedral opened up.

The merriment caused by their less than elegant entrance soon ebbed away. The entranceway layout muted any sounds from the outside, leaving them in stillness. From somewhere above there came the flutter of small bird wings, but that soon disappeared as well.

The building seemed impossibly high from the inside. Red stone pillars, twice as broad as a pony, reached up to support a higher storey of arcades. They in turn bore the arches that held up the roof in an elaborate pattern far above.

Rows of dusty chairs lined the nave, on the righthoof side soiled by years of bird droppings in several places. The smooth wooden floor was covered in dust, and here and there in the crumbs of fallen plaster. Every nook and cranny held old cobwebs which also covered many of the chairs like dirty, half transparent blankets.

Their hoof falls echoed through the long hall as they slowly walked down the length of the nave in single file along the central aisle. Sunbeams fell through the double rows of high windows, making dust motes glitter in the sharp light. Probably important humans, set into the glass and lit from behind, gazed down on the little troupe. Ancient stone carvings on the walls. Tattered banners.

He felt small. Insignificant. Out of place.

When they reached the last row of chairs and the space opened up, his breath caught in his throat. There was a large ornate structure made of lacquered dark wood that bore a cross on its centre. Before it on the ground were two woollen blankets, a lump showing under them.

He ruffled his wings and swallowed before rallying himself to take the next step forward. When he put a hoof to the blankets and pushed them up a little, the metallic smell of dry decay filled his nostrils. He shrank back.

“What is it?” Brenda asked in a hollow tone.

When he turned to look at the little mare, his heart sank as he saw in her eyes what was about to happen. He bowed his head and took a few steps back. He would be the last person to prevent her from seeking answers, whatever those might be.

Brenda already had tears in her eyes as she walked past him, but she nevertheless bowed down and took the edge of a blanket in her teeth. He heard her retch. In one swift motion she lifted her head and walked backwards, pulling the blankets with her. She let go with a shriek.

A pegasus stallion and a unicorn mare still held each other embraced in their bony forelegs that poked out of ill fitting winter jackets. Their empty eye sockets were locked on the other one’s face. Between them, half covered by what remained of the stallion’s dark blue wing, rested a tiny unicorn foal wrapped in a lambskin. The floor under them was speckled with what looked like a coarse brown powder. A spider scurried away, leaving tiny marks in the dust.

Patches of dry hide still clung to the carcasses, revealing the mare’s coat colour as off-white and the stallion’s as of the same colour as Father. The foal had been light blue. The light falling through the large stained glass window, set high into the eastern wall, cast beautiful, multicoloured spots all around them.

Close by was a small pile of broken chair legs, splinters from smashed wood panelling and scraps of clothing. Several tiny sticks lay at one side, most of them broken, together with a small box with red sides and a colourful picture on its front.

Last winter had been particularly harsh, with temperatures well below zero for over a month and with several blizzards. All the nicer to share bread and warmth amid close friends and family during the dark months, huddled together in their dwellings in sheltered Stromness. Were we laughing at one of Spray’s stories while they were freezing to death?

He felt sick.

Something rattled, the echo reverberating through the nave. When he looked up he saw Salt standing stock still behind a pillar he’d backed up to.

“I- I think I’ve found one more,” Salt said, eyes wide.

“Several,” came Harvest’s detached voice a moment later from behind the wooden installation. “Looks like someone put them here. Has to have been years ago though.”

They were standing in a tomb.

When he turned to face the others, he saw his own feelings mirrored on their faces. Brenda still sat off to one side, a fetlock pressed to her muzzle. He didn’t trust his voice and just flicked his head toward the main entrance. They shouldn’t have intruded here in the first place. Shouldn’t have disturbed the peace.

While his companions filled the building with what now sounded like a cacophony of hoofsteps, he went over to Brenda. She still seemed to be looking at nothing when he reached her and with great care put a wing across her back. “Let’s leave them in peace,” he murmured.

She just nodded in response, but at least she got to her hooves and followed him.

They walked down the aisle under the indifferent eyes of all the Old Folk depicted on the windows. The figures made his skin crawl as they cast a rainbow of light on the dusty floor before him. He tried very hard not to look over his shoulder.

The soft wind in his mane and the sun on his back had never felt so good. After regaining his composure he declared in a tired voice, “We’re done here. Let’s head home.” The thankful nods and quiet nickers of the others were all the confirmation he needed and he fell into a trot. A mute Brenda stayed close to his side as they headed northwest on the most direct route out of the ruins.

When the open fields came into view he switched to a canter, the others pulling closer together and following his example as one. He needed air. He needed to get away. He needed to run. They all seemed to share his feelings as they fanned out into a wide V-formation the moment he broke into a gallop.

Earth and grass flew up behind them as they streaked across the meadows, leaving Kirkwall further and further behind.

You’re forsaking them.

It was true. Going by what he now knew to be the truth, more would arrive. He hoped they’d have more luck, like the smoky yellow mare at his side. Scarred little Brenda.

They’ll die like the others. She almost did.

Yes, he was running away. They’d need a permanent presence in the old city to make a difference. They’d have to keep up patrols and also drive back the roaming packs.

We are too few!

As one, they jumped over a ditch and raced towards their little town by the bay. To the north, the sea glittered in the afternoon sun. To the south, the land stretched out toward Burray and South Ronaldsay, the southern islands hidden by a soft haze.

You could change that.

Chieftain.

Author's Note

Chapter length is clearly getting out of hoof, especially for an unplanned chapter triggered by a comment. Might be the missing link to the rest of the story though, which is great. Please don't stop suggesting stuff!
Thanks to Doppler Effect and Fistfire for their editing efforts and amazing patience. You're great!

Western Sea Cliffs - Being Human

“Mum! Are you seriously...”

The rest of Brenda’s exclamation wasn’t loud enough to be understandable through the floorboards, not even with one side of his face lying on them. It was enough to wake Dawn though, again, just as he’d finally fallen asleep. At least that’s what it felt like.

He’d rolled off his hay mat at one point and the numb feeling in his right wing suggested that he’d soon regret that. He sighed. This is going to be such a great day. No point in delaying the inevitable. With considerable effort, he lifted his muzzle out of a little puddle of drool and rolled onto his stomach. Prickly fire shot through his wing muscles as he stretched it out with a groan.

As he heaved himself to his hooves, the picture that had haunted him through the night came back once more. They’d left the little family in the cathedral just like they found them. Maybe the decent thing would have been to cover them again, but no one had had the stomach to touch the blankets. He shuddered.

He hadn’t thought to look at the mother and child, but the pegasus had a mark on his flank like Brenda and Father. A triangle of roof tiles and a claw hammer. He couldn’t get it out of his mind.

The stairs were almost too steep today for his still uncooperative legs, and he swayed into the wall two times.

“You look a mess, dear brother.”

“Good morning to you too, Moor,” he grumbled in response and turned to head out the back.

“More like good day, if I may point it out.”

“No.”

He remembered just in time that the tub beside the back door was there to wash one’s hooves after having visited the latrine. So he went around the corner, found the one reserved for drinking and found it empty. Wonderful.

A few seconds later, Salt Marsh rounded the corner. He was carrying two buckets of water, one on each side of his barrel, supported by another one of Moorland's contraptions. It was made of wood and nylon rope. The thing chafed like mad, but it did the job.

“Morning, Dawn!” he said and quickened his pace, tucking in his tail at the same time. “Was just about to refill!”

He watched Salt lower himself to the ground to duck out under the carrier. He could of course have helped him out, but right now he couldn’t be bothered. That Salt didn’t complain about that felt good, in a way. Instead he bowed down and stuck his head into the empty drinking water tub.

“Uhm, ‘awn?” Salt said, the handle of one of the buckets between his teeth.

“Just do it.”

“O- okay.”

The water was cold and fresh and wonderful. The second bucket washed away the last remnants of bleariness, as well as the dust that he’d mopped up from the floor with his mane. He also drank about half of it. He lifted his head again and snorted the remaining water from his nostrils before shaking his mane dry. Much better.

“Thanks, Salt,” he said and touched a wing to Salt’s withers. “Oh, and Salt?” he continued while turning away, “No hard feelings.”

Salt Marsh’s ears perked up and he gave him a relieved smile in return. “Thanks, Dawn. I guess this whole thing with Brenda just really got to me.” He turned back to the tub, sighed, and overturned it to tip out the ‘bathwater’.

When Dawn got back into the lobby, he saw Mother just leaving through the front entrance. The sight before him lifted his mood a little more.

Moorland was sitting at a table close to the window, Brenda’s possessions spread out before him. His elder brother had a pencil between his lips and was engrossed in the Old Folk artefacts. Had his ears pointed any further forward they might have wandered down his muzzle to get a closer look of their own.

To the right of Moorland he spotted the hoof pick, and a slow smile spread across his muzzle. Think of the positives, Dawn.

With a faint creak, the door to Mother’s and Brenda’s room opened. Brenda came out, her face flushed and her good ear halfway back. She stopped up and gave him a sour smile. “Hi. One question about horseback riding and I’ll strangle you, chieftain or not.”

He snorted in amusement. “That bad?”

She rolled her eyes. “How about the very definition of awkward?” She held up a hoof. “No details. Not now at least.” She snorted and shook her head for emphasis. “Anyway. How are you holding up? Mum is worried about you and, well I’ll admit, I’m with her.”

Some of the weariness came back and he sighed. “I’m fine.” He felt his ears droop despite his best efforts.

Brenda gave him a long look. “Sure.”

Her energy seemed to leak out of her and she lowered her head with a sigh. Moorland’s content humming in the background filled the silence between them for a little while.

“Dawn?”

“Yes?”

“I feel like shit.”

He sighed and looked down at the floorboards.

She rubbed the scars on her chest with a faraway look in her eyes. “And you look like shit,” she added after focusing on him again.

Moorland cleared his throat and turned around. “Brenda. I’m aware that you have been through a lot, but I would ask you to mind your language, especially when talking to - or indeed describing - your leader. It’s unbecoming for a member of our household.”

Brenda gaped at Moorland for a second, then snapped her muzzle shut and looked down on the floor as well.

Wonderful. He sighed again and cleared his throat. “Thank you, Moor. You’re both right, I guess.” With a shake of his head he crossed over to Brenda, put a fetlock under her jaw and lifted her head a little. “I need to do some thinking. And I want you to help me with that.”

She blinked away some moisture in her eyes. “Me?”

“Yes, you.” He turned around without waiting for an answer. “Moor? We’ll be gone for a few hours."

Moorland raised his eyebrows, but merely nodded before turning his attention back to his study objects.

Gravel crunched under the hooves of the two ponies as they walked along the winding path across the moorland. A cool breeze whispered in the heather, with just enough force to keep the midges away. The sun shone from a cloudless sky of light blue and warmed their backs.

They had settled into a companionable silence as they traversed the rolling hills. Out here, nothing ever seemed to change. He’d always liked that about being out here, but with Brenda coming along it took on a whole new meaning. Maybe this had been part of her world as well.

Heather turned into old meadow again, with countless patches of cotton grass that swayed in the wind. Straight ahead lay the ruined farmstead where he’d gotten to know Buidhe. A little smile crossed his muzzle but fell away in a sigh. Wonder what she’s up to. Knowing her, she’d done the honourable thing and told Faoileag about herself and Solstice. Why did I have to give Sol that mission?

They paused at the small stream a hundred yards further to the west and drank of the cold and clear water. Brenda lifted her head and snorted, spraying a few drops of water around. She paused and looked down again. It took him a few seconds to realize that she was looking at a still area close to the bank.

“Brenda?”

She sighed and pointed at her reflection. “Still haven’t gotten used to this.” The image rippled apart when she stirred it with the tip of her hoof. “That this is really me.” She took a deep breath and gazed up at the sky.

“It’s only been a little more than three weeks since you…” He shifted his wings about. “Since you came back?”

There was a long pause. “I...I think I’ve lost track of time.” She turned her head to look at him. “So much has happened.”

He gave a humourless chuckle. In late spring a young stallion had stood on a grave mound and accepted the role of leader. A lifetime ago. “We’ll get through this,” he murmured to no-one in particular.

“Hm?”

“Nothing. I guess I’m just overthinking things.” With a sigh he leaned over and nuzzled her under her ear.

She lifted a forehoof from the ground in surprise, gave him a wide eyed look in return and blushed. “I- uh…”

Did I do something wrong? Maybe humans didn’t do that. He’d better avoid it then.

He smiled at her and flicked his head towards the southwest. “Let’s go.” With that, he waded through the shallow water and fell into a trot. They followed the stream southwest, at the base of a large hill that was covered in more of the same, bleak moorland. Every now and then, hares would pop out of the heather and scurry to safety.

Ten minutes further west, the wind began to pick up and carried the smell of saltwater. The ground became less tricky to navigate as the topsoil became thinner and thinner. There was a snort behind him, and a moment later Brenda cantered past.

“There are-” She broke off and raised her voice against the wind. “There are things I love about all this.”

“Example?” he called back.

“This!” she exclaimed and broke into a gallop.

Sun and Moon, she’s fast! Even though she’d only been a mare for such a short time, he wouldn’t have been able to tell if he hadn’t known. Be it small rocks, soft patches of ground or clumps of heather - surface properties didn’t seem to bother her much, once she got going. Brenda would outpace most of them as soon as she figured out what she was capable of.

By the time he caught up to her, the cliffs were coming into sight. He swerved northwest, taking them up the soft incline towards the edge. The more treacherous ground from before gave way to short, coarse grass and the occasional sandstone slab.

To the right, the brown hilltops rose above the island, to the left the land fell away into the steel blue Atlantic. The little mare at his side had her head stretched out, and her ears, back and tail formed an almost horizontal line as she flew along the coast. Even with his longer legs, he had to strain to keep up with her. Her muscles rolled under her coat as her hooves pounded the ground. The wind buffeted his face and tore at his mane and his heart hammered in his chest. It was glorious.

Half a mile later, he slowed to a canter and she followed his example a moment later. Her sides were heaving, but she still turned in a wide circle and went around him. Another short gallop, interspersed with a few bucks, brought her alongside him again. There was a happy grin on her face.

His spot on the cliff edge came into view. “Straight ahead,” he said.

“Should- cool down- a bit!” she replied, still panting from the exertion. She switched first to a trot, then to a quick walk. “Just a few minutes.” She snorted and shook her head. “I mean… that’s what I’d do with a horse after a ride like that. Make sure she doesn’t cramp up or catch a cold.” She laughed. “And now I am the horse, so- uh... do you do that as well?”

The sudden foal-like nervousness combined with her hardened appearance was adorable. He shook his head and laughed. “Maybe I should. You’re the expert here after all,” he replied and fell in alongside her.

She sighed. “I’ve spent so much time already feeling like an idiot. Please tell me when I act like one.”

“Most of the time you don’t, don’t worry. It can’t be easy - even Moor accepts that, even if it doesn’t sound like that to you.”

