Dolor

Chapters

A Silent Sream
What Lies Within
When Kindness seeks out Hurt

A Silent Sream

Two eyes of rich chestnut brown stared back at me as I looked into the still water of the beaver pond that I often frequent to quench my thirst and sate my appetite on the numerous wild plants that grow on its edge. Those eyes were seated in a face that was at once, both not my own, and yet also seemed to reveal my true self. Even if only slightly. There was a muzzle, and two ears erect on the top of my head that twitched and swiveled in tune with the sounds of nature that surrounded me. Beneath the whiskers and black button-like nose was a maw. A maw lined with the razor-sharp teeth of an apex predator, and was currently closed, the lips lying limp from lack of use. And all around was grey fur. Save for four spots. Starting from the corner of my eyes and ending just under my jaw, were bright, scarlet red lines that were eerily reminiscent of the pattern of a cheetah’s tear lines. If anyone where to look me in the face, I imagine they would think that I had somehow managed to weep tears of blood not two seconds before they saw me.

To anyone who looked at me, crouched down on a bolder that jutted out over the water like the natural pier it was, they would probably mistake me for an abnormally large, yet average wolf. But wolves don’t stand on their hind legs. Wolves don’t have padded, leathery hands with retractable claws. And wolves certainly don’t have the ability to read, write, speak, or think in what can undisputedly be called true sentience and reason.

But…those eyes. They were beautiful, physically speaking, no doubt about that. That wasn’t what had my attention at the moment, though. It was what was contained within them. It was a mixture of fear, hurt, and sorrow that once seen, you can never forget. It was the gaze of a soul that had no hope. No hope for the future. No hope for ever having friends. No hope for even finding the smallest scrap of love, even if only for a fleeting moment before it dissipated into the breeze. Forlorn, and soon to be forgotten entirely.

Maybe that’s why I had those crimson streaks that made up part of my fur. It would make sense in a sick, twisted way. For them to be physical symbols of the hurt and darkness I had experienced in my previous life.

And that gaze hasn’t changed once, in the hundred years I’ve been here. How do I know I’ve been here for a hundred years? I guess you could just chalk it up to instinct. I know I do.

Taking a deep shuttering breath, I closed my eyes, tilted my head back to the heavens above, and opened them to gaze upon the stars. Ever since I came here, the night has offered me sanctuary, even if it did not offer me any peace. Unbidden but not unwelcome, hot tears soon leaked from my eyes, only to be absorbed by the fur surrounding them. Tilting my head down slightly, I drew in a ragged breath before lifting it up as far as it would go, and let loose a howl.

I don’t remember my birth name, not since I first came to this world. But I have chosen another one. Dolor: The Latin word for sorrow. That is what I call myself now. For if there is such a thing as the physical embodiment of pain and suffering, there is not a shadow of a doubt in my mind that that is what I have become.

And as my howl drew to a close, I collapsed, curled into a ball, and wept without restraint.

I never really liked being out at night. It’s scary, it’s dark, and while the stars may be pretty to look at, the shadows always seem to hold some kind of monster waiting to pounce and eat me. No, I never liked being out at night. I’d much rather be in my bed with my pet rabbit Angel curled up next to me, reading a book about animals before calling the day done and over with and slipping off to sleep.

But that wasn’t an option tonight, regardless of my own fears; the beavers that live in Whitetail Woods had come by my cottage just before evening in a panic. Once I had calmed them down, they explained to me as best they could that one of the kits who had become sick and I had been working on for the past few weeks had taken a sudden turn for the worse. With no time to waste, I gathered up as many supplies as I could carry, told Angel to mind the house, and rushed down to the lodge where the young kit was located, with the messengers waddling behind me as fast as they could.

When I got there, the poor thing was shivering so badly that he looked almost like a rattle, and his fever was dangerously high. It took twenty minutes to calm his parents down and tell me all of the information I needed. And it took another three hours of touch and go for the fever to finally break. By the time the danger had passed, it was easily 11:30pm.

