The mountains’ rigid peaks pierced the heavens, tearing holes into the cosmos and allowing the ancient beams of starlight to bleed into the ponies’ mortal world. Those stars cast a dull light onto the tragic scene laid out before the changeling scout, who stood stark still, almost unbreathing.
The changeling loomed over the mare’s prone form, jaw tensed and vision blurred. After letting his gaze linger for a moment, he reached down and brushed the fresh coating of snow off her face. Her eyes were half-lidded, and her expression frozen into a scowl.
He bit his lip. Following a brief pause, he lowered his head to her chest, listening closely. A moment ticked by before he heard it—faint, but still there. Her heart beat sluggishly against her chest, like a long, black locomotive powered by a singular brick of coal. Impossibly, she was alive… for now.
He inhaled deeply, followed by a long breath out. A powerful gust of wind burst through the valley, dusting both creatures in a fresh layer of powder. The changeling made no move to brush it out of his eyes. Instead, he lingered there. His eyes bored into the mare as though she would suddenly clamber to her hooves and walk away. As time wore on and this hope withered away, however, he made the decision to do the only thing he could.
Grunting, he flung the limp equine onto his back. Then, step after grueling step, he plodded forth into the wall of darkness.
Luckily, he still had the light of the stars to guide him.
The mare’s coat was blue.
The changeling’s lip curled into a half-smile. He liked the color blue. It was pretty; the mare was pretty, too. She also sported a peculiar, pointed hat and matching purple cape. Both articles of clothing boasted rips and tears, battle wounds from a war still being waged within the mare’s consciousness.
The clip-clop of hoof-falls plodding down the stone pathways reverberated throughout the infirmary—the Queen had finally caught wind of the outsider’s arrival. Those patients who were still able threw themselves to the ground, groveling before her. The changeling, in contrast, stood stark still, eyes still locked on his hooves. The Queen approached him, coming to a halt a few steps shy. After a moment of fierce silence, he chanced a glance up at her.
Anger, surprisingly, was absent from her face. The changeling found her expression unreadable. Her mind was an enigma, a locked safe with its key broken and buried somewhere on the other side of the world. The changeling could only sit and wait for her to do as she wished.
The changeling bit his lip. Every decision came with a price; he knew that fact. Laws were laws, and he had broken one. He would face the penalty for his deed. His only option was to stand valiantly in the face of his punishment.
He reckoned there was a fifty-fifty shot the Queen would let him off with his life. Were those odds worth saving this mare? After a moment of indecision, he decided the answer was yes. Nopony deserved to die alone in the cold. If their positions had been swapped, he would have wanted her to do the same.
“Outsiders are not allowed inside of my hive, child.”
He nodded curtly in response. He had known this already. Being so soon after the Battle of Canterlot, the changelings were weak. They needed time to recuperate, to grow, to reform. If an outsider, especially a pony, were to get hold of their location and launch an attack, that would be the end of the changelings. These rules existed for a reason, after all.
The Queen pursed her lips, eyeing him up and down. “…You shall live this time. You are young, so you will be spared. Do not pull this again or you will not be so lucky. Understood?”
Another soft nod to appease the Queen. A few seconds ticked by in time with his racing heart. Then, the question unspoken on his lips, he gestured broadly toward the mare.
The Queen’s ear twitched.
“…She shall live as well. For now. It is your task to tend to her; I want to hear of no more altercations with you or her, child. Understood?”
A third and final nod, same as the first two.
At that, the Queen glowered at him, then spun on her hooves and trotted away. Once more, the echo of her hoof-falls on the icy stone floors brought a deadly silence about the infirmary. Nopony dared to make a sound until the aura about her presence had dissipated, even then giving an extra moment or two to make sure she’d truly gone.
The changeling turned back to the mare, squinting. So the Queen wouldn’t kill her—surprising in and of itself—but would she survive on her own? She had nearly frozen to death. Recovery was a possibility, yes, but not a likelihood. Yet… somewhere deep down, the changeling knew that she would live on.