“Okay. And, Dawn…? Thank you. For giving me a chance, I mean.”

He had to smile at the look of gratitude in those large brown eyes. “Well, Mother told me to keep you around, remember?”

“Wh-?”

He shook his head before she got any further. “And I very much enjoy your company,” he added. Nothing but the truth, he realized.

She gave him a warm smile. A twitch of her ear, followed by a sweet little nicker. Or at least it would have been, if she hadn’t quelled it halfway by grinding her teeth together and shaking her head. “Dammit!” she bit out in a low voice, her cheeks reddening.

“Brenda?” he said, cocking his head.

“Nothing!” she blurted out. “I mean, uh, thank you.” She looked to the side. “So- so what was it you wanted to talk about?”

Well, he didn’t have to understand her all the time. So he just gave a little shake of his head and walked over to his spot on the cliffside. He unfolded his left wing and pointed at the ground beside him.

Brenda sat down with a sigh and looked out over the ocean. For a while, the only sound was the whistling of the wind and the hiss of the waves, breaking against the red sandstone far below. “How many times have you come out here?” she asked and turned her head towards him.

“I stopped counting two or three years ago.” He looked down at the foaming water. “Has it changed?”

There was a long silence. “Not really,” Brenda said in a low voice.

He closed his eyes and turned his muzzle into the wind. “I tried to fly here.”

“Did it work?”

“Nearly killed myself.” A deep sigh. “Never told anybody about it.”

The sound of her hooves shifting as she turned towards him.

“Why tell me then?”

“Because I trust you.” There was a lump in his throat. “And I thought… maybe you’d understand.” He turned his head to face her and opened his eyes again. The wind played with his forelock, strands of hair flickering through his field of vision.

She was looking at the ground, biting her lower lip.

“Brenda?”

“Hm?”

“What am I?”

Another long silence followed. The pressure on his chest lifted somewhat when she didn’t laugh or start shaking her head. Instead she just looked out over the ocean again, her jaw muscles working.

“You’re… a creature from our mythology. A pegasus.” She sighed and looked back at him. “You shouldn’t even exist. But neither should I, nor colourful, talking horses in general.” She lifted her forehooves and contemplated them.

“But where does that leave me then?”

She gave a helpless shrug. “I was a human, so I guess your father was too. It doesn’t make sense… but…” She shook her head in exasperation. “Guess I’m trying to search for logic and reason where there is none.” Dragging her fetlocks down her face, she took a deep breath and continued. “Springtide- I mean- Mum… Ah, hell! Mum! She’s a Fjord pony, one hundred percent, even if she’s green and almost as dextrous as I am. That means…” she trailed off and scraped the tip of a hoof over the sandstone slab she was sitting on.

“Yes?”

A long exhale. “You’re some kind of hybrid. I mean- I mean your whole family is, but… you kinda bred true?” She bit her lip before she looked up to meet his eyes. “You’re really part human. Maybe even the dominant part, or at least as close as you can get.”

He turned his head away and gazed out over the sea again. It felt as if he was looking at the horizon and at himself at the same time. The conclusion made sense, even if it was uncomfortable. Why is that? What the conclusion was built on, on the other hoof, made no sense whatsoever. And that’s that. Father wanted to find others like himself. I did. They were here all along, not on the other side of the firth.

“Dawn?”

“What do I do now?”

“What do you mean?”

He turned back to her with a sense of urgency. “What do I do now? They’re like you. Like- like me. I’ve got to save them.”

“I get that, but… Don’t you have your own people to look after as well?”

She might as well have thrown cold water in his face. He stared at her until she retreated a step, concern replaced by nervousness. He’d spread his wings without even noticing. You wouldn’t understand... With a few uncomfortable twitches he folded up again and looked down at his hooves. “Sorry,” he muttered, the sudden anger dissolving into restlessness. He started to pace in a circle instead.

“Dawn-” Brenda began.

“We at least need to patrol there every few days!” he cut her off.

Clip clop clip clop.

“You don’t even know if there will be more.”

“There will be!”

Clip clop clip clop

“Yes, okay. Sorry. Couldn’t you- couldn’t you maybe put up lots of signs? Tell people to head for Stromness or… or a safe place nearby?”

“What’s a safe place in your opinion? We’d have to make one.”

Clip clop clip clop

“Yes, but- would you stop that?!”

“Would you have had time to read some hypothetical signs while being hunted?"

Clip clop clip clop

“No- Yes- I- I don’t know!”

“That’s assuming they could even run!” He completed the circle and stopped in front of her. “You told me you only figured out how to do it so fast because you’ve studied horses. What about winter? They froze to death, dammit! While we were snuggling up back home!” He almost had his muzzle in her face, forcing her to retreat two steps.

“I’m only trying to help, for fuck’s sake!” She stopped retreating and stood her ground, her tail swishing back and forth and her ear flat against her head.

Taking a step back, he deflated, ears drooping. “Sorry, Brenda.” He sighed, then stood tall again. “Sorry. I’m- but I have to do something!” He stomped a hoof on the ground.

“I still think the signs or that little safe spot are our- I mean, your best bet. You could at least cover three seasons and some territory with that, that’s infinitely better than right now. Where are you going to find enough people for a real base? And you’d have to kick out the dogs. You’d need a whole new herd for that!”

He opened his mouth to shout at her, but snapped it shut again with an audible click. A whole new herd. He swallowed, a chill running down his spine. Faoileag. He’d need the South Ronaldsays. And he couldn’t be less prepared for a negotiation like that.

“What is it?” Brenda asked. When he didn’t answer right away, she continued, “It’s the only feasible thing to do right now. You can see that, right? We could make St Magnus the safe spot. Even…” She swallowed. “Even if we have to clear it first. Bedding, provisions for a week or two, firewood and stuff to start a fire with, maybe leave a note that we’ll check on the place regularly. You’ve got red paint, haven’t you? Paint directions everywh- ”

“Remember Buidhe?”

“Wh-?” She blinked. “That Iceland mare? Dimly… wasn’t in the best state back then. But wh-”

“She’s part of a herd from South Ronaldsay and I’ve got a meeting with them soon. Father wasn’t on exactly the best of terms with them.”

“Is she their leading mare?”

“No, she’s their chieftain’s niece.” He looked to the heavens. “I don’t know how much you heard, but Solstice started an affair with her after I made him my ambassador.”

Brenda started laughing.

“That’s not funny!”

“Sorry!” She tried to quell her giggling. “Sorry. It’s just… that’s like a cheap soap opera. The princess and the wayward emissary in a secret love affair amidst political intrigue.”

“Will you shut up?” He scowled at her. “And what’s a ‘soap opera’ anyway?”

“I’m really sorry.” She bit her lip. “It’s just- I- I’ll shut up.” She made a valiant effort at not grinning. “A soap opera is… uh…” She blinked. “Never mind.”

He didn’t have time for this anyway. “Alright.”

“Couldn’t you at least consider the signs and the safe place? It’d be so much easier and we already have the resources. It could really help!”

He gave her a hard look and flattened his ears.

She lowered her head and tucked in her tail. “Alright, alright.” A deep sigh. “Can’t you offer them something then?”

He took a deep breath. “I have no idea. I should have talked more with Buidhe - or Solstice for that matter. That is, if I’d known what he was up to. Dammit. I bet he knows a lot more than he told me.”

“Don’t you think their chieftain might want to help you when you explain the situation? Then see what he wants in return.”

“What do you think he’ll say when I try to tell him why I need his support? I had a hard time believing you, despite my own father being all the proof I really needed.”

She looked down. “I can see that.” She raised her head again. “But you don’t know what he’ll tell you either. If you don’t try you’ll never know. And you’re just as much leader as he is, aren’t you?”

He turned away and looked out over the sea again.

Brenda walked up to his side with slow steps. She took a deep breath, leaned over to him and nuzzled his cheek. The gesture was halting and the actual nuzzle more of a soft bump, like something she’d just recently seen others doing.

He turned to see Brenda retreating back to the spot where she’d sat before, looking uncomfortable. He gave her a lopsided grin. “Thank you, much appreciated.” So it wasn’t something humans normally did. Well, she’s trying.

“Y- you’re welcome.”

He was grateful for her encouragement, but backing out of this wasn’t an option anyway now. He wouldn’t forsake his own kin.

“Right. I need to talk to Moorland. And Harvest as well.” With a look over his shoulder, he continued, “And you go try and find Solstice for me.”

She opened her mouth to say something, but he cut her off.

“That was an order,” he said with a sly smile.

She stared at him for a second. “O- okay.”

“Good. Let’s go.”

Author's Note

Many thanks to Fistfire and Doppler Effect for working on my half-baked manuscript. Editing this chapter took almost as long as writing it. But - we're getting somewhere.

Drywall Hill - Chip Out

Drywall Hill - Chip Out

Brenda trotted west through the streets of Stromness, past dwellings of lesser and lesser quality. Dawn had sent her away only minutes after they had arrived back at The Royal Hotel. ‘I need to discuss this with my brothers, Brenda. Please go look for Solstice.’ She was confident that she could have contributed to that discussion, but recognized an order when she got one. Even when it was delivered in as nice a way as possible. Know your place alright. For the second time that day.

She snorted and shook her head. On one ...hoof… she felt she should be upset to be downright assigned a place in a hierarchy like that. She just kinda wasn’t. On the contrary, she almost felt happy about it, even though she had a suspicion which part of her was responsible for that. The one that wanted to know her place, secure below the four brothers and mum.

Here on the outskirts of their little town, many of the houses were missing the upper floor. Solstice’s team had removed the unsalvageable parts of every house to better conserve the rest. The further west she got, the fewer houses were still roofed with tiles as well. Aluminium sheet metal, weighed down with large sandstone slabs, became more and more prevalent. Small bits of debris still littered the street.

A nondescript fjord pony emerged from a building that reminded her of a stable more than of a house. Solid but stripped of almost everything that had made it a human home, including interior walls.

“Hi there!” Brenda hailed the mare. “I’m looking for Solstice Spirit. Any idea where he is?”

The mare that stood a good foot taller than Brenda turned her head, stopped up short and stared. Then she bowed. Not much, but still a bow.

Brenda stared back, dumbfounded.

“Solstice have not see. Try there,” the mare said and pointed to where the former golf course had been, further down the road. The hill to the south of Stromness was just about visible from here.

By now she recognized the strange accent as northern tribal. “Thank you.”

The tribesmare gave another little bow and trotted off.

Brenda looked after her and noticed how the bigger horse seemed to relax as soon as she was a few lengths away. As she turned to the south again, she realized that she’d arched her neck while she’d spoken to the fjord pony. She felt strange. Assuming a casual stance again, she also realized that two other regular horses were watching her from separate doorways. They too gave her small bows when she passed by and greeted them. A filly stuck out her head beside her mother and gaped at her.

The last building at the waterfront had been torn down, with only the foundations remaining. The rubble had been piled up against the seaward side of the last two houses, forming a makeshift barrier against the elements.

She followed the bend in the road up the hill towards the former golf clubhouse. Not much remained of it. From here, the houses along Stromness’ second road were visible. Or what remained of the buildings erected in the seventies of the twentieth century.

The cheaper construction hadn’t weathered the passing of time quite as well as the old stone houses. From a distance, most of them looked like the ones she’d passed earlier. Stables, with rubble piled up around them. The main difference was that many window openings had been blocked as well.

There was a lot more going on than down at the waterfront, with about two dozen horses milling about. They seemed to be hard at work on two of the dilapidated buildings, as well as their anatomy would allow. It struck her that she’d only seen regular horses in this part of Stromness. There were no colourful individuals among them at all.

Before she could dwell on that any further, she spotted an exception. He was pulling a trailer down the road towards her, together with another pony. Even covered in dirt and dust he’d be hard to mistake for anyone else. Solstice Spirit.

She bit her lower lip. When they’d been together last time, it hadn’t ended in the best of ways after all. She hadn’t given that any further thought though, what with everything else going on. You sent me on purpose, Dawn. Didn’t you?

Technically, the little piebald was family now. Brenda closed her eyes for a second and took a deep breath. “Hey, Solstice Spirit!” she called out against the noise of the approaching trailer.

Solstice looked up from the road, saw her and his ears splayed back. “Can’t stop,” he said in a weary voice when he drew level with her. “Need the momentum.”

The road wasn’t of the same quality as the one leading out of Stromness to the north-east. It had a lot of cracks and dents, clearly not intended for urgent transports. Judging by the amount of visible tracks, pieces of debris and deep hoofprints, it was still used a lot with heavy loads.

The trailer Solstice and his coworker were pulling was loaded with crumbling masonry, mouldy fake wood panelling and dripping wet Rockwool. A little further on, the road turned into a hard packed path, leading onto the grounds of the former golf course on a soft incline. Both of them leaned into the weight, straining and hooves digging into the surface.

Brenda looked on with a lump in her throat. Solstice seemed to be doing exactly what she’d have done in a comparable situation. Burying himself in work. The several disasters of that one evening hadn’t been her fault. Nevertheless, she still felt bad about it.

“Dammit! Who loaded this?!” Solstice bit out, panting.

His partner snapped something in Whinny.

“Good job, you!” Solstice gave back and added something that sounded like a nickered curse. “Not a chance. But it’s you who gets to unload half of it and stick your muzzle into that insulation again.”

Brenda’s ears perked. “Wait!” she called out. “Let me help.”

Solstice sighed with a sour expression. “Look, Brenda. It’s of no use. That thing’s going to dig too deep into the surface. Way too heavy on the back axle. Expertly loaded.” He gave his partner an irritated look. Another deep sigh. “And I’ll talk to you as soon as we’re done, if it’s that what you’re worried about.”

She felt her ears droop again. “It’s not like that,” she said in a subdued voice. “Just let me try, okay?”

He shrugged, making the towing chains rattle. “Oh alright then. A wasted minute more or less doesn’t really matter.”

She nodded and went to put her forehead against the back end of the trailer. With the others pulling, it didn’t take more than a bit of effort and she didn’t even have to strain much. The trailer jerked forward. The rims on the overloaded back axle didn’t dig in, as if the surface was still firm asphalt and gravel and not only dirt. Neither did her hooves. It looked and felt… strange.

About two hundred yards further uphill, Solstice called out to stop. “Thanks Brenda,” he said when she came walking around the trailer. “Hadn’t thought you to be that strong. Let’s unload and call it a day.” He and his partner shunted the trailer and he began to unhitch himself. “Team’s done more than enough today,” he said with some pride in his voice.

Brenda nodded absentmindedly while looking around in astonishment. They were standing in what could only be described as a rubbish tip. The hillside was covered in decomposing structural boards, rotting wood panelling, wet carpets, decaying floorboards and brittle window frames. There were mounds of insulation with vapour seal flapping in the wind. Patches of cracked and crumbling masonry. And soggy drywall, everywhere.