They thanked me profusely for my aid and offered their lodge for the night, but I declined. For one, I had chores to attend to back at home when the morning came. And while I certainly care for my little animal friends, I didn’t look forward to spending a night in a beaver lodge constructed out of mud and sticks.

So here I was, trotting around the lake with an otter for company, bound for the path that led back to my cottage. Everypony knows how safe Whitetail Woods are; at most, you might come across a coyote or a fox, but they rarely attack anypony, and when they do they never get very far.

Readjusting my supply pack so that I didn’t bite into the space between my wings as hard, I found myself thinking of how nice it would be to soak and wash in a nice warm shower before bed. But that was before I heard it.

I have heard wolves howl before, and I will never forget the predatory howls of Timberwolves. I know the howls that ask such things or make statements as ‘Where are you?’ ‘I have found prey!’ and ‘Intruders!’ just to name a few. But this howl didn’t have the instinctual, primal quality I had heard before. It was not loud in volume, but it carried far. To anypony else, it would have sounded like what could only be described as mournful resignation.

And while I certainly heard that as well, there was something else in there. There was a statement. Not one of words, but one of emotion, raw and pure. One that despite the soft tone, screamed and bellowed far louder than the Royal Canterlot Voice ever could, and it could be summed up in a single word phrased as a question: ‘Why?’

And that whatever made that howl was close, very close.

A large part of me wanted to bolt, to dash, to run and hide. But as that howl faded into the distance, I just knew I couldn’t do that. Whatever made that noise was feeling hurt, and a lot of it. My soft heart has gotten me into trouble in the past, but I made my way to where the sound came from regardless. Five minutes later of walking through the thick cattail that lined that particular part of the lake, I heard something.

It was unusual, to be sure. It was an odd mixture of what I can only describe as the pained wining and whimpering of an injured or frightened dog, and occasionally punctuated by the soft sobbing of a pony. It was the single most heartbreaking thing I have ever heard. So heartbreaking, I soon found my own eyes growing wet, and a few tears flowed out before I could stem them.

I never did like seeing others in pain, regardless of what kind they were experiencing. And before long, I surrendered to my instincts and burst out of the cattails to comfort whatever poor creature was reduced to such a state.

What I saw on the end of a natural, rock pier, curled into a tight ball facing away from me, scared me. But only for a second. It was gigantic and thickly muscled, covered in a matted grey pelt and equally matted tail, and was one of the most pathetic things I had ever seen. I had found the source of the crying, if the shuddering frame and ragged, uneven breathing hadn’t already given it away. But before I could get any closer to the poor dear, it raised its head, wolfish ears tilted in my direction. And it then proceeded to face me.

Sometimes that look in its face still haunts me. Sure enough, the face, like the ears was completely wolf like. The fur on the head was grey, like the rest of it, except for four bright, blood red lines that made its way from the corners of its eyes and ended at the bottom of its jaw. Those lines caught the light of the stars, giving the impression that they were still wet, almost as if its tears were made of blood. But that couldn’t be right. There were nothing but average tears in those rich chestnut brown eyes that it possessed.

Wait, t-those eyes…

“Dear Faust.” I swore under my breath with my voice cracking as I raised a forehoof to cover my mouth.

I will never forget those eyes as long as I live. The hurt, the sadness, and the complete total lack of any happiness, joy or love. And it was the gaze of a pony that was waiting for death. To anypony else, that would have been all they would have seen. But not me. No, out of all of my friends, I am the most empathetic. There was something else in those eyes, hidden underneath all of the darkness and pain. And just like the howl I had heard, there was a statement. But it wasn’t a commanding statement; it was one of despair, and one of desperation. In fact it wasn’t a statement at all; it was a scream. As silent, powerful scream that if I listened closely enough, I swear that I could hear the words as clear as day. To me, those eyes said one thing: “Help me, please!”