This mare was still so young and beautiful; if she survived this, then she’d have an entire life to live. She probably had family and friends back home who missed her dearly. Or maybe if she got out, she would want to break away from her old life and settle down on her own, trying to start anew. He could see it now—a white picket fence and a small, quaint, country-side home. She would have a husband, and two young foals running around. Maybe even a pet dog, too. And a garden off behind the house, with fresh vegetables to harvest every autumn…
The changeling shook his head, shaking away the vision with a sigh. The mare couldn’t die here in this place—not like this. She deserved better. Everypony deserved better.
The changeling knew death far too intimately; he was one of the few survivors of the Battle of Canterlot all those months ago. There, in that battlefield, he’d seen changelings and ponies alike fade into oblivion far more times than he’d care to count. He’d seen his brothers and sisters torn in two, speared through the heart, exploded, imploded, violated, anything and everything anypony could ever imagine and more. And despite the raging cacophony of war, each death, be it a pony’s or changeling’s, was exactly the same: it was quiet. It was the quiet after the storm, a silent song, an escape from the brutality of the real world, a painful peace, a white flag of surrender. It was the end, and it was quiet.
Yes, death was quiet.
And this mare’s resolve to live screamed far too loudly for her to be dying.
The mare grew more and more restless by the day. She would soon awake from her slumber. The changeling could feel it.
Outside of his patrol duties, for the past week he’d spent almost every waking moment at her bedside. None of the other changelings—save for the younglings, who had a morbid curiosity—even so much as glanced her way. But he found the mare intriguing. She was different and interesting. Her presence broke up the tedium of his daily duties; since she’d arrived, he almost found himself happy to crawl out of bed in the morning.
Suddenly, a violent twitch from beside him. The changeling lurched forward, his lips pursed tightly. The mare spasmed once more, then let out a sputtering cough. Her eyelids shot open and she heaved inward, sucking in as much air as she could. Tears welling behind her eyes, she clutched her stomach, curling up into a tight little ball.
Then, she saw him.
And she screamed.
Loudly.
The changeling dove forward, covering her mouth. He pointed at her lips and shook his head with vehemence. His message stood crystal clear: do not speak.
She nodded to him, and he slowly retracted his forehoof. After a moment of her eyes lingering on him, almost accusingly, she turned to her surroundings. The room was small and, of course, dark. Save for a few torches mounted on the walls, no light permeated the cave. A few other stone slabs identical to the one she sat on littered the cavern, on which a few changelings attempted to rest. On the far end of the room sat a doorway leading to the labyrinth of caves beneath the Crystal Mountains.
The mare looked down at herself. Her fur had frozen and fallen off in places, leaving behind bare spots. Readily visible, her ribs pressed against her skin. Her eyes were bloodshot too, and her mane and tail matted and brittle. After a moment of staring at herself, she choked back a sob.
Knowing that her crying would wake the others, he quickly ducked his head down and grabbed the basket sitting by his hooves, distracting her momentarily. He placed it on the slab next to her; she stared at it blankly. He nudged it closer to her, and she looked inside of it, her tears temporarily forgotten.
“…Berries?” she asked.
He smiled a toothy grin.
“Are they edible?”
Two nods in rapid succession.
She stared at him, contemplating. He knew exactly what she was thinking—on one hoof, her body desperately needed nourishment. On the other hoof, however, he was a changeling. Changelings were enemies.
Within ten seconds, all of the berries were gone. Her lips were puckered the whole time she vacuumed them down. Frostberries were almost unbearably bitter, but they were just about the only vegetation one could find up here. And they provided all the nourishment needed for ponies, too. He preferred to avoid them—they weren’t the tastiest—but he’d scavenged them for the mare, knowing she would need food.