Thistles sprouted between broken roof tiles. On the older parts of the dump, a blanket of purple willowherb swayed in the breeze. A narrow band of rushes marked the position of a half buried old water hazard of the golf course. Most of the area downward from the dump was a brown wasteland though, with all but the hardiest plants killed off by seepage.

“Behold Drywall Hill,” Solstice remarked with a smirk as he went around the trailer. “Our most beautiful landmark,” he said and made a sweeping gesture with a hoof. “We strip the buildings of everything that’s rotten or can hold water. Can’t prevent further decay any other way. Lend me a hoof?” On both sides of the trailer a rope was dangling out of the back. He picked one of them up with his teeth.

She gave the dusty rope a suspicious look.

“‘ome on!”

When she bit down on it, the bitter dryness of gypsum dust filled her mouth, together with a faint taste of mildew. She almost retched.

Solstice chuckled and pulled.

The load moved, dragged down from the trailer by a thick plank that had been positioned at the front before loading. The debris clattered to the ground in a cloud of dust. It covered her forelegs up to her knees, as she hadn’t thought to step sideways when she pulled. She extracted herself while trying to spit out the foul taste.

He grinned at her. “Hey, I could use someone like you. Interested?”

“Not-” She coughed. “Not really.” She shook her head in disgust. “How can you stand it?”

“You get used to it.” He shrugged. “And someone has to do it. We need houses and I seem to be good at motivating people to do it.” He chuckled. “What? Don’t look at me like that. I’ve got be good at something!”

He scratched himself behind an ear, leaving green stripes in the dusty fur. “Nowadays we’re down to stripping almost everything from the houses that are in any way still salvageable.”

He sighed. “The results aren’t exactly comfortable, I know. And we usually have to block up a window or two as well, but they’re still the best shelter from the wind and rain you can get. Need to snuggle up some in winter though. No good way to heat them if you don’t want to stand in the smoke.”

Brenda frowned. “Is that why there are only normal horses here?”

“Normal horses?” He cocked his head. “What do you mean?”

“Uhm… I mean, like, not like us.”

He narrowed his eyes at her.

“Wait, that came out wrong. I’m not saying we’re better! What I meant is that they don’t have our dexterity and none of them have any weird colours like you or me.”

He blinked and looked down at his chest and legs. “Uhm… it’s ordinary white, brown and green?” He looked up again with a puzzled expression. “What’s weird about that?”

She gave a helpless laugh. “That-” she broke off and shook her head. “Nothing, I guess. It’s just that horses didn’t have other colours than mixes of white, rusty orange and black.” She pointed towards the town. “Like those.”

He cocked his head. “Hm. What’s that got to do with the houses then?”

She closed her eyes for a brief moment. “Mum tell you I had a horse? Yeah?” A relieved sigh. “Okay. These buildings here really look like stables, like the one I had my Freja in.” She put a hoof to the bridge of her muzzle. “Sorry, I know that’s weird to you. It’s beginning to sound weird to me! Seeing, like, persons living in something like that makes me feel strange. That’s all.”

“Ah, okay.” He nodded and relaxed. “Well. They’re all from the tribes up north and they don’t mind. Luxury to them, they’ve never had any kind of roof over their heads before. Wouldn’t be my thing, but what can you do? Don’t think dad ever thought the town would grow that big. Might have cleared more houses then.”

He shrugged. “Reminds me that my friend here doesn’t understand half of what we’re saying. Bit rude.” He turned his head and nickered to his companion who was still standing in front of the trailer. He pointed a hoof towards town. “Good job. Enough for today.”

“Thank you, Sol. See to morrow,” the stallion replied and unhitched himself. With a smile he trotted off.

“He’s making some serious effort, that one,” Solstice commented with a fond smile. “Pronouncing the words is hard for them. He’s good.”

“What’s his name?”

Solstice gave her a lopsided smile and responded with three short whinnies of different modulation.

Brenda blinked and then sighed. “I’m really going to have to learn this, no? What’s it mean?”

“Difficult to translate, but I guess summer-sun-over-cottongrass comes close. Somewhat descriptive of his coat, I guess. And impossible to use in a conversation in English anyway.” He swished his tail. “New Whinny is still not exactly easy for me. At least the northern variety is a lot simpler than the southern.” He turned away to look out over the sea. “If it weren’t for Buidhe, I’d still be relying on gestures and two-word sentences for that one.”

She chewed the inside of her cheek. A deep breath. “Uhm. About that…”

Solstice tensed, his ears folding back halfway. There was an awkward pause. After a few moments he exhaled and gave a resigned shrug. “Yeah. Thought that’s what you’re here for.”

“I’m…” You don’t need to apologize! “Dawn told me to go look for you.”

“What does he need?”

She winced at the dejected tone. “Look. We explored Kirkwall and found others like me. All dead. Dawn thinks there will be more and wants to rescue them, but we need more people.”

Solstice turned around and lifted his eyebrows. “‘We’?”

“I- what?” She stared at him. “Do you have to-” Ah, what the hell. “Look. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to play you against Dawn. I was kinda desperate, you know?” When no answer came forth she added, “You tell me what I should’ve done instead.”

Silence.

She stomped a hoof. “There. I’m sorry. I apologized. Okay? All this wasn’t exactly my fault! I didn’t go like ‘Hey, let’s turn into a strange horse a hundred years after the apocalypse.’ How about you listen to what I’ve got to say? I’ll leave you alone then.”

He sighed and hung his head, ears drooping. “Yeah, yeah. I’m being the idiot as usual. And I’m sorry I tried to weasel out of it like I did.” He looked away again. “Just glad that Buidhe wasn’t there to see that.” With another sigh he closed his eyes. “Dammit.”

“All I wanted to say is that Dawn really, really needs you to tell him everything you know about the South Ronaldsays. Like, everything. He’s got no idea what he can offer them to get them to help us. Him. Or what the whole you and Buidhe thing means for us. He wants patrols in Kirkwall, maybe even an outpost there.”

Solstice looked up. “That’s a lot to ask for in a first meeting.”

“I’ve told him it’s stupid. Okay, not in so many words, but… anyway. That’s what he wants to negotiate for and he needs you. He’s having a palaver with Moorland and Harvest.”

“Alright, alright. I’m coming,” he said in a tired voice. “Those two are guaranteed to screw this up.”

“Maybe you should wash first?”

“I’ll finish the day with that. They’ll just have to live with it.” He shook himself off, creating a sizeable dust cloud. “There. Satisfied?”

They started to walk back the path into town in silence, Solstice looking more sullen with every step. Realizing that she’d come to care for the little piebald, she sighed and stopped, turning her head.

“Hey,” she began in a soft voice, “You’re really smitten with her, aren’t you?”

He gave her a long look but finally nodded with a sigh. “She’s the best thing that could ever happen to me. She’s strong, smart, brave and beautiful. And funny.” He shook his head. “And she asked me. Can you believe it? Of course I said yes! Who wouldn’t?” After a little pause, Solstice covered his muzzle with his fetlocks and groaned.

“What-” she began.

“Brenda, I know that your problems are far more serious than mine… but I’m in way over my head here.” He looked away. “Haven’t got a clue what I should do next. I just want to be with her.”

What was she supposed to say to that? Oh god, don’t ask me for relationship advice. And definitely not for people on four hooves. Anything she said on the topic would most likely turn out stupid anyway. She went for a clumsy nuzzle instead and got a brief smile out of him in return. Maybe she could get the hang of this.

“You know, Buidhe tried not to talk about it,” he began. “Ruadh, her brother, well… I think he enjoyed forcing her to fill in the details she left out. But, you know, he’s right. I had no clue and she didn’t think anything through. Anything at all. Stupid offer. Stupid me for not asking.”

“Wait. What are you talking about? What offer?”

He gave a humourless chuckle. “Hold out your right leg and angle your fetlock, so that the hoof points back to yourself. Yep. Now offer it to me.”

She looked at him in bewilderment and held out her hoof. He gave her a tired look and hooked his own hoof over hers. It almost felt like a handshake.

“Uh… friends?” she asked.

“Heh. That’s what I thought. Spéis. In case any Ronaldsays are watching, they can report home that I just dumped Buidhe and accepted your offer of affection. We’re mates now and both you and I have lost all honour.”

“The hell?!” Brenda retracted her hoof in a hurry.

“It gets better. Mare always offers first. No exceptions. If the stallion rejects her, he’ll have humiliated her real bad. If she’s a high ranking mare, she’s now also lost quite a bit of standing and influence as well. He as well, if he’s got a high rank, but that’s not all that important. As a guy, he wouldn’t have had that much to say in the first place. At least he’s made himself attractive for all the mares in the middle ground who otherwise wouldn’t have the nerve to ask someone from higher up.

If she’s high up and he’s of low rank… well, he’s a bloody idiot and he’s made sure no mare is ever going to ask him again. And his family is going to hate him, since they could have risen in standing. Well, actually they’ll hate him regardless. He’s put his poor upbringing on display for everyone after all.”

Brenda cleared her throat. “Okay…” She shook her head. “Anyway. So she offered and you accepted?”

“Yeah, well… I accepted and kinda rejected her a little later, disaster, then we found out that none of us knew what we were talking about. You have to know what you’re doing to have a shot at being willfully stupid after all.” He scuffed a hoof on the ground. “So we did that little ritual again.”

“And what does that mean for you and her now?”

“Ruadh said that we don’t need to worry about rank and standing. Apparently, being the chieftain’s niece and Dawn’s brother is going to be about the same when it comes to that. Don’t know if Dawn talked to Buidhe about that back then, like, make sure he’d be taken seriously when he sent me.” He kicked a stone down the road. “Fat load of good that did.”

Brenda cocked her head. “Hey, that doesn’t sound all that terrible to me.”

He sighed, giving her a long look. “She’s probably already told Faoileag and he’ll have had a fit.”

“Heh. ‘Don’t touch my niece’ syndrome?” She gave a lopsided grin.

He scowled at her. “I have to join her family now or I might just as well have rejected her in front of everybody. Means his family.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. ‘Oh’. And she’s bringing a complete stranger into the herd who’ll be one of the highest ranking stallions.”

“But aren’t you that here as well?”

He huffed. “As if that was so terribly important ‘round here. You’re also way up, in case you haven’t realized.”

“But…” She lifted a hoof to her muzzle.

“The bold Marked One, defender of the ancient city,” he intoned.

She blinked. “What?”

“I was told you made a whole pack of dogs turn tail and run on your trip to Kirkwall. All on your own.” He pointed a hoof at the nearest houses and smirked. “One of my guys was with you. The title sounds a lot better in Whinny, but that’s what you’re going by around this part of town.”

Shit.

When she didn’t reply, Solstice gave her a lopsided smile that didn’t hold much amusement. With a sigh he turned his head and looked out over the bay, scratching himself behind an ear. “Not sure I want to know what title I’ll get. Might have ‘short’ in it. Good thing my Ronaldsay Whinny won’t be good enough to get the meaning quite a while yet.” He swished his tail, producing a little dust cloud. “Add ‘thick’ as well then.”

She took a deep breath and cleared her throat, trying to focus. “Okay, whatever. Can’t she just move here then?”

“Sure, as long as she doesn’t mind giving up her rank and standing with them. Faoileag is going to love it.”

The Ronaldsay chieftain was already getting on her nerves. “So what?”

“Heh.” Solstice shook his head with a snort. “His niece runs off with a stranger and joins a strange tribe and he had no idea it was about to happen. So he can’t even keep his own family together.”

“Okay, I can see that,” she admitted.

“He also still needs a leading mare, ‘cause that’s how things are down there. He’s sole leader by accident. Long story. Now he’ll be seen as being unfit to lead on his own. Just like everyone expected of course.”

Equine sciences hadn’t covered politics and anthropology, something that seemed like a severe oversight now. Covered equine behaviour though, you thick mare. “So… nobody’s going to make that, uhm, offer to him after that I guess. All now waiting for a challenger who’s already got a mare and see how it plays out. Like that?”

“Pretty much.”

Sabotaged by Dawn’s emissary on first contact. She closed her eyes and put a hoof to her forehead. Somehow, the soap opera wasn’t all that funny anymore. She took a deep breath and looked up at a miserable Solstice. “Well. Shall- shall we head back?”

“Yeah. I guess.”

Brenda turned toward the town. Dammit. She turned back again, walked the two steps to Solstice and hugged him.

He stiffened for a moment. Then, with a shaky sigh, he returned the hug and buried his face in her mane. “Thanks, Brenda,” he mumbled.

When they entered the Royal Hotel, she could hear muted voices from the first floor. She looked back over her shoulder. “You know how many times I almost fell down the stairs here?”

Solstice cocked his head. “Uhm… why?”

“Because these were built for people with two feet? You have no idea how difficult it is to climb stairs on four hooves when you’re new to the whole quadruped thing.”

“Huh.” He bit his lower lip and scratched himself behind an ear. “Never thought about that. Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” She gave him a lopsided smile. “Just catch me when I get my legs tangled up.” She climbed the stairs with slow and deliberate movements, pausing when she reached the ruined door to Dawn’s study. She knocked on the door frame, not wanting to be the one who made the door finally fall off its hinges.

The conversation stopped. “Come in,” Dawn called out.

Dawn and Harvest were sitting in the middle of the room while Moorland was behind the desk, a pencil between his teeth. He put it down, one end sticking out over the edge of the desk. “Hello there,” he said and cast a disapproving look at her companion.

“Deal with it, Moor,” Solstice said. “Washing this stuff out takes some time. Work makes dirty, you know.”

“Ahem,” Dawn interjected before turning to her. “Thanks for retrieving my brother, Brenda. Then he walked over to Solstice and, after a moment of hesitation, nuzzled him on the cheek.

Solstice, tail between his legs, looked up with a little bit of hope in his eyes. He took a deep breath and returned the nuzzle.

Dawn nodded. “Alright then. Brenda? I think mother was looking for you earlier.”

She blinked. “You’re ordering me out?”

Moorland spoke up. “Since you aren’t involved in Stromness’ leadership, it doesn’t concern you. Also, the fewer participants, the quicker consensus.”

“What?!” She turned on him, tail swishing. “We’re talking about humans here! What do you know about that?”

“Not ‘we’. And I have a quite extensive knowledge about the old folk.”

“Brenda,” Dawn began.

She ignored him. “I am human! Was human. You know what I mean! I’m the expert here and I don’t need to read some stupid books or manuals beforehand.”

“Now wait a second,” Moorland began, scowling.

“Stop,” Dawn interrupted him. “Brenda, please. What we need to discuss here is how to negotiate with Faoileag.”

Brenda felt her ear splay back and she broadened her stance. “So what? I told you I’ve studied equine sciences. We’re talking about real horses here! Solstice told me how they are. Looks like they’ve translated most of their original behaviour to-”

“'Real' horses? What do you-”

“Real horses as in not like me!”

“Well y-”

“And you.”

Dawn shut his mouth with an audible click.