But when I took a step toward it, it suddenly and in one swift motion, leaped up, spun around, and planted all fours on the ground while facing me. Its expression didn’t change, and I idly noticed that it had hands on its forearms and traditional paws on its hind legs. If it was gigantic when lying down, curled up, it would be a behemoth when standing fully erect. If I had to take a guess, I would only come up to its knees if it stood on its hind legs.

But before I could take another step, it turned tail and dove into the waters of the lake. Without thinking, I raced after it as well as I could with my supply pack weighing me down. But I was too late; the figure had disappeared into the depths. For a single moment, I wondered if it had committed itself to drowning. It was scarily plausible, as it was unthinkable.

We ponies are very social, and suicides, although exceptionally rare, are not unheard of. In fact, whenever a pony commits suicide, it has a very powerful and negative effect on the community that they belonged to. In extreme cases, it can even cause the survivors to temporarily lose their inner harmony.

As these thoughts went through my head, I felt my legs give out beneath me, and in a brief bout of panic, I peeked over the edge of the pier to look at my reflection. Sighing in relief when I saw that my mane was still pink and my coat was still canary yellow, I sat there for a minute trying to collect my thoughts. And then I heard a splash from across the lake. When I looked up, there was the creature, wet but none the worse for wear.

Before I knew what I was doing, I had unslung my supply pack and attempted to spread my wings to take off after it. Only for my flight muscles to cramp up and for me to cry out in pain as a result. I must have been wearing that pack for too long. So as much as I hated to be grounded at that point in time, I knew there was nothing I could do but watch as the creature shook itself free of excess water and quickly run off into the woods, away from me.

My name is Fluttershy, holder of The Element of Kindness, and what- no, whoever you are, I will answer your cry for help.

And yet, against my will, a single tear of empathy leaked out from my right eye, and proceeded to drop into the water below.

I knew it was only a matter of time before it happened. I knew it was only a matter of time before I would become known to the natives of this land. And I knew it would only be so long before word of my existence spread like wildfire, and hunters and the like would attempt to track me down to take my pelt and bones as a trophy. I knew of the town where that Pegasus mare lived near, I watched it grow from a single building to the respectably sized hamlet that it is to this day.

And I knew how they reacted to outsiders. I saw it myself when that Zebra started showing up. I saw how they scrambled inside their homes to lock the doors and windows, and I saw how those six ponies organized their own personal witch-hunt and how the yellow one I just ran from joined in. It all worked out in the end for the better though. But if they were so judgmental toward what was in essence one of their own kin, what would they do to something that was even more alien?

But I had stopped caring about things like that a long time ago. I had lost hope before I even came here, and as I stopped running when I reached one of my many dwellings scattered throughout the forest I called home, my thoughts turned back to that town. I will admit: I am not a brave man. But there were times when I became so emotionally weak, that I would forgo the deeper parts of the forest and sneak to the outskirts under the cover of night. All to look at that small town, to see if I could still feel anything even remotely related to happiness or comfort. And every time I leave before the sun starts rising, I still feel the crushing weight of my hurt bearing down on me, trying to erase me from all of existence.

I attempted to chuckle, only for it to come out as a raspy, raw painful cough. Ignoring it as best I could, I settled down on the makeshift bedding of dried leaves and moss, feeling and yet at the same time not registering the uneven and painful surface. It didn’t need to be comfortable; it served its purpose in keeping me off of the ground.

No, death didn’t scare me. If anything I felt relief that my time would soon be up. I wasn’t even afraid of the manner that they would chose to kill me in. No, what I was afraid of was what, if anything came after. The body can be easily destroyed, but the soul is far more resilient. Heaven, Hell? When I pass on, I hope there is an option to truly cease to exist. The last thing I would ever want is to continue, in any shape or form. It hurts too much.

I just hope that when they kill me they will have the courtesy to burn my body until nothing remains, not even ash.