After another thirty seconds passed by and she hadn’t yet fallen unconscious from the “poison” berries, the mare’s shoulders relaxed some. She still seemed on edge, but less so.
Baby steps, the changeling told himself. In time she would open up, but for now, this was plenty. So long as he could help her, he was content.
There would always be tomorrow, after all.
“Will I ever get to leave this place?”
Unwilling to meet her gaze, the changeling kicked at the ground, sending up a plume of dust.
The mare knew the answer to her question already. She’d merely avoided asking the question until now because she liked keeping the hope alive; it gave her purpose. But now, he supposed, she needed the closure.
The changeling looked at her. With his two sharp ears splayed to the side, he shot her an apologetic frown.
She nodded, turning back to the small fire burning in front of her. “Alright. Figures.”
He pursed his lips, tearing his gaze away from her and turning it back to the fire. It burned lowly but warmly. Its heat still warmed him from a meter and a half away. It crackled and popped, every once in awhile launching a few sparks into the air. They quickly burned out, the lifeless embers floating gently down to the cold, hard floor.
Four weeks had crept by since the mare had first awoken. Her physical recovery had been phenomenal—she’d been up and walking, fully healthy, within the first week. Her mental recovery, however, was not going so smoothly. She grew more and more restless and uncomfortable by the day. The fact that she would never leave only made it worse.
Over those four weeks, the mare had slowly grown to trust the changeling, at first by necessity. As soon as she’d been sure that he meant her no harm, she’d opened up to him. Even if he couldn’t speak, it was still nice for her to have someone who would listen—a friend. Regardless of his friendship, however, living in a hive full of strangers she couldn’t communicate with was a terrible way to spend the rest of her days.
But it had to be that way. It was either her life, or the rest of the changelings’.
A soft sigh from his left—he turned to face the mare.
“You know, it didn’t have to be this way.”
She stared into the fire, unblinking. Her words came slowly and softly, devoid of all emotion.
“I was an outcast. A misfit. They all hated me,” she continued.
The changeling sat there, stoic, staring at her intently.
“I thought self-exile was the only answer. I just couldn’t bring myself to repent; I was too good for that. So I ran away instead.”
She choked over her own words, her tone wavering.
“I could’ve just apologized. I could have apologized and everything would have been fine. But it’s too late now—I was an idiot, and now I’m stuck here.”
The remaining logs in the fire crumpled inward, sending a plume of embers up into the damp, stuffy air of the cave.
“Now I’m going to die here. Alone.”
Tears. These were real tears. Not the fake tears he’d seen her cry in the past—these were real, genuine tears streaming down her cheeks. They were silent as they fell, splattering against the floor. She squinted her eyes shut, trying to hold back the river. It was to no avail.
Heart thumping against his chest, the changeling clambered to his hooves. Carefully, cautiously, he plodded over to the mare and nuzzled her.
She nuzzled back, stifling a sob.
She wrapped her hooves around him and pulled him in close, pulling him into a warm embrace. He squeezed her back tightly, trying his best to comfort her.
“Th-thank you,” she said. “Thank you…”
The changeling could feel the tears pooling behind his own eyes, his heart heavy. In that moment, he made a solemn vow: one way or another, he would help this mare escape… no matter how steep the cost.
It was ready. At last, after four months of preparation, he was finally ready to enact his plan.
All of the other changelings, except for the guards posted at the entrance of the hive, slept. The queen had left the hive for this night and this night only to scout the ponies’ condition. If there were ever a time for escape, it was tonight.
Steps soft and breathing light, he hurried over to where the mare slept on her stone slab in the infirmary. After placing his small torch onto the ground, he gave her a firm nudge: enough to wake her but not to startle her. Her eyes shot open—she’d never slept well on the cold, hard bed—and she sat up. The mare stared at him expectantly.
Smiling, he motioned for her to follow. After he took a few steps, she hopped of the bed, the sound of her hooves hitting the floor ringing loudly. He whipped his head around and put a forehoof to his lips, signaling for silence. She nodded once, and they continued on their way, the mare now mimicking his careful gait.