An awkward silence followed. After a few moments it was broken by Harvest starting to laugh. “Assertive girl,” he chuckled and gave her a nod. “I say she stays. Need a leading mare, Dawn?”

Dawn and Brenda stared at him.

Solstice tried to suppress a snort with a hoof, producing what sounded like a muffled hiccup instead.

“What?” Harvest continued in an even tone. “Would add a lot to your opening position, what with him having none. And make for a good first impression with his tribe.”

“Very funny,” Dawn said.

“I was being serious,” he replied, his voice turning back to its usual gruffness.

“I- hmpf! We’re not here to discuss something like that!” a flustered Dawn replied. “I know your people love to gossip and spread rumours. Can we please turn to the matter at hoof now?”

Brenda noticed her leader was blushing and rolled her eyes. If they kept this up, this meeting was going to go nowhere. She cleared her throat and turned her head, motioning for Solstice to come forward.

“Your brother has already told me a lot about his… situation. But I guess you should hear it firsthand. Ah- firsthoof, sorry. This is important. And I’m certain I can help you interpret what that means for your approach.” She drew a breath, irritated with herself. For our approach. Instead of saying it out loud though, she just gave an annoyed snort.

Solstice came forward with halting steps. “Uhm… well…” He looked at her for support.

She shook her head. He was not going to weasel out of this a second time!

He took a deep breath. “Okay, the thing with me and Buidhe,” he began.

It became an interesting afternoon.

Author's Note

So... finally lining up the different plot lines. Thanks for your patience. And special thanks to Fistfire and Doppler Effect for their patience as well. Onward.

A965 - Crossroads

It was a busy morning in the lobby of the Royal Hotel, with all the family members and several others in attendance. Mother was still clearing the breakfast table when Dawn sent out the first runner.

“Salt, you take the northern part of town,” Dawn called out to the blue stallion. “It’s only the main road, but don’t forget the few houses on the other side of the bay. I want everyone down at the pier by noon.” Dawn cleared his throat. “Did you get that?”

Salt Marsh snapped his gaze away from Brenda who was sitting at the back of the room by the fireplace. “Sure thing! On my way.” He turned and hurried out the door.

Dawn sighed. “Spray?”

“Right here, lad,” the Shetland stallion said from Dawn’s side.

Dawn looked down, shaking his head. “Right. You round up our tribals down at Drywall.” He held up a hoof when Spray was about to complain. “I know you’ve got the shortest legs and all that,” he said with a small grin, “But nobody can swear in Whinny as well as you.”

Spray huffed in annoyance but nodded after a moment. “Och aye, a ken ye’re right. See you later then.” With that he sauntered out onto main street.

Behind Dawn, Moorland sighed. “I should have known I’d rue the day I let him have that dictionary.”

“Does he even know that nobody on Orkney ever spoke Scots?” Brenda said with a chuckle. She tilted her head. “Actually, I’ve been wondering where Buidhe and her tribe got their Gaelic names from.”

“Oh? That is interesting,” Moorland said, his ears perking. “There may yet be more to them than meets the eye.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” came a cool voice from the kitchen door. Solstice entered the lobby with a scowl on his face.

Moorland looked to the ceiling with a sigh. “Exactly what I said. If-”

“Oh cut it, you two,” Harvest interrupted him. “Dawn? Me and Sol are taking the part up west.”

Solstice blinked and turned to his eldest brother. “Since when?”

“Since now. Got something to mull over with you. Let’s go.” Harvest snorted. “I’m not in the mood to kick you today. You going to come with me or do I have to drag you?”

“Okay, okay, I’m coming. Someone tell mum,” Solstice muttered and trotted out the door, well ahead of Harvest.

Dawn nodded. “That’s taken care of then,” he said and dismissed the others in attendance.

“Uhm…” Brenda began. “I guess I’ll go help mum then.”

He shook his head. “No, she’ll just have to find someone else. You stay here with me and Moorland so we can go over how we’re going to do this.”

“We?” she asked in surprise.

“Of course. You’ll be at my side.”

Brenda fidgeted with her forehooves. “But I thought- I mean, I’m not a good speaker. Isn’t there a bit much at stake here?”

“Yes there is,” he said. “And that’s why I need the ‘expert on humans and equine sciences’ to back me up.”

“But-”

“No ‘buts’, Brenda. You’re either part of all of this or nothing. Since you insisted on taking part in our meeting yesterday, you’ll take part in presenting my cause to everyone else today. If you want to be treated as an equal, you’ll have to act like one.”

She swallowed, ear beginning to splay back. “This isn’t some boring powerpoint at uni! What if I screw this up? I’m- I’m no leading mare!”

Dawn swished his tail in annoyance. “I’m not discussing this and I don’t care about whatever you’re talking about this time.” He sharply drew the tip of his right hoof over the floor in front of him. “You’ll be at my side whether you want to or not.”

Brenda’s ear drooped and she lowered her head. “Yes, Dawn.”

Early next morning, a fine drizzle was drifting down from the low hanging clouds on a lazy breeze. To the north, the leaden waters of the Loch of Stennes lay calm and seemed to merge with the hazy sky in the distance.

Hundreds of hooves were turning the ground east of the decrepit bridge over the loch’s inlet to mud. Inganess Bay beckoned. No one able to travel would pass up attending what well might be the most important gathering in their lifetime.

On one hoof, Dawn was thankful for the show of unanimous support. Proud of it. Proud of himself. Most would already have followed him, if for nothing else than Kirkwall’s resources. Others cared for friendship with South Ronaldsay. The Marked One backing him up had lent the necessary weight to his words to convince all of them. Make them believe.

Harvest had given up his place to the right of Dawn for the occasion. In his stead Brenda walked beside Dawn now, looking uncomfortable. Not just from the rain, though that of course didn’t help.

“At least the weather could have improved over the last century,” she muttered. “It’s the end of June, for god’s sake.” A slurping sound accompanied her pulling a hind hoof out of a mudpuddle.

“As the wind is coming from a westerly direction, the atmospheric conditions are unlikely to change anytime soon.” Moorland was walking next to Dawn on the left.

Solstice snorted. “You really in the mood for giving a lecture now?” he said from further left.

“This was not meant as a lecture! I was merely-”

Dawn ruffled his wings, scattering small droplets about. “Solstice has a point, Moor,” he said in a tired voice as he stepped over a raised slab of tarmac.

“Hmpf.”

When the band of solid ground narrowed to little more than the embankment of the old A965, the herd formed a long procession behind their leader and his family. The road was the only thing left of the landscape features marked on Dawn’s maps after nature had reclaimed the former pastures and country lanes. Left and right, the rain had turned the marshland into a pattern of small lakes. White dots of cottongrass swayed in the soft wind.

“At least there aren’t any midges today,’ Brenda said and snorted. “Guess it would be somewhat distracting from having a serious conversation. They’re going to have enough stress as it is.”

Dawn looked to his right. “Only they?”

Brenda looked at him in surprise. “Well, yeah. After what Solstice told us about them, it sounded like they still act more or less after their natural behaviour?”

“Wait, I’m not sure I got that.” He frowned. “What do you mean by their natural behaviour?”

“Uhm, I mean, the way horses behaved when I was still human? I told you that horses were pretty dumb, acted mostly on instinct and couldn’t talk.” She bit her lip. “I did, didn’t I?” she added, sounding a little nervous.

Dawn still felt just as uncomfortable about the topic as when Brenda had first brought it up. He shook his head, spraying her with water from his mane. “You did,” he replied with a sigh and tried to focus. “Why then would they be more stressed than me?” he said with a sigh and added, “That’d be quite the feat.”

“I’ve been thinking a lot about this over the last two days.” She took a deep breath. “I mean, they’ve still got that herd structure with families that don’t mix and leading mares. But now they move as one large herd despite that, but territory is still very important to them. Only that now every family moves its own little slice of territory around with them that isn’t to be casually disturbed by others.”

Brenda cocked her head, biting her lower lip. “Or something like that.” She nodded to herself after a brief pause. “And that strict adherence to rank, with a powerful leading pair that can override all the other mares’ decisions and whose family members are somehow exempt from some rules. They all submit to that system with no questions asked, then also all these complicated rituals with the choice of mate and conflict solving and-”

“Brenda, stop.” Dawn closed his eyes for a moment and almost slipped as a result. “Can you give me the short version?” he said with a sigh. “I’ll need that written down. Moor, have you been listening?”

“Of course, dear brother. It is quite intriguing.” Moorland hummed a little tune for a few seconds. “Brenda, correct me if I’m wrong, but does this mean that the South Ronaldsays have converted the mindless instincts of their ancestors-”

“So we’re better than them or what?!” Solstice snapped.

“Would you let me finish, dear brother?”

A disdainful snort.

“Thank you.” Moorland gave a put-upon sigh. “Where was I? Ah yes. So they have converted the traditions of their forebears into their current tribal customs. Not just translated but converted. An almost seamless assimilation. Interesting. How did you deduce that, Brenda?”

“Uhm.” Brenda cleared her throat, ear beginning to splay back. “Please,” she began but stopped to clear her throat a second time. “Please don’t take this the wrong way. It’s just, well… the, uhm, old folk had a good understanding of how these instincts worked. Like, already a few thousand years ago. W- They used that to develop appropriate practices to first domesticate and then control their animals and to keep them docile. To some degree also to teach them how to follow commands.”

An awkward silence followed, broken only by hoofbeats on the sodden ground.

“It’s not my fault!” the little mare snapped, ear flat against her head.

Sometimes Dawn felt utterly lost in her presence. And hurt. And stupid. And stupid for having these feelings in the first place. For a change, he was thankful for Moorland being the first to speak up again.

Moorland sounded unfazed. If anything, he sounded fascinated. “So… let me venture a guess. They aren’t comfortable with assembling all families in a close space for an extended period of time. Am I right?”

Brenda nodded. “Only when travelling.”

“Of course,” Moorland said. “But you can’t have an important meeting alone, and yet neither can you have one with everyone milling about. Tricky for their chieftain.” He nodded to himself. “In addition to that, we will be somewhat close to intruding on their territory with over a hundred of our people. Distressing on its own.”

His analytical tone grew a little more enthusiastic. “Our behaviour will seem random to them, which will have a disconcerting effect since they won’t be able to deduce our intentions from that. Their leader will still have to act as if there is no reason to be disconcerted. No frame of reference for that situation. Confusion? Nervousness? Maybe even aggression?”

Brenda gaped at him. “How in the-”

“We might be able use that to our advantage,” Moorland concluded with a self-satisfied smile.

A moment later, Dawn’s brain caught up with his ears. He stopped up with a squelch of mashed vegetation. “Are you out of your mind?!” he hissed, flaring out his wings and hitting Brenda in the face with one of them. “I’m not going to try and manipulate them! We are not having a discussion about this.”

Moorland retreated a step and bumped into Solstice who rounded on him.

“You want to play them?!” Solstice snarled. “I’ll not let you try and treat them like Brenda’s dumb horse, you dungheap!”

“Stop it!” Dawn bit out. “Move on!”

“I will not be talked to in this kind of language! Not even from a member of my own family,” Moorland said, ignoring the command.

Solstice put his muzzle an inch to Moorland’s face. “I’d take Buidhe’s family over your company any time!”

Moorland gave Solstice a cold look. “Is that so? Well then. Off you go with your little princess.”

Solstice bared his teeth and lifted a foreleg.

Dawn arched his neck and spread his wings to their full extent. “Solstice Spirit and Moorland Song!” he shouted, well aware of the wide eyed onlookers behind them. “I’m not letting you two sabotage this! He turned to Harvest. “Swap places with Moorland until he and Solstice recall how to behave like members of my household.”

Brenda was about to make way for Moorland when Dawn touched her with a wingtip to her withers. “You stay where you are. I want sane people on either side of me.”

She looked uncomfortable but moved back to his righthoof side, relegating Moorland to second place on the outside. When Moorland passed behind her, she tensed and tucked in her tail.

Dawn turned his head and held Moorland’s gaze until his brother lowered his eyes and took up his new station. “One more word about this and you’re going back home. Understood?”

“Yes,” Moorland replied in a flat voice.

“Same for you, Solstice. Keep a hold on yourself.”

Solstice hung his head and mumbled an apology.

Closing his eyes for a moment, Dawn drew a deep breath and looked back at the ponies and horses behind him. Dozens of flicking ears marked the place in the line where the murmuring had already travelled to. “Let’s go!” he called out in a gruff voice and started walking again.

Harvest swished his tail and gave an approving nod, falling in line at Dawn’s side.

The next mile passed in stony silence between the leading five. Behind them though there was plenty of talking and nickering, accompanied by careful glances to the front. It blended with the occasional neigh of a parent calling on their colt or filly to stop dallying. Gravel bouncing off the embankment and landing in grey puddles with small splashes. Wet grass swishing between their legs. The clip clop of hundreds of hooves on the old road surface.

They passed the remains of a low building with a canopy held up by weathered pillars to their left. A faded sign over the empty windows proclaimed it to be ‘Sutherland’s Garage’. Cracked and overgrown tarmac covered the space around it and under the small roof. Three square, rusted columns the height of a pony stood beside each other, jutting up from high grass.

Brenda fixed her eyes on the ground, ear drooping and jaw set.

Dawn looked to his right and cleared his throat, thankful for the opportunity to break the silence. “Something the matter, Brenda?”

“It’s nothing.”

“You’re a very bad liar,” he said with a sigh. “Out with it. I don’t want any more surprises today.”

Brenda hung her head. “And I don’t want to cry in front of everybody,” she said quietly. “But you’re right, I guess.” She looked straight ahead until the place was well behind them and sighed. “My dad used to run that place before he sold it ‘cause his back was acting up. The guy who bought it from him, Owen-” She swallowed. “He was a nice guy. Used to work there. He-” she broke off, sniffling, before continuing in a thick voice. “That house on the right before we got here. Gerri’s. Was an ice cream parlour. He-” A shaky breath. “He got me ice cream there when I was a little girl. Used to show me stuff in the workshop. Said he’d make me a mechanic and- and my dad would laugh and- and... shit, I-”

Dammit. Dawn sighed and put a wing over her back, shielding her from the curious gazes of those walking behind her.

The soft drizzle turned into steady rain, muffling her quiet sobs.

The narrow causeway that was the A965 swung northeast and reached solid ground. On either side of the road, open meadowland replaced the fields of sedges and half sunken farmsteads.

Dawn folded his wing back up when Brenda had composed herself again. “Sorry for forcing you through that, but I need to know what might come up.”

She nodded, rainwater dripping from her forelock and muzzle. “I… I think I’m fine.” Looking up to the low clouds she continued, “Have to learn to deal with this. And I understand. Wouldn’t want to be in your place really.”

“I’m not too keen on it myself right now,” he said drily and smiled when a little smirk touched Brenda’s lips.

Harvest swished his tail and snorted water from his nostrils in small droplets. “I’ve got your back.” A simple statement with no undertones.