A sickening thought if there ever was one. Not because of the cremation, but because my corpse would more than likely be paraded around by the hunters when they finally kill me. Even in this world, no living soul in their right mind would ever care about me.

And those were my last thoughts and feelings before I drifted off into my nightly dose of dark, soulless dreams.

What Lies Within

It had been a year since I, Princess Luna, was freed from my thousand years of imprisonment on the moon, and subsequently cleansed of that accursed parasite of a nightmare that infected me. It had been one, long year spent regaining my strength and flexing my old magic muscles, and now I was ready to go back to doing one of the things I had truly missed: dream walking. Yes, when I raised the moon tomorrow night, I would finally be able to walk amongst my subject’s dreams while they slept.

I would be able to once again sooth their fears, mend their pains, and give restful sleep to those who needed it.

But that was for tomorrow’s Night Court. For today, I slept. And as I slept, waiting out the rest of the daylight hours, I soon found myself in my own dreams.

Now, a lot of ponies don’t know it, but whenever I dream I’m always connected to the dream realm. Normally, this isn’t much of a problem whenever I sleep, given my schedule. After all, most ponies are out and about during the day, even if many of them do take a few hours every night to gaze upon my work. But they rarely sleep through the day like I do. Well, except for my personal staff, but they wore charms to keep themselves from suffering nightmares.

Seeing as how I got strong enough for my dream walking abilities to manifest themselves again, it came as a bit of a surprise that one soul was resting on what I could only assume was the same schedule as mine.

I sensed it long before I saw it. This soul, the quality of rest they were receiving was horrifyingly bad. So bad in fact, that I could feel it pushing up against my own dream bubble. Tearing open my own dream, I leapt out, and proceeded to take flight toward the source of the distress.

I flew for a while, with an ethereal body that those awake below would never have been able to see, even with the help of magic. It’s a unique experience, flying with what was in essence my consciousness. For one: whenever I had to do this in the day; the fabric that ties dreams together burns off as a result of the sun. All that means is that I can’t simply flip through dreams like somepony else would with the pages of a magazine. Instead, I had to hoof it like anypony else that was out and about during the day.

And the second thing that is different when dream walking during the day is that the world I see through my ethereal eyes is not nearly as colorful as it looks when I’m awake. In fact, it’s the opposite, its complete greyscale with the only exceptions being the few and far between dreams that crop up every now and again.

Pushing such thoughts aside, I continued my journey as swiftly as I could manage. It didn’t take long before I saw it, now that I had covered more than half of the distance that separated the two of us. And when I laid eyes on it, I stopped dead in the air, with what I can only imagine would be a look of pure shock on my face.

Whoever was dreaming, it certainly didn’t manifest in a bubble. It was an impossibly large thunderhead stemming from a single spot in the horizon. Sickly reddish-black lighting stuck the ground, and the torrential downpour was not of water, but was crimson red and it fell so heavy and thick that the ground couldn’t drink it in at all; leaving a foot deep reservoir that surged and rolled.

If it wasn’t for the fact that my nature prevents me from being harmed while I traveled the space between dreams, I don’t think I would have possessed the courage necessary to dive into that deluge. I am not a coward by any means, but that does not mean that I would have needlessly risked my life if I was faced with a storm like this in the waking world. So I dove in. I will admit that I was more than slightly horrified that the raindrops were made of blood, and it wasn’t warm. It was cold, it was dark, and if it wasn’t for the fact that my sense of duty outweighed my fear, I would have screamed and fled. But no, I could not do that! I don’t know what could have possibly happened in this soul’s life to warrant this type of manifestation, but no being that rests will go unattended by me!