The duo reached the entrance to the infirmary and swung a hard left, heading down deeper into the catacombs. They spun through a few winding hallways, until eventually one path spit them out at the changeling’s own home, a tiny room with a bed and a few large rocks scattered about. The changeling trotted over to the largest rock and threw his body weight against it three times. The first two times it didn’t budge, but on the third try it slid to the right, revealing something unexpected.
There, where the boulder once rested, was a hole.
A hole just big enough for a pony.
The mare cocked an eyebrow at him. He simply motioned for her to follow.
The crevice was tight, but it was large enough for the mare. He stood a few centimeters shorter than her, so he’d made it just a tad larger to assure she would be able to make it through unscathed. The two of them continued down the crevice for a few minutes or so, crawling along at a painstakingly slow pace. Eventually, they broke free into a larger, colder pathway. Dust and pebbles coated the floor in this new place—they were the first creatures to stumble across this cave.
More importantly, some two hundred meters up ahead shone a dim glow: the luminescence of the stars poured into the cave, affording them the faintest of light to lead their way.
The mare looked at him incredulously. He beamed right back at her.
She broke out into a sprint, running for the light. Tongue lolling out of his mouth like a puppy, the changeling chased after her.
Out of breath, she dove into the nearest bank of snow, giggling like a madmare. He stared at her, smiling simply because she was, too.
“Did you carve out that pathway?” she asked.
He nodded.
“That must have taken you forever!”
Another nod, followed by a cheeky smile.
Her breathing stopped. Then, voice lower than a whisper, she asked, “Am... am I allowed to leave? Is that what this means?”
He paused. Then came a slow, subtle nod. After a moment, he pointed dead south, the direction of the nearest pony civilization.
“Are you going to come with me?”
He pursed his lips. As much as he wanted to… he couldn’t. The ponies would imprison him immediately, just the same as they had first imprisoned the mare all those moons ago. Terrible though it may be, it was the law of the land; strangers were to be treated with contempt. The world would be so much better a place if compassion and empathy were inherent, not earned. But alas, that dream remained impossible—and so here he would stay, alone among his brothers and sisters.
“Are you sure?” she asked, the excitement in her voice falling away. “I promise that I wouldn’t mind.”
He nodded in affirmation, and she fired back with a pout. He shot her a look and pointed in the same direction as before, more forcefully this time. She understood his message: if you don’t leave here now, then you never will.
“I just…” she said, struggling to find the words. “Thank you so much. For everything. You’ve done so much for me, I don’t even know where to start. There’s no way I could ever repay you.”
She sighed, her gaze falling.
“Maybe… maybe if I had shown the mares back in Ponyville the same compassion you showed me, I wouldn’t have ended up in this situation in the first place,” she mumbled under her breath, more to herself than to anypony else.
After shaking away the thought, the mare plodded over to him and wrapped him in a warm, tight embrace. He hugged her back. The two of them lingered there like that, underneath the light of the stars, holding each other. After some time, the mare pulled away, wiping the tears from her eyes.
At that, she took her leave, slowly but surely wandering off into the vast and imposing mountainous landscape before them. The changeling stood there, watching her form grow smaller and smaller until her beautiful blue coat was barely discernible from the sea of white. Just like when he had first found her, the stars’ light poured down on her. But this time, however, the stars felt different. They seemed… happier now.
He smiled a weak, hollow smile. He’d fulfilled his promise to himself; he’d helped the mare escape. She would get to see the other ponies once more—she would get to start a new life! Even if the cost was steep, knowing that she would be happy once more made it all worth it. The Queen’s wrath would be deadly, but he had known that all along. After all, he was only just another changeling scout. He was perfectly replaceable. The mare was not; the mare was special.
…The changeling heaved a long, deep sigh.
At least his death would be quiet.