Dawn felt a satisfied smile spread over his muzzle as he touched his brother’s withers with a wingtip. Harvest bowed his head at the gesture of acknowledgement and assumed his position again. One head behind to the left, matching Dawn’s gait.

From Loch Harray to the north, a great skua came drifting past on patrol. The large bird of prey banked hard as it spotted a pair of lapwings the herd had roused. Oblivious to the danger from above, one of the wading birds met its end a moment later. Prey secure in its claws, the skua circled low over their heads and gave its raspy hah-hah-hah before departing in the direction of Maes Howe.

“Did she just thank us?” Brenda asked in bewilderment.

“They usually do,” Dawn replied absentmindedly, following the bird’s retreating shape with his eyes. The low grave mound was coming into view through the damp haze about a mile away. “Say, how old was your father when… it happened.”

There was a long pause, followed by a deep breath. “Fifty-five.”

Broken asphalt crunched underhoof, breaking the steady clip clop of the herd in irregular intervals.

“Did you know him well?” Dawn asked.

“Yes?” Brenda replied, sounding confused. “He’s my dad. Why wouldn’t I?”

He snorted. “Because I’m not sure anymore that I knew mine,” he said and flicked his head towards the grave. “We buried him in spring... a hundred and twenty years. I think. Maybe… how old are you?”

Brenda looked at him with wide eyes. “A hundred and twenty? Wow. that’s longer than the old folk lived. Horses normally live for thirty or forty years. Well, except the Icelandic, they easily reach forty five or fifty, but-”

“Mother is forty,” Dawn interrupted her in irritation.

“Seriously? But mum is a fjord pony and she doesn’t look old at all!” Wet grass swished between their hooves. “A… rather small, green fjord pony, okay. I- forget it. Anyway. Didn’t you see my birthday on my driver’s licence? I’m twenty four.”

Dawn blinked. “You are? Then you’re as old as Harvest. Wouldn’t have thought that by looking at you.”

“I have no idea how I should look for my age in this form. Or what a pegasus should look like for that matter,” Brenda added. “If Harvest is my age, then how old are you?”

“Sixteen.” Dawn cocked his head at the surprised look on Brenda’s face. “What is it?”

“Nothing!” she hurried to reply. Another little pause. “Uhm. I have a feeling that I’m going to make myself sound like a fool now.” She sighed. “Anyway, how long do horses take to reach maturity here?”

Dawn narrowed his eyes at Brenda. “Are you saying-”

“No, I’m not!” Brenda gave him a nervous glance, ear flicking about.

Dawn shook his head with an irritated nicker and regarded her with a wary look. “I’m not sure, maybe you should ask mother.”

“It’s because natural-” Brenda sighed when he frowned at her. “You know, this is really difficult! Your, eh, equine ancestors were fully grown at three.”

“Three?” Dawn hesitated, feeling as if there was a headache coming on. Everything about Brenda and what she told him became stranger the more he got to know her. It also felt as if she knew more about him than himself. “The foals learn to speak at about two, earlier when they only hear Whinny. Grown… huh.”

“You have to know that, don’t you? I mean, they’re your people.”

Dawn felt his ears splay back. He ought to rebuke her for exposing his lack of knowledge in public like this. Even if the others couldn’t understand what those in the lead were talking about, he shouldn’t allow it. Stop her from questioning him. Even if the topic was inconsequential to all of them. And what’s it to you? Instead, he turned his head away while blinking rain out of his eyes.

They passed Maes Howe, the solitary barrow in the green expanse outlined against the grey sky. Father. He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the rain on his back. Listening to the hundreds of hoofbeats. Smelling Brenda’s growing apprehension. Damn you.

Dawn looked back at the little mare by his side who had her head lowered and her tail between her legs. A deep breath, ears forward. “Honestly?” he said in a conversational tone. “I have no idea and I’ve never thought about it until you brought it up. Father declared me his heir when I was fourteen.”

Brenda’s relief was almost palpable as a smile graced her muzzle. “That’s funny. You know, a few hundred years ago fourteen was the age when boys were viewed as grown men.”

He looked ahead again to where the road turned towards Finstown in the east, cutting through the low hills. It’s surface was in good shape on this stretch and the embankment solid. That’s it?

Distant thunder came from the north. “I was always the smallest and weakest,” Dawn said. To his surprise, saying it to Brenda like that didn’t hurt at all. He nodded to himself, water dripping from his forelock onto his muzzle. “And I was also the last of the foals my age to learn to speak. At least that’s what mother told me.”

He heard Brenda give a deep sigh. “Well-”

“Same here,” came Harvest’s voice from the left, sounding thoughtful.

Dawn almost jumped. “Really?”

“Yeah.” There was a pregnant pause. “Got back at them all later though,” he said, a smug smile tinting his voice. “Twice and thrice over.” He cocked his head and continued, “Guess no one ever told you, huh? Moor always weaseled out or got them to fight each other, and Sol was everybody’s best doltish mate anyway.”

Dawn realised he was gaping and shut his muzzle. “I didn’t know that,” he said in a flat tone.

“And you,” Harvest said and shook his head with a frown, “You just took it. Just took it all. No matter what, from me or Moor or whoever… you just took it.” An annoyed huff. “You just took it and walked away afterwards. Sun and moon, I hated you for it. I wanted to break you so bad and I never managed. And father kicked the shit out of me and Moor for it. Mostly me though. Several times.”

All Dawn could do was stare.

“Hah! I see father really never told you. And mother probably didn’t want to upset you, bless her.” Harvest laughed and shook his head with a rare grin. “And you’ll take whatever their chieftain gives you and I’ll make sure you give it right back,” he said in his usual gruff voice. “Now let’s get a move on, this weather is pissing me off.”

Four hours later, they reached the flat expanse of land south of Inganess Bay. Where the road crossed a row of five parallel lines of corroded girder masts, Dawn called for a halt. Behind the remains of a chain-link fence, the row ended at a broad band of tarmac. Stretching from west to east over the meadowland, its surface was in a much better shape than that of the road. Even the white arrow markings and numbers were almost intact.

The weather had begun to clear on the last mile from the old city, with the occasional rays of sunlight creating fleeting patterns on the ground. Some two hundred yards away, the rusted hull of a flying machine still sat at what was left of its shed. The wings hung limp at its sides. Just as useless as his own.

Dawn recognised the machine from Moorland’s books, but it was hard to believe this thing had ever left the ground. That it had ever carried people. He glanced at the little mare to his right. Brenda would know. Hadn’t she said something about having flown to the large city of Aberdeen? It was… He shook his head with an irritated snort. Not now, of all times. Dawn forced the thought out of his head and looked away from the ancient plane, gazing out over the flat land.

Two narrower asphalt bands stretched from northwest to southeast and from southwest to northeast. Where they met the main band and formed a six-way crossing straight ahead, two Icelandic horses stood waiting. The South Ronaldsay tribe formed a long line behind them, three rows deep.

Dawn took a deep breath and set his jaw. Head held high and with measured steps, he led his herd onto the field.

Alright. This is it.

Author's Note

The map used here is the exact same that Dawn would have (and from which he knows that e.g. the main road is the 'A965'). The scale is 1:50000 with a 1km (0.62m) grid.

Kirkwall - Welcome to The New World

The Daily Mail on the counter in her (not actually hers, thank the maker) little convenience store was leading with 'QUEEN WIELDS PALACE JOB AXE'. It was also salivating over the 'Royal Shock! Harry's hottie CAN act'. A Prince's girlfriend caught on film while having a hand resting a little below her lap (on her leg actually, but with the right angle one could...).

Stuff like this would never go out of yellow publishing fashion. She wondered how many readers The Daily Mail would loose overnight if the Queen and her family ever just ceased to exist. Hoping for The Daily Mail to just cease to exist was probably a bit much to ask from the universe.

It was a good thing she also was staffing the tiny post office part of Mr. Muir's stuffy shop. Its desk was large enough to read newspapers on, even if she wasn't quite sure the rag before her counted as such. She'd already finished the Guardian's weekend edition fifteen minutes ago, around eleven. Also, her phone was broken. She had the distinct feeling that her brain was shrinking a little with each article she read, but it was still better than being terminally bored.

Maybe 'staffing' was too big a word, it wasn't as if there were enough customers, or space for that matter, to employ two people on the same shift. The calender on the wall read May 23rd 2015 and the real tourist season was still a week or two away. No steady stream of backpackers in need of Blue Dragon stirfry sauce (oyster variety especially, for some inexplicable reason) and cheap Chinese noodles yet. Not even 2for1 Tennent's.

At least there were a few confused 'normal' tourists every now and then who'd lost their way from the Highland Park distillery to St. Magnus Cathedral. Seriously.

The clock had crawled a little past twelve when she was startled from her Mail-induced trance. “Hello Brenda, how's it going? Not disappeared yet?” Timothy Muir was a nice fellow in his mid-fifties, thick grey hair and a permanently soft expression on his round face. He always wore minimalistic glasses on his broad nose that were as non-fitting in every sense of the word as humanly possible. She liked him.

“Nah, Sandy hasn't shown up yet. Always just makes it at the very last minute.” She sighed. Couldn't really blame her.

He was carrying a carton of Walker's salt & vinegar to refill the one that had finally run out. “I'll have a little word-.” As soon as he stepped close to her he scrunched up his nose and sneezed explosively. As a result he dropped the carton and frowned. “You wearing that thing again, aren't you?” he sniffled and took a step back before looking her over.

She facepalmed. “Sorry. I'll never learn that,” she exclaimed and looked down at the black, woollen sweater she'd already worn early this morning while looking after her Fjord pony Freya.

As usual, she'd almost stayed too long and had to hurry here. As usual, she'd forgotten to change out of the piece of clothing full of yellow tinted, off-white horse hairs that her boss was allergic to.

“Don't worry. As long as you pick up the stuff I drop because of you, you're forgiven.” He smiled in his fatherly way. “You know what, I'll cover for you until she gets here. Go grab some lunch, why don't you? See you tomorrow!”

“Thanks Tim!” she exclaimed and beamed at him before hurrying to pick up the packets of crisps so she could get out and back to the farm. Freya was due for some new horseshoes today and she might just fit one or two of them herself! The blacksmith was a good friend of hers and she'd helped him out a lot over the years, to the point of almost being his unofficial apprentice.

The set for her pony she'd even hammered herself and he'd approved of her work! She smiled to herself. Guess she was half blacksmith already... maybe her bachelor in equine sciences would pay off yet. Maybe she wouldn't have to work as a shop assistant for the rest of her life.

When she stepped out into the brilliant sunshine she realized she'd just made a decision. She'd start over, begin a real apprenticeship and make a living out of something she genuinely enjoyed. And who knew what that could lead to? Smiling to herself, she set out along the road that would take her past the distillery, out the southern part of town and towards her destiny!

She grinned at the melodrama.

Ten seconds later, somebody short-circuited the universe.

Her vision distorted and collapsed into blackness. The dark lit up with a flash of blue light that itself contracted to a single white horizontal line which winked out to a glimmer of static.

Slowly, it spun. A kind of gravity seemed to assert itself, along with the sudden feeling of vertigo.

Distant lightning criss-crossed the darkness.

Without warning, the line solidified again and came racing up towards her point of view, expanding until it filled her entire vision. The wall of white washed over her in a starburst of searing blue light.

Her vision refocused on cracked pavement overgrown with weeds and bushes and lined by dark walls. Heavy rain lashed her face and strong winds buffeted her immediately drenched body.

She gasped. Blinked. Small rivulets of water on the black surfaces ran red with a reflected glow coming from behind. She stared. Turned her head. Saw the crimson midnight sun sitting on the northern horizon, illuminating black and purple storm clouds from below.

Her breathing quickened when she looked back at where she'd just come from. Timothy Muir's little shop was a crumbling carcass with a crooked tree sprouting from where the shop window had been. His trusty 1988 Volvo still sat at the curb where he'd left it an hour ago, covered in litter and flaking rust. Only the chassis' distinct form made it even recognizable anymore. Her chest contracted and turned her breath into ragged gasps.

She started to run but tripped on the first step and hit the ground hard when she tried to catch her fall with hands she no longer had. The impact almost knocked her out, but the jolt of pain stopped her from hyperventilating and reset her brain. The quick to arrive metallic taste in her mouth did the rest.

With a pained groan she rolled onto her side and tried to sit up, but her forelegs refused to work that way.

Forelegs.

Forelegs still partly covered by her woollen sweater she'd torn with that frantic first step and subsequent fall. Well, one of the two was still covered. She lifted the one bare leg close to her face and studied it intently. The heavy raindrops still battering her she didn't even register anymore.

“Forearm, well muscled. Sturdy knee. Cannon on the short side. Very solid. Fetlock strong,” her voice was alternating between a hysterical giggle and clinical assessment. “Ergot hardly pronounced, pastern rather broad and short, could take a lot of strain. Coronet nothing special, hoof.”

She took a closer look. “Fine condition, perfect health and shape, sturdy, never been shod.” She regarded the equine leg with its dripping wet and dirty pale yellow fur for a long while. Then she crossed her eyes.

“Muzzle,” she stated flatly.

After rolling onto her belly she deliberated for a few moments. She tried to sit up with movements she suspected would be anatomically correct for her new joints. They were.

“Horse.”

She found shelter under a still intact half of a roof further down the road from where she'd arrived in... whatever it was. It still looked like Kirkwall. Kirkwall after the apocalypse.

Hadn't' she arrived in front of the little store, she wasn't sure if she'd have a clue as to where she was right now. Maybe the remains of one of the B&Bs situated further up the road that made their main business off of customers who'd spent a little too long at the distillery. The tasting sessions that followed the guided tours at the distillery could be rather demanding.

Huddled against the far wall, she began to take stock of her situation. A wet and freezing pony, going by her approximately Shetland-plus-a-little height, in an empty city. The cold was mitigated by two layers of too large and generally ill-fitting clothing of merino wool, on her front part at least.

Plenty of water, and food shouldn't be a problem if she was a true equine and not just looked like one. She wondered how grass would taste. It had to be around midsummer, so she wasn't in any danger of freezing to death and she had found a dry spot to wait out the storm. She wondered why she was being so calm.

She realized that she had much better hearing now and could discern what kind of surface the raindrops were actually hitting. The faint ploink of rusty cars, the quiet pit-pat of brick and asphalt and the ever-changing hiss and rustle of vegetation. They were the only sound apart from her own breathing and it was mesmerizing. It lulled her into a dreamless sleep, curled up on her little dry spot.

When she awoke next day, it took her a minute to remember yesterdays events. Carefully she rose to her hooves and tried to work out the stiffness in her joints while keeping her balance.

Common sense dictated she move out of the city to find something decent to eat since she was pretty sure what would be palatable to her new form. Stiff or bitter or acidic weeds and shrubs weren't in that category. She might just as well continue in the direction she'd wanted to go when she stepped out of the shop yesterday. Maybe she'd find another living creature down at the farm.