I pushed forward, past the blood rain, the sickly lightening, and the screaming winds that both assaulted and were incapable of touching me. I flew over the town of Ponyville, where the six mares that cleansed me resided. By the time I got there, the illumination that the sun provided was heavily obscured by clouds, and beyond was a near pitch-black darkness. And below, the foot deep reservoir of blood was now two times that. To my eyes, all of my little ponies that lived there were wading through it without a clue as to what they were doing, leaving v-shaped wakes in their paths as they talked, laughed and went about their daily lives. I couldn’t blame them, though; they couldn’t have possibly known what they were slogging through. After all, the storm was subjected to the same rules as I was, which meant that they couldn’t be aware of it with any of the senses they possessed. I had to tear my eyes away from the sight. It was just to sickening to bear witness to.

I’ve seen nightmares before, I’ve seen horrifying things that a sleeping mind will conjure up, and I’ve felt the rough, sharp, unpleasant textures that separate them form the peaceful dreams that served as their opposite. But this? I have never seen a dream cloud do anything like this before. Anything else I may have faced in the past was mediocre at most. Beyond a shadow of a doubt, this was the nightmare that would forever be at the top of my list.

I pressed on, over Ponyville, and into what I recalled was Whitetail Woods. The central stem was in a deeper part of it; away from the outskirts, so that was where I headed. A few more minutes later, and I touched down next to the creature that the dark dream was being generated from, thankful that the blood rain did not reach here.

My first thought was that it was a Werewolf of some kind. But that couldn’t have been the case. For one, Werewolves were extinct. My sister and I saw to that long before I ever became victim of the parasitic nightmare. There was also the fact that Werewolves lacked the necessary mental capacity to create dreams when they slept. And finally, I have never seen a Werewolf with clean-although quite matted-fur before. In those days when they still stalked my night, they never bothered to wash themselves free of the blood and entrails of their victims.

After getting a good look at the creature, and failing to determine its gender in the process, I gathered myself, took a deep breath, and tore open a hole in the stem for me to walk through. Once I was fully inside, I took a look around.

The fact that dreams build a miniature world for themselves to occupy is the only constant I have found whenever I dream walk. I never know what will be waiting me when I slip inside, and the ground that I stepped on was dry, cracked and devoid of any life. Taking a good look around, I found that I was in the middle of an endless field. There were hills that gently sloped all around me, and it very well could have been beautiful. But with the dead tan colored ground, it only served to reinforce the feeling of being alone. Far more alone than I was for a thousand years on the moon, I never would have thought it possible if I hadn’t been there.

The sky above wasn’t much better. It was cold grey, and only invoked feelings of sorrow and despair. No stars shone in it, and if the ground was devoid of life, then the sky was devoid of happiness and joy.

And whenever I breathed in the air of the dream, it gave me a sense of hopelessness.

But that wasn’t all there was. Surrounding me were six doors, pure silver, and each with their own black and red reliefs cut into them. The one to my far left had a relief of the creature stringed up like a marionette puppet, with a five-fingered hand holding the cross, and the creature itself straining against them with so much might that its flesh was tearing open with blood spilling from the wounds. There was a look of desperation on its face, as if the rending of skin and muscle was a price it was willing to pay to get away.

The one after that had a relief of the creature being forced to carry a heavy iron cross upon its back, with a look of betrayal on its face.

The next one had a relief of the creature strapped painfully to a large archer’s target, with knives being hurled at it. Four were already imbedded in its flesh: one in its throat, one in the heart, one in the stomach, and one right in the right kneecap. Blood poured like waterfalls from the wounds, and tears of blood leaked from its eyes which were shut tightly as if it was the only defense from whoever was tormenting it.

The next door had a relief of the creature being chained to a hole in the floor while a collar bearing razor-sharp spikes on the inside was being affixed on its neck. Blood sprayed from the wounds like water from a showerhead, and the expression on its face was one of despair, as if it knew that it couldn’t get away no matter how hard it tried.