The sky had cleared and the sun shone down from a blue sky adorned with wispy clouds. The city looked exactly like an artist's impression of an end-times wasteland. It was something she'd often seen on a few of the artist tumblr blogs she followed. Endtimes stuff had always fascinated her. Funny that.

Like a twisted park about to loose its recognizability, the roads were more green than black with moss and weeds everywhere. Small, crooked willow trees grew around little ponds formed by the build-up of litter in places the asphalt was still intact. It had a strange beauty to it.

She stopped at one of the small pools to get a look at her reflection. Half an hour later she was still staring at the creature with its pale, smoky yellow coat, bright orange mane and ludicrously large eyes of a reddish brown colour.

The surreality was enhanced by the alien equine wearing a black t-shirt under a damaged black jumper that was missing the left sleeve. The black leather trousers slung over the strange animal's back didn't help.

The latter would never fit again, but they were waterproof and the pockets contained all her remaining worldly possessions. Might as well keep them. She'd left her tight boots behind since those hadn't taken too well to being filled with hooves. Right now she probably wore the best 'footwear' she'd ever have anyway.

“Okay,” she said against the oppressive silence of the dead city. Her voice sounded higher pitched than before, but not unpleasantly so. Rather more melodic. “Get moving Brenda, this shouldn't be too hard. You've studied this stuff for years. That's first semester. No need to stumble around and trip over your own... hooves.”

If Freya could learn to walk a few yards on two hindlegs alone, Brenda could damn well learn to walk on four. Smoother ground would have been nice, but whatever. “Head this height. Balance. Uhm...”, she hesitated at the strange feeling on her head. “Ears forward in concentration? Thanks guys. Now lift that right hoof a little.” She took an apprehensive breath and swished her tail.

“Okay, here goes! Right hind. Right fore. Left hind. Left fore... woah! Back hoof into hoofprint of front hoof! Keep that four-beat you foal!” Foal? Whatever. Start over.

She tried to suppress the conscious part of her mind that insisted that this wasn't how one was supposed to walk. Opposed to that, a seemingly new and hard-wired part of her brain gave the impression of being delighted with the developments. A good fifty yards later the former threw up its hands in frustration and went to sulk in a corner.

“Hey, this is so cool!” She grinned while walking through her civilization's graveyard. “Alright! Trot! Two-beat!” A steady tchak-tchak-tchak-tchak announced her successful switch into the cross-diagonal gait and she whooped as she travelled past the desolate ruins at some exhilarating eight miles an hour.

She had to laugh at the mental image of how Freya might react to this display by her former owner. Give her two weeks and she'd be able to race her! She stopped short, broken road surface crunching under her hooves as an icy lump began to form in her chest and stomach. Freya. If no one was around apart from herself and time had moved on as far as it looked, Freya had died decades ago.

So had Tim. So had mum. So had everyone.

A soft wind played with her mane. Willow bushes swayed to its whistling that filled the peaceful streets. Unblemished blue sky free of contrails reflected in puddles on the sidewalk. Somewhere in the distance, a bird sang its song, clear and loud and with no traffic to drown it out. Her breathing quickened. The shallow ruins of the dead city drew close and loomed over her, mocking her cheerfulness from only moments ago.

Her ears strained to pick up anything that would hint at the presence of other people. There was the far away sound of metal creaking against rotting fixtures, nothing more. Empty windows leered at her and made her back up against the nearest wall. She jumped when her rump touched the brickwork and something scurried away on little feet. She began to shake.

Alone. The crumbling two storey house she stood below was impossibly high. Its entrance exceeded more than double her height. Parts of the dark grey wall still glistened where water had now seeped out for years and painted the bricks with algae and lichen. Lichen that would only thrive in the cleanest air. There was nothing to cause pollution anywhere nearby.

She would have clammy hands by now, but she was a little horse. A small, four legged creature in the vast emptiness that was her former home. Run. Anywhere but here. Small horses could break a cold sweat. A shriek pierced the air when a few crumbs of mortar fell from above. Her gallop ended after three yards when she got the rhythm wrong and stumbled over an old garbage bin.

The noise of the container bouncing away over cracked asphalt was deafening. It was followed by absolute silence, as all the birds stopped singing at the unexpected din. Now all she could hear was her own ragged breathing that gradually became sobs. There was no one to run to in an empty city. In an empty world.

Alone.

It was late in the afternoon when she finally lifted her head from the ground again. She took in her surroundings with dead, red-rimmed eyes that had shed all the tears they were able to shed hours ago. A rational corner of her mind, that didn't feel as if it belonged to herself entirely, insisted on finding shelter for the night.

Five minutes down the patchy road at a slow and stumbling walk, a feeling of wrongness crept up on her. As if something was out of a place. She stopped and scanned her surroundings for any sign of danger, yet there was none to be found, no matter how hard she concentrated. Just emptiness.

Then her eyes locked on to something that didn't fit into this place at all: a car with hardly any rust. Compared to the other wrecks she'd seen, the Skoda with an only slightly matted silver finish looked brand new. It had crashed into a large and rusted dumpster. Judging by the angle and damage to the left front wheel, it had veered off the corrugated road and rattled over the curb and pavement without braking.

The door on the driver's side was open and the upholstery on the front seat, though damp and grimy and full of animal hairs, wasn't decayed to any noteworthy degree. It couldn't have been sitting there for more than two years or so.

“Hello?” she called out. “Is anybody there?” The only answer was the faintest of echoes. Then she saw it: a cotton rag caught in some brambles growing up and over a nearby fence. The colour pattern on the piece of a former shirt was still visible. Someone had been here. Someone alive. Hope welled up in her as she scanned her surroundings again, this time for the most inviting shelter. “Hello?!” Silence.

'Rooms', declared a wooden sign behind a cracked window pane to her left. The B&B looked as if it had a dry reception area and promised comparatively comfortable shelter. Maybe he or she had set up a little base in there?

Four-legged movement had ceased to be fun that afternoon and she almost fell twice on her way to the door. Her tired, rational mind insisted that walking like this still was wrong and would not be told otherwise by some helpless animal. The second time she stumbled she caught herself with a swaying motion that ended with her catching all her weight on her right hindhoof. Something crunched and rattled in the long grass.

He was still wearing the shirt collar around his neck, just below the almost comical looking skull. Huge, forward pointing eye sockets and the muzzle that was too short for a normal pony left no doubt about his species. In contrast to herself though, a sharp horn protruded from his forehead. Along it, the stallion gazed up at her from his final resting place where he had died alone. The nose and one of the shin bones were broken.

She was still sitting on the pavement and staring numbly at the scattered bones before her when the day began to give way to a murky, silent night.

After a night of intermittent, fitful sleep she awoke to silence. It grated on her. She had loved being away from civilization every now and then. Taking a boat to one of the isles and pitch a tent on the moors for a night or two was something wonderful after all. But you weren't supposed to be away from civilization in a city. It was wrong. It made the loneliness oppressive, the silence maddening.

Something moved in the shadow behind her. She snapped her head around and hit her muzzle on the reception desk she'd slept behind, only to see her own tail swish. After waiting for the pain to subside she opened her watery eyes and rose to her hooves. The wind carried the cries of seagulls from the harbour bay. A branch scratched against some roof tiles.

After half an hour of standing with her forehead pressed against the wall panelling, she whimpered and kicked the desk. Her hindhoof went right through it, splinters bouncing of the walls and clattering out the doorway.

Whoever he'd been, he didn't deserve to just lie here as if discarded. She'd bury him, as well as she could. It wasn't far to the nearest half collapsed wall and even a small grave mound of old bricks was still a grave mound.

Carrying the bones to the wall would have been easier than carrying the stones back, but she couldn't. She'd tried, after what felt like an hour of telling herself it was alright to pick them up in the only way her new form would allow. She'd almost touched the smooth bone before she recoiled, retching and pawing at her muzzle. Carrying dirty bricks it was then.

There was no reason for her to care. Yet she did. She was doing something for someone who was here. That also meant she needed to move properly, so she concentrated on her hoofwork again and let that other part take over as soon as she'd gotten it right. She was almost finished covering the bones she had pulled together with her hooves when one of them caught her eye. It had some vaguely familiar markings. With a dry mouth she realized they were bite marks.

Something had eaten him. Something had found him alone and eaten him! Alone. Just like her. She needed to move. Now. But she also still needed to finish this, even if her instincts were screaming at her to leave. She owed him that. Her jaws ached when she at last dropped the final brick on the little grave and said her goodbyes.

It took her fifteen minutes to coax her legs into a coordinated trot again. What had been so easy and above all fast yesterday wasn't quick enough today. Not by a long shot. Now she didn't only want to go somewhere, she also felt the urgent need to leave as fast as possible. It wasn't entirely rational thinking, but what good would that do anyway? She tried a canter. The fall hurt.

Half an hour later she'd finally done it. By closing her eyes, concentrating on the gait she needed and demanding from her body to bring her from a to b, she'd found that point again where something clicked into place in her brain. When she stopped to pay attention in exactly that moment, then that new part took over and quashed the feeling of wrongness her bipedal mind still was experiencing. Never mind the bruises.

It was as exhilarating as it had been yesterday and she was more than prepared to lose herself in the sensation again. Everything but dealing with the silence. Everything but dealing with that feeling of dread. She caught herself giggling at the thought of finding a way to have a conversation with her other part.

Currently it seemed to be occupied elsewhere though. She felt her ears swivel on their own accord and her hooves crunched to an abrupt stop, ending her daydreaming. Then her conscious brain deciphered the new input and she heard it.

A distant series of short barks. All from the same general direction, punctuated by even stretches of silence. At the next series of barks, a little closer than the last one, something stirred in the back of her mind. It sent an unpleasant, tingling sensation down her spine. She nervously inched backwards, ears flicking about while trying to pinpoint the sounds. She could discern eight different voices, moving in on a path that crossed the road to her destination. Definitely voices. The barks were far too nuanced and coordinated to be anything else.

With a chill she realized that they had to be a patrolling pack of likely experienced and intelligent predators. She was a small horse and entirely new to these surroundings. The north-easterly wind was at her back and they were approaching from the southwest. Any worry or thought about other survivors, or about everything she had lost, vanished in an instant when the barks grew exited and began to close in on her position.

A wave of heat lit up her muscles. She bolted.

TACKA-TACK...TACKA-TACK...TACKA-TACK -skid-grapple-skid- TACKA-TACK...

It had 'clicked'. Thankfully. Her bipedal mind was cowering under the bed while her quadruped brain made use of its own instincts and the former human's anatomical knowledge to the best of its abilities. Heart pounding in the chest. Tunnel vision. “Don't trip! Don't trip!”

She flew around another corner and onto the main road to the city centre. Little by little, the yipping barks of her pursuers were getting closer.

“You'll never loose them in the city!” the strategically thinking biped screamed from her hiding place. Her quadruped counterpart grunted with exertion and shovelled more adrenaline into her burning muscles. The ground blurred.

Another breakneck jump over a row of small bushes and into a shallow pond, dirty water splashing up against her barrel. Another close call between using a slanted slab of tarmac to preserve momentum or break a leg on it.

Faster. Ignore that chipped hoof and the pained yelp of a dog stopped by a chunk of asphalt kicked loose in that jump. Its angry barks faded in the distance.

“Drift right! There's an opening to the left down there! Give us a wide arc! GET US AROUND THEM!” The pony tried to follow her own command and swerved. Grass, dirt and bits of splintered asphalt flew in all directions as she shifted her weight and leaned into the turn.

Her hooves had astounding purchase on the tricky ground.

The memory of the location popped to the surface of the rider's split mind and brought with it a sliver of hope. There was a startled bark to her left, followed by a metallic clank. A large dog slammed into the remains of a delivery van when trying to avoid a highspeed collision with its prey that had broken flight and shot past it on an unexpected trajectory.

“Good girl!”

A hedge! There had been a hedge and a path between two houses down there! Right at the bend in the road dammit! It was still there. Thank god it was still there. The hedge had turned into an alley with thick undergrowth on what had been the path. But she could still make it out! From here it was only half a mile around a few bends and out onto the open meadow!

Close your eyes. Ears flat. Trust those hooves. Headlong into that green wall.

With a splintering crash she ripped through the vegetation. Thin branches lashed her chest and muzzle while brambles teared out chunks of her fur and bloodied her forelegs. Intense pain on the side of her head. Just a split second.

Thorny branches burned her sides as they snapped back like whips. Close behind her hooves a dog yelped. The pony ploughed through and exploded onto a clearing, leaving a trail of debris and still with two hunters in hot pursuit.

Three more were waiting on the far side, blocking her escape.

She skidded to a wobbly halt on the damp grass while the two remaining dogs behind her fanned out to form a half circle. The other three mirrored their movement in front of her.

Those behind her had a multitude of scratches and one of them seemed to be favouring a leg. A few moments later, from the corner of her eyes, she saw the third one stagger out from the hedge. It had a deep diagonal gash on its forehead, running through the remains of its right eye.

Its growl wasn't so much menacing as it was hateful.

Why were they still here? A normal pack would have given up on the likely futile attempt to bring down a completely healthy animal long ago! An image of the skeleton she found flashed through her mind. Was she the first out of many to put up a fight?

She snorted foam that turned pink as it mixed with the blood seeping over her muzzle. This wasn't a normal pack. They barked and yip-yapped to each other in a short sequence. They were somehow communicating with each other.

She could see it in their eyes that filled with anger. These dogs could bear grudges, no matter that it wasn't her fault she turned out to not be easy prey. Their injuries, maybe even humiliation, had turned the situation personal.

Exhaustion intensified her fear which was rapidly advancing towards panic.

Her chest burned from the lashings, even though her sweater and undergarment had taken a lot of the actual cuts. They hung from her shoulders in loose tatters, increasingly soaked with blood from her torn right ear. The sleeveless left leg looked a lot worse for wear in comparison.

The dogs closed in. Slowly. Very slowly.

Two hunters guarded the entranceway. There was a fence with ornamental spikes to the right. The open field was ringed with dense hedges and chainlink fences. There was no way out.

She involuntarily backed up until a growl from behind reminded her of the move's pointlessness and drove her back into the middle of the snare. Sweat was dripping from her matted coat. She frantically looked around and was suddenly just Brenda again. Terrified shop-assistant turned little pony Brenda.

"HELP!" She cried out in a pitiful voice. "HELP!!!" As if anybody was there to hear her.

A deep growl from twenty yards in front of her made her legs tremble. She looked up and into the eyes of what had to be the pack leader. “I don't want to die. Oh God I don't want to die!” She tried to scream, but no sound came out. “Not like this...”

She noticed her body taking on a fighting stance all on its own and lock gazes with the large dog. Her resolve returned. She felt new strength fill her from her hooves on upwards. “Leave me alone!!!” she yelled in a breaking voice. “DO SOMETHING! ANYTHING!”