The next door had a relief of the creature staring at a broken, empty picture frame. There was only a look of disappointment on its face, as if the picture it once held no longer had any meaning.
And the final door was probably the worst in my opinion. It had a relief of the creature floating in the air, with an expression of pure hurt on its face, and a solid hole right where its heart was supposed to be located. And in that hole was a blood-red candle flame, poised to be snuffed out forever.

If I had a choice I would have opened that last door first. But the door itself was translucent. As were all of the others save for the first one. Maybe its mind was telling me that I needed to touch them in sequence to get the full picture.

So with no other options, I did just that, reaching a hoof out and placing it on the first door I saw. As soon as I touched the freezing surface, a vision made itself known: I felt sharp hooks in my flesh, as if I was a marionette and nothing more. The hooks were stringed up to a handle high above my head, and it was being held by a shadowy hand that seemed to take great pleasure in yanking me around, all the while I was incapable of screaming out in pain. A voice, distorted and faintly masculine then made itself heard.

“Son, don’t you know I’m doing this because I love you?”

LOVE? I screeched within the confines of my own mind, you don’t control the people you love! You guide them, you nurture them, but you don’t control them! You offer assistance when needed and you let them live free when it is not!

And with that the vison ended and I was back in front of the doors.

The next one had solidified, and with some hesitation, I put my hoof on it as well. And I was granted another vision: I found myself in what can only be described as a house of worship of some kind. On the surface it looked grand, but that was offset by the drab grey everything was covered in. Before I could inspect anything further, a crushing weight pinned me to the floor, rendering me incapable of movement. I then heard another voice, one that was equally distorted as the last, but had a slight female tone to it instead.

“Son, don’t you know the way you view the world is wrong? That there is only one true way for things to exist? Your open mind is not the right way, and I will never accept you as long as it remains like that.”

Fundamentalism, I growled deep and dark in my own mind, a truly demonic blight if there ever was one. Regardless of what form it takes or what ideology it latches onto. Being closed minded and oblivious causes far more damage than it can ever repair.

The vision then ended and I was free to move again unmolested.

I placed a shaking hoof on the next door, fearful of what it might hold. And like clockwork, I was given another vision: I felt myself strapped and restrained with the rough feeling of hemp rope on my back, and my eyes were closed so tightly that they physically hurt to the point where I felt blood leaking from the corners, flowing as freely as tears would for a newborn foal. Try as I might I couldn’t open my eyes, but when I felt the first cold sharp impact in my throat, I knew it was for the best if I wasn’t capable of doing so. There were multiple voices this time. All were as equally distorted as the last ones, and there was a mix of masculine, feminine, and even child tones. The first one I heard was the same one the dark hand possessed.

“Isn’t it obvious to you, son? I care and love my parents, brothers, and sisters far more than I will ever care for you. No matter how much I say to the contrary.”

Another impact, solid and directly into my heart so that whenever it beat I could feel the sharp edge cutting into the muscle of the organ. Another dark voice I heard, this one of a child.

“Did you think I would waste my time playing with you cousin? When all the fun I need was to simply hurt you to the point where you are driven to tears?”

Another impact, agony flaring across my stomach, sending my nerves haywire, and yet I was incapable of screaming for it to stop. My mouth was sealed shut by some invisible force, and my vocal chords were non-existent at the moment. I heard two voices this time, speaking in tandem, with one male and the other female.

“Why don’t you spend any time with your extended family? Don’t you love any of us? What a truly worthless grandchild you are!”

One last impact in my right kneecap, shattering it like brittle glass, and with the pain another voice rang out; cackling with cruel laughter before speaking with an arrogant tone.

“What are you so afraid of? You always hide yourself away in your shell never peeking out! I mean, we are your family after all. It’s not like we’re waiting for you to pop your head back out just so we can throw knives at it for our own amusement.”

FAMILY? I bellowed in rage within the cage of my own skull, family doesn’t hurt you! Family doesn’t force you to build a wall around yourself in a futile attempt to shield yourself from the emotional damage that they cause you! Family is there to help you, to make you laugh, and to give a shoulder for you to cry on when you need it the most!