The equine pawed the ground two times, snorted, then brought her back hooves under herself and lowered her head. She never took her eyes off that one dog in front of her, willing the others out of existence. The tunnel vision came back.

“Oh god. I'm really doing this.” All of them charged simultaneously and time turned to syrup.

They took each other head on. Yellow eyes filled with grim determination locked on reddish brown ones filled with pure desperation for survival. Both of them put all their strength into the sprint. This was no normal pack. This was no normal dog. There was more than instinct here. Much more.

He blinked first.

At the very last moment before the jump, his angle veered off the slightest bit and his fangs ripped into the pony's upper chest, not her throat. Instead of gaining purchase for the kill, his jaw lost its grip, leaving deep gashes in her flesh as she screamed in pain. The next forward stretch in gallop hit him square in the ribs.

Coming down from the gallop's suspension phase, she felt her right hindleg hit the dog. The unexpected one-hoofed shift in grip made her slip and stumble as the dog's body was thrown backwards. She should have torn a muscle and fallen. Her hooves tore into the damp earth instead and, impossibly, her legs took the strain.

Out onto the road. Turn right. Sprint. Turn left.

Slip.

She was already on her hooves again before she had even fully hit the ground. Still she left a bloody smear on the cracked asphalt and offered the remaining pack a last chance to catch up. A single one of them hadn't given up, driven by sheer fury. He pulled even with her on the inside of the curve and leapt, sinking his fangs into her left flank.

“Don't slow down. Don't slow down. Oh god! Oh god this hurts! DON'T SLOW DOWN!” Her other part gave it all and everything that was left.

Her muscles were on fire, her lungs felt as if they would explode any moment now and her vision was beginning to lose colour. Still her mane and tail streamed back like banners, even with an enraged predator latched onto her hindquarters. A hundred yards ahead, the skeleton of a lorry sat on the roadside. Her human mind registered it through a red haze and her pony body swerved.

With a guttural scream she raced up to the vehicle and streaked past it with only inches to spare. Two seconds before impact, the dog let go with a whimper and saved its life. Looking back to check was out of the question.

The open fields came into view. She'd made it. She'd outran them. Pure terror kept her going anyway. At last, her body refused to cooperate any longer and brought her to a stop, head down, dripping sweat and froth and blood and fighting for breath. She burned.

Her blurry sight made out more movement up at the distillery warehouses on the far side of the meadow. That wasn't fair after all this! It wasn't fair! Her shaking legs gave out under her as she finally began to cry.

Seconds later, a young male voice carried down to her. “HEY THERE! YOU OKAY?”

She managed to lift her head but wasn't capable of anything more than a dry croak. She tried to stand, but fell back onto her side with a strangled sob and a whimper. A moment later she heard the quick hoofsteps of three horses.

“Sun and moon! Buidhe! We need to get her up there!” the one who had called out before exclaimed.“Tell Ruadh to stop being a damn jerk and help!”

That was followed by a series of angry neighs, nickers, snorts and very short whinnies of varying intonations between the two others. Her head swam. There was an actual language in there. None of this made any sense anymore.

She cried out when two strong bodies and a pair of nimble hooves half pressed, half hauled her to her legs. Two of her rescuers took her between themselves in a tight hold, so she wouldn't have to keep her balance on her own. She willed her legs to move with a tiny scrap of strength that somehow, from somewhere, had already returned again. Painful step by painful step.

“Just a little more! You're safe now girl!” the friendly male voice came from behind her. “We'll...” He broke off and, by the sound of it, had also stopped dead in his tracks.

“Solstice! Do not delay! Lead us!” one of those holding her upright called back in a female voice with an utterly strange accent she'd never heard before.

“Buidhe!” His voice wavered. “She... She has a mark!”

Stromness Town - Jigsaw

It was a little too early in the morning even to Moorland's liking, but then again he was dealing with tribals. It wouldn't be much of a surprise to learn that they didn't even have an expression for 'too early in the morning'. The orange Iceland pony had already left the guest house when he arrived and had taken the other one along.

He sighed. Dawn had reprimanded him the day before in private. Again. His brother did have a point, so he admonished himself in turn along the same lines. She had taken her brother with her. More akin to dragged him with her, he presumed, since the stallion still hadn't looked too good last night. He could approve of that course of action.

The building the two had stayed in for the last two days was otherwise only used on baking days. It was quite spacious, since a whole group of mares might need a roof over their heads in case of unfavourable weather. No one wanted to have a soaked mane dripping onto their freshly baked bread after all. It also kept the peat and kindling dry.

He exited the simple shelter behind the Royal Hotel and trotted out into the morning mist again, turning in the direction of the harbour. It should be a fine day today and make for pleasant travelling. Not that Ochre would care much, he presumed.

If he was honest with himself there was quite a bit about Ochre he could approve of; after all it wasn't her fault she lacked proper education. She had a lot more between her ears than the average member of the Stromness community. Given the chance, she could likely achieve quite a bit of sophistication, unlike their own emissary.

With a shake of his head he quickened his pace and soon reached the open space of the harbour parking lot. Ochre was standing at the far end when he trotted out from main street. She was, by the looks of it, having breakfast. He grimaced. She was grazing on the small adjoining piece of seriously poor meadow.

In his opinion, 'not wanting to be a bother' was very commendable but should only be exercised within certain limits. It should not lead to choose damp weeds over a lovingly prepared breakfast. Mother was going to be depressed for the rest of the day. She'd also compensate at the next opportunity, he reminded himself, so it wasn't all bad.

While trotting over he noticed her younger brother leaning against the wreck of a lorry. He still looked very tired indeed. His name translated to 'Dark Red', something that had already piqued his interest. 'Ochre' and 'Red' did not only match their coat colours but also seemed to fit their temperaments quite well. Granted, he hadn't exactly known the two for anything near long enough to draw such a conclusion, but he liked the hypothesis. Contemporary South Ronaldsay naming conventions seemed like an interesting topic. That wasn't why he got up that early today to catch the two tribals alone though. He had more important matters on his mind.

“Good morning!” he called out, making the red stallion wince before muttering a reply of sorts.

Ochre lifted her head from what looked like an intricate patchwork she had created on the ground. Only the most palatable plants and grasses were missing between all the weeds. Left behind were entangled lines and small clearings between hoofprints. Maybe not all that tasty or nourishing, but certainly impressive. All-year survival in the open landscape did require some special skills, of course. Interesting. He realized the mare had returned the greeting and was looking at him expectantly, head cocked to the side.

“Yes? Moorland, was it not?”

“Yes, it is. My apologies, I was momentarily distracted by your, for want of a better expression, grazing skills.”

She snorted, looking amused. “Solstice described you well.”

“He did?”

“Yes.” A small grin played over her muzzle.

There didn't seem to be any more information forthcoming, so after a little awkward pause he cleared his throat. There was the distinct slurping sound of someone drinking from a shallow puddle behind him. Slowly, accompanied by a quiet groan. He coughed into a fetlock and tried to block out the sound with a soft shudder.

“Anyway.” He cleared his throat once more and looked at the mare again. For some reason, she always seemed slightly amused in his presence. He found it somewhat enervating. “Would you mind if I asked you a few questions I've had on my mind for a while now? About your, well, group?”

This time her snort morphed into a good-natured laugh. “My tribe?”

He blinked. “So I can call you a tribal?”

“No,” she replied with a sour expression.

“Oh.”

“One of the tribes.”

It was all he could do to not roll his eyes. “That's settled then. I do apologize, I meant no offence.”

She nodded, the former mirth having returned to her eyes. “Well, ask. I will try to answer.”

“Thank you Ochre,” he began, “I've been wondering about the implications of you being the niece of your chieftain when I'd expected your father to hold this position. After all, isn't your uncle having challenged your father rather non-conducive for good family relations?”

She looked at him with her mouth slightly open and ears flicking nervously. “What?”

With a little sigh he started over. “My apologies. I already forgot that you're just...,” he mentally kicked himself, “That you speak two languages. Difficult.” He took it for a good sign when the expected scowl didn't appear on her face. “You are your leader's niece. Did he challenge your father? That just seems strange to me, is all.”

“Father died when I was a filly,” she said in a casual tone. “Broke a leg. Mother allowed uncle to take over.”

He blinked, perplexed. “He's next of kin, isn't he? Why would he need her permission?”

Now, after a second of confusion, the scowl did appear. “Leading mare,” she deadpanned.

“Right, right, of course,” he hurried to reply. He had the most unsettling feeling of being out of his depth. “I'm sorry. I had the impression that he was your sole leader. Solstice should have told us that this wasn't the case.”

The scowl deepened and her voice became terse. “Solstice has not done anything wrong!”

He winced at the sudden hostility. “What?”

Ochre took a deep breath, closed her eyes for a moment and continued in a much calmer tone. “I am sorry. Tired.” There was a little pause. “Mother did not choose a mate again. Uncle kept position. Mother died three winters ago.”

This was indeed uncharted territory. It immediately piqued his interest and relegated all other questions to the back of his mind. “So... I take it he can't appoint a successor either then?”

“No. Mare does that when she takes over. Can also change decision later.” Ochre frowned. “I do not know,” she began. “Mother never did. I think.”

“Isn't that a risky situation if something happens to him?” he prodded. “You obviously didn't take on the mantle, which begs the question of who does perform the duty of appointing the next chieftain then, if leadership isn't hereditary?” He cleared his throat upon seeing her bewildered expression. “Sorry. I mean, who gets to say then if the position doesn't just pass from mother to daughter?”

She opened her mouth to answer but then hesitated and looked down at her hooves. Her tail swished.“I... did not think of that.”

“Will all of you fight? What about your rank?”

The confidence she usually displayed seemed all but gone as she fidgeted in place.

“I see.” He contemplated the situation for a few moments. “Why doesn't he take a mare then?”

She did a double take and stared at him for a few seconds before blurting out “Stallion cannot ask mare for offer! Lose all honour if found out!”

He sat down on his haunches and held up his forehooves. “My apologies.” He tried to keep the annoyance out of his tone but was sure he failed. “Then please explain to me how this is supposed to work. I seem incapable of comprehending the mechanism behind - sorry.” A deep breath. “Does no mare want him?”

Ochre cocked her head in bewilderment. “Of course they do. They fear to offer.”

“Hold on. You said that - wait. Forget it. Why?”

“Deep shame when rejected. Faoileag is a good leader. But hard to read.”

He covered his eyes with his fetlocks, slowly shook his head and took a very deep breath. After dragging the tips of both hooves down his muzzle, he saw that Ochre at least had the decency to look just as confused as he felt. He motioned with a hoof for her to go on.

After an uncertain pause, she nodded. “There is one. She might dare to make the offer soon. I know her. I think he would accept.” She scuffed a hoof on the broken tarmac and looked away. “Or maybe not... because I...,” she trailed off. She cleared her throat before looking back at him. “You are right.”

He nodded with some satisfaction and a half-smile.

If she noticed, she didn't show any reaction to it. “It is a great risk. Maybe someone should challenge uncle.”

“And how would that work then, if you still need a leading mare?” he asked in a carefully controlled tone. “Just replacing the leader with another stallion isn't enough in this setting.”

She looked uncomfortable. “A mare with a mate. He fights the leader. He wins; his mare is leading mare.”

He blinked. “That is certainly,” he coughed into a fetlock, “An interesting arrangement.”

“Maybe uncle does not fight. Just makes them leaders. If he thinks they are good. He could.” There was a little hope back in her voice.

A smile crept unto his muzzle. “What about you then? A mare like you surely has no issue commanding respect. And you are kin.” There was a certain joy in getting to watch her squirm, truth be told. “My apologies if I am being too forward, but do you have a mate?”

Her ears splayed back before he had even finished the sentence. “No!” There was an awkward silence, only disturbed by the agitated swishing of her tail. She stomped a hind hoof and gave what sounded very much like a curse in Whinny. “I have,” she muttered but added “Uncle does not know.” She looked away. “Not yet.”

If there was anything he loved, it was finding solutions to tricky problems. “Splendid! Then-”

“I do not want it!” she snapped, glaring at him, or rather at a point above his right shoulder.

There was a snort and two short whinnies from behind. It took him a few seconds to realize that it was, in fact, Red who had enquired about something. Likely about Ochre's outbreak. In Whinny, of course. Red's sister appeared flustered and bit back an unfriendly reply. The stallion gave a defeated sigh in response and went to lie down in a sunny spot.

“Enough now,” she said in a tired voice, a far away look in her eyes.

“Of course. Causing you distress wasn't my intention and it does seem I have a lot to learn indeed. Please accept my apologies once more.” He hoped the disappointment at his idea being discarded as unwelcome, infeasible or even insulting didn't show.

She just nodded. A moment later there was a shout from the direction of Stromness' waterfront. For once he didn't mind Solstice interrupting a serious conversation with an intellectual equal. He noticed how Ochre's mood seemed to brighten considerably at the sight of his younger brother trotting up to them.

“Hiya there! Damn, you three were up early.” Solstice frowned at him. “Didn't expect you here Moor.” His brother gave him a lopsided grin. “You mingling with tribals?”

He felt his ears beginning to splay back but managed to keep his composure, although it wasn't easy. Ochre's failure to suppress a snort didn't help in the slightest. “Yes, I was curious about South Ronaldsay customs and felt it opportune to enquire about them. And I'd ask you to refrain from putting words in my muzzle. Unlike others, I'm able and willing to admit to being at fault and having committed a faux pas and also to adjust my viewpoints and act accordingly!”

“You know, I'm pretty sure Buidhe didn't understand a word of that. Not sure I did either.” Another bright grin. “Anyway, it's appreciated!”

He glared at him.

Solstice's expression turned more serious. “It really is.” He cocked his head a little. “Sorry for messing with you Moor.” His smile looked sincere after that. With a little nod Solstice turned away and walked over to Ochre's brother. Red had struggled to his hooves when Solstice approached. He was looking at him wearily, his ears splayed halfway back.

Solstice said something in Whinny, lowering his voice a little. He noticed that his brother appeared quite confident when using the tribe's language. The stallion was quiet for a few moments while Solstice's ears flicked about nervously. Then an exasperated half-smile crept onto Red's features. Carefully shaking his head, he held out a foreleg. Solstice gave a little grin and bumped hooves with him, accompanied by a snicker from Ochre.

Feeling out of place, he cleared his throat. “Thank you for bearing with me and for giving me some insight Ochre. I hope you have a good journey home.”

The mare nodded. “Thank you Moorland. I am glad,” she said and hesitated, looking past his shoulder again, “That I could help.” He wondered if that was a habit of hers. It was rather distracting, since he felt the urge to look behind himself when she did it.

“Until next time then. Are you coming, Solstice?”

His brother craned his neck to look back at him. “Nah, I'll, uhm, escort these two for a bit. Out of town you know. They did that for me after all and I'm, uhm, not going to break protocol.” Considering who this came from it sounded incredibly formal, despite the strained smile. All the better for it.

He watched them leave, Solstice walking between the two larger horses and chatting away in Whinny. It was a strange sight to behold.