The vision then ended, I felt no more pain from the wounds that were inflicted on me, and I was free to open my eyes once again. This was getting too intense. I-I needed to take a breather. I sat down hard for five minutes, trying to calm my breathing and getting it to return from the ragged rattling in my lungs and throat. While I was doing this, a thought stuck me from nowhere.

“Dear Faust,” I whispered to myself, “no matter what happens, please never let the Bearer of The Element of Honesty witness what I have just finished seeing. She would go slip into a catatonic state for sure.”

I needed to continue, no matter how bad things were getting. Getting back up, I quickly placed my hoof on the next door before I could change my mind. Like before, another vision: I was on my hind legs, while my forehooves were chained to the floor. I had no control over my body as I struggled and strained against the chains to the point where it felt as if the bones in my body would long shatter and grind to dust before I ever managed to break them. I watched, helpless as the same collar from the relief on the door lowered itself, aiming for my neck. Needle-sharp thick spines were crudely welded on its inside, but as it clasped itself around my neck, they more than did the job in inflicting pain. More than that; I couldn’t move my head or neck for fear of the shift in pressure causing it to snap my neck. The voices were back, one male and one female, and they spoke in tandem.

“Son, this collar is to keep you safe. You don’t have the intellect of an adult, and are nothing more than a child in the body of a man. We cannot, in good faith, allow a child out into a world that would tear you limb from limb if given the chance.”

Why? I snarled in my head, why would you have a child if you never had any intention of allowing them to roam free one day? Why would you ever think that chaining your child is the correct answer?

The vision faded and before I could stop myself, I slammed my hoof on the next door. The next vision was different to a degree, but it was one I could sympathize with: I found myself sitting down and staring at the same broken picture frame the relief depicted. I heard the voice then, the same male, distorted as ever.

“Son, how much a disappointment you have turned out to be. Your sister is far superior, she has accomplished more in the past year than you ever will your entire life. You are a speck, a nothing, not worthy of life and any of the joys it brings! I wish you were my second-born, at least then I would not have had you.”

Favoritism, I whispered in my mind with poorly concealed anger, only slightly less damaging and blinding than fundamentalism, and far more of a toxic poison if experience has taught me anything.

The vision ended, I found myself taking a moment to look around at the doors. The five I had touched were now as solid as the ground I stood on. Slowly turning my head, I looked at the sixth and final door. For the first time in a long time, dread wormed its way into my heart and mind. Every vision I had when I made contact with the other ones had contained so much hurt and hopelessness that it almost made my own imprisonment look like a blessing. Almost. And if those things I saw left me with an impression like that, I shudder to think of what awaits me beyond that door.

I-I-I don’t be here anymore! I thought, beginning to hyperventilate, I-I want to leave! I want to go back to my bed, I don’t-

I clamped my eyes shut, held my breath, and banished my panic away. I won’t deny it, I was frightened, but I refuse to leave before I saw the whole picture! After a minute, I had calmed down enough to open my eyes again, and I slowly, shakenly, brought my hoof up to an inch away from the last door.

I closed my eyes.

One breath.

Another breath.

And one last breath before I placed my hoof on that final door. Nothing happened for a moment. But then I had the sensation of falling forward slightly. As a natural reaction, I placed my hoof down on the ground before me. Wait…I did that of my own volition. This vision was different from the others if I could move about freely. Opening my eyes, I was greeted with the sight of an endless void around me, and directly ahead was the creature itself. Allowing myself to exercise some
restraint, I trotted up to it; and sure enough, there was a hole right where its heart should have been.

Peering into resulted in seeing the candle flame that was in the center. But…oh my. It was faint. And it was flickering violently as if it was a bird being crushed to death in the hands of a Minotaur. But those hands that were squeezing it were not made of flesh, they were made up of all the hurt, sadness, and hopelessness that I had been subjected