Sometimes Moorland wished he hadn't read so much about chemistry, engineering, physics and applied sciences. Every now and then, all the knowledge of the achievements of the Old Folk put him in a grey mood. At those times he almost envied all those who got to live their lives in the here and now. Living their lives in ignorance of what had been.

It wasn't even the big things like combustion engines or anything like that. That was so far beyond their capabilities that it might as well be fiction. It didn't bother him. Fascinating, yes, but not of any real concern.

It was the knowledge of all the small things that would be so easy if they only had the tools or even just the raw materials. For example, making candles would be foals play!

But paraffin required petrochemistry. Tallow was... no. The little plant oil they had was far too valuable to burn. Beeswax required the development and customization of the necessary beekeeping practice. Also, Orkney mainly had bumblebees anyway. All in all, candles were about as likely to happen any time soon as the installation of electrical lighting.

As it was, he already felt a headache coming just from trying to draw a few diagrams in the dim light. The overcast sky in combination with the dense fog dimmed the light in the lobby to an uncomfortable level. He hadn't even started on the calculations yet and thinking about artificial light sources only made the room seem darker.

He spat the pencil onto his makeshift drawing board in frustration. At least pencils would still be around for quite a while. Father must have spent years gathering stationery; even over a hundred years later they were in no danger of running out any time soon. The same with sharpeners.

Small blessings, even if the latter were extraordinarily tricky to use. For a normal pony. Good thing he wasn't one of those. You could solve almost everything with the right tools and materials. And he was beginning to think in circles again.

For once he would welcome a distraction. Mother was asleep though, catching a break from caring for the still unconscious little mare in her room. Now there was a story he couldn't wait to hear! He hoped with all his heart she'd make it.

He slowly shook his head. She'd been out since before they'd brought her in over two days ago. She had started thrashing about yesterday, enough that mother felt the need to tie her up. Didn't mean she was getting better, but at least there was some hope.

Dawn was out in town somewhere, perhaps looking after his younger brother. Ever since Ochre and Red had left again, Solstice seemed distracted to the point of daydreaming. The dreams didn't seem overly pleasant though, going by his constantly worried expression. Could it be that the full weight of his responsibility had finally begun to sink in?

With a sigh he looked at his work again. It was quite the ambitious project, but well within their capabilities. There already was a little dam to the side of the creek that ran through the western part of town which they got their freshwater from.

It served its purpose well enough, but it had certain annoying limitations. It tended to be damaged during heavy rains or snow melt. In dry summers it was a pain to draw from due to the low water level. It got dirty. Now, with a series of three weirs and a little bypass for flow regulation though...

“Well, it's not as if it's an aqueduct,” he said in a low voice and smiled. “Yet.”

He stood up and walked slow circles around the room, trying to stretch his stiff muscles. With each round though, the light seemed to grey and dim further until he sighed and capitulated. No more progress today.

The last week had been exhausting. He was used to giving his level best despite Dawn being the leader. Now he wanted to do the same for the exact same reason. It was a paradigm shift of the first order. He was unashamed to admit that he held a newfound respect for his youngest brother. It was clear now that Dawn's mental flexibility and resilience matched his own. Admirable.

The last circle around the lobby turned into an ellipse and he found himself pushing the door open with his forehead. Sometimes one had to be allowed to act a little uncivilized. The cool surface was also a pleasurable countermeasure against the slight pain behind his eyes.

Taking care to close the door without too much noise, he stepped out into the street and filled his lungs with the damp air. Mist drifted down between the houses, obscuring anything further than thirty yards away.

An aimless stroll through Stromness was the last thing he'd expected to do, but here he was. Most members of the community seemed to have sought indoor activities, few as there usually were. Only the occasional sound of ponies working drifted through the mist as he ambled down towards the harbour.

It was nice. If only he could keep his brain from scanning the surroundings for anything in need of maintenance. Shut up that voice listing possible improvements. Maybe he should practice that every now and then. Take some lessons from Solstice. No. That would be taking it a little far.

He tried humming a little tune instead and found it quite agreeable.

The faint clip-clop of hooves coming towards him on the cobblestones brought him back to the here and now. His mood soured when the parting mist revealed a wet and more grumpy than usual looking Harvest Moon. Of course, good things never lasted. With a weary sigh he halted his steps to greet his kin.

“Hello brother, what brings you to town?”

“Spare me,” Harvest replied. “Don't tell me you haven't been counting the days.”

“Well, I honestly can't say that I have. There's been a lot on my mind.”

The grey stallion snorted. “It's been five days. Dawn made his point and I'm staying. Now I'm going to tell him as much.”

He cocked his head in surprise. “Not that this isn't a welcome development, but what brought you to that decision? I was fairly sure we'd seen the last of you, no offence.”

Harvest glowered at him, then sighed and sat down. “You actually interested?”

“I wouldn't have inquired if I weren't, dear brother.”

“Might as well, I guess. I'd have left, but half my team wanted to come with me if I did. The dolts. Couldn't convince them otherwise.” He rolled his eyes. “See, it's like this: they know I'd fight for them and that's kinda what I did. Only they've convinced themselves I won.”

“Well, technically-”

His brother cut him off. “Stuff it Moor. So I kicked his flank in a second. Big deal. Even you could do that. Doesn't matter. Here in Stromness, that doesn't count. The way he went all father on me after that? That counts. Even flew. Bastard.

The problem is that up north they do things differently. You have a few who'd back you, but most of the herd wouldn't ever accept you as leader? You can fight for your right to leave with them. You win, you get recognized, you go it alone.”

Harvest smirked. “Or give your victory to one of yours who you think would do a better job of it. Surprised? Try talking with your people for a change. Never know what you'll learn.”

He realized he was looking down at his hooves and cleared his throat. “And all the northerners would go with you? Just like that?” Somehow he felt lost.

“Not all of them. But those who would are a tough bunch and always adapt. I like that. How else did you think we get all the work done out there? Problem is, half of those who'd join me have lived here for too long already. Gone soft, even if they don't realize it. I don't want to risk their lives come winter, but I can't get that into those thick heads of theirs.

Long story short: I spent so much time arguing with them that I actually started thinking.” He snorted derisively. “Pathetic.”

“Now, I wouldn't call sitting down to think pathetic.”

“You damn well know what I meant!” he growled, ears flat against his head. “I'm done. The next one who bugs me about challenging Dawn for a proper fight won't be able to walk for the next two days. It doesn't work like that around here. I'm sick of hearing it. I'm done. I've told them that much.”

Harvest stomped a forehoof, sending droplets of water flying from his fetlock. “I'm conceding.” He took a deep breath and let it out in a huff. “I'll tell Dawn I'm not cut out for his job and I'll do as he says. End of story.”

He took a step forward and hissed “And I dare you to tell anybody I said that. Or give a witty comment on it now.”

He retreated a slow step. “I... won't,” he said, pulling back his head and tucking his tail in between his legs.

“Good. Anyway, somebody has to make sure you lot don't starve. And that's me.” With that, he got up and brushed past him, heading for the Royal Hotel.

He looked after his elder brother until the mist swallowed his form. So much for a little relaxation.

It was the first sunny day of the whole week. Of course mother had decided to make it the Marked One's day. As if she'd known it. And he had mud up to his knees already.

Measuring and staking out the weirs and the bypass had proved more difficult than expected. Of course he understood that the technicalities went way over the heads of most of his team. What he hadn't expected was that he had to show them how to do the actual digging. Granted, the layout was a bit more complicated than just a ditch. The angles needed to be quite exact as well. Still. Now his jaw hurt.

They'd gotten the hang of it though eventually. Or maybe they just finished having their fun. Anyway, it was high time to get the materials for securing the inlet and outlet of the bypass in place. Everything was there, except for the one person needed for the actual work.

He could do many things on his own, but not everything. Lining up and securing the first part of the small gates' framework was something requiring precision.

A precision job that involved the handling of heavy objects on slippery ground was a two pony job. Salt Marsh was perfect for this. He was also absent. He did have one of the northerners for the really heavy lifting though. His team already called him 'crane'.

Someone had to have acquired Salt for their own work and he was not going to accept that. When he reached the Royal Hotel he almost sneered at the impatient looking Solstice coming from the opposite direction. They stopped a length from each other.

“Where's Salt?” they both snapped in unison. “I-,” they both started.

“Will you stop it!?” He exclaimed.

“-thought you - what? It's not always me!” Solstice gave back.

“And what's going on here?” mother's voice came from the small alley they were standing in front of. She came trotting up to them, bringing with her the smell of peat smoke and bread.

They both turned to look down the passage that ran along their home. “Salt was supposed to help me put the foundations in for my water management system,” he said, unable to keep the impatience out of his voice.

“No he wasn't!” His younger brother blurted out. “How about you learn to read a schedule?”

“I will have you know that I am perfectly capable of doing so!” he snapped.

“Listen you two,” mother interjected.

Sostice stomped a hoof. “Mum, we got the ground floor ready down at the Stromness Hotel! The paint's finally dry on all the windows and doors and we need to put them in place before any more water gets in and ruins the floor again and Salt's just the stallion for the job 'cause he's damn good with those fickle hinges and,-”

“Will you stop it!” mother interjected once more. “And take a breath. Thank you.”

“Sorry.” Solstice's ears drooped.

At that moment, his elder brother arrived as well. “Where the fuck-”

“Harvest Moon!”

“-is Highground?” his older brother finished, coming to a skidding halt from an angry trot. “Sorry mother. Won't happen again.” The grey stallion took a deep breath. “Aren't you two supposed to be working? And where's Highground? I need him. I'm not going to spend three hours on changing the harness on that trailer or move that peat onto two smaller ones. The stuff is a pain to handle. It's got to be in town tonight before the next rain triples its weight!”

“He's with me today.” He scowled at Harvest. “I need these steel beams for the weirs lifted into place properly. There's insufficient workspace for two lifters and he's worth three. He's also got large hooves. And reach. That means much less damage to the side walls and that in turn means prolonged structural integrity!”

“Would you...,” the green mare tried again.

“Whatever. How about you get those two other trailers done instead?” Harvest retorted. “Maybe this year?” he added, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Now he was finally getting angry. “I regret to inform you, dearest brother, that I am disinclined to agree to your request. Means no. Besides, Solstice has appropriated half the tools and also Heather Bloom. She's our best mechanic.”

“So now it's my fault or what?!” Solstice snapped. “No fair!”

“STOP IT!”, mother demanded, making the three stallions flinch. “Salt Marsh is with me.”

He blinked. “Beg your pardon?”

Harvest frowned. “Say what?”

Solstice just looked bewildered. Huh?”

She cleared her throat and continued in a much gentler voice. “I know all of you three have very important things to do. But my project is giving Brenda a great day. I can't postpone that, no?” She gave a sly little smile. “I may have complained about not having enough variety to offer to our marked one today. Salt happened to be around and heard it. He was off before I could remind him that he might want to check if he had any other duties.” There was little pause. “My apologies.”

“Mother! You could have told us,” he protested to sounds of agreement from the two others.

“Well, you weren't around. As luck would have it, Brenda was bored and was sitting in the lobby when he got back... no need to have the poor thing be confronted with all of us at the same time.” She smiled warmly. “Such a nice fellow. He's been helping me with the baking since. The bread's going to be a real treat today, he's a natural.”

Harvest stared at her. “Baking?”

“Can't a stallion do that?” She cocked her head, looking smug. “It would certainly set him apart. Can't have too much variety of skills, can we?” She gave a lopsided smile. “Ever notice how well that brownish blue of his goes with smoky yellow? Peat smoke, I mean.”

“Mum!” Solstice groaned. “You can't honestly - she's a total stranger who just cheated death! I was there! I've got nightmares from it! Bet she has too!”

“Well, some nice, life-confirming company would do her good then,” she retorted.

He dragged a hoof down his muzzle and held out his forelegs in a gesture of helplessness. “Mother, please. Could we concentrate on the matter at hand again?”

“Alright, alright.” She sighed. “Salt's still staying here with me though. Bread's going to be all the better for it.”

Harvest raised his voice over his to protesting brothers. “All well and good, mother. Salt can spend the rest of the day counting dandelions for all I care. I need Highground. Any suggestions on how to break that to Moor?”

“He stared at Harvest, incredulous. “What?!”

Mother put a hoof to her chin, completely ignoring him it seemed. “Now, Solstice really needs Salt because his work needs to be done today, preferably now. I can see that.” She sighed. “You need Highground and it's also urgent.” She paused for a moment before addressing him. “Moorland, is something bad going to happen if you delay your work a bit?” She turned around and called out to Salt without waiting for a reply.

He wanted to protest. He really did. He looked at mother's sweet, friendly and piercing gaze. He hung his head. “No mother, I guess we can reconstruct the ditches if they fill up,” he conceded.

She walked over and nuzzled him. “Don't be sad. You have the opportunity to catch Dawn now. Maybe the two of you can find out what went wrong? I think he went up into his room to talk to Brenda.” She smiled.

He sighed. “Might as well. Or are you afraid I might interrupt something?” he inquired with an irritated scowl. “Or wishing it?”

“No.” She grinned at him before craning her neck at the sound of hoofsteps. “There you are Salt. I'm afraid you have to go with Solstice. I'll make a baker out of you some other day. And don't think I'll forget, you've got what it takes!”

Much to his surprise, the blue stallion nodded with a smile. “Happy to! I'll be looking forward to it. Tell Dawn to plan for it, will you?”

She gave Salt a warm smile. “I will. Now off you go, the lot of you. I've still got work to do after all.”

Solstice was already chatting away when the two turned to leave.”Hey, if you're going to be organizing food with mum... I could do with some eggs. Haven't had those in ages. Think you can do that? I mean if you now actually get time for it?”

Salt replied in a contemplative tone. “I'll see what I can do. They're really difficult to get this time of the year though. Hm. Eggs on bread?”

Solstice sounded thrilled. “You got it! Yeah, you stay with mum!” They trotted off. “Now what kind of greens...” he could just make out before the two were out of earshot.

For a few minutes he just stood there on the main street, wondering what happened. Finally he shrugged, turned around and went back to the Royal Hotel in a slow trot.

The lobby was empty of ponies and full of food. He shook his head. In his opinion, this was taking the 'Royal' in Royal Hotel a bit too far. Arguing with mother would be pointless though. He just hoped that the new addition to their household would know to appreciate it.

He could hear the soft sound of friendly laughter from the first floor. Very much unbidden, the memory of mother's lopsided smile came to his mind. He rolled his eyes, sighed and called out, “Dawn?”

It took a few seconds before his youngest brother answered in a far too disappointed tone. “Moor? What is it?”

“Could you please join me down here? Apparently we have a roster conflict.” When an immediate response failed to materialize he added, “Your usual diligence appears to have suffered under recent events.” He smiled a little at the long pause that followed.

“I messed up the scheduling?”

“You could say that, dear brother.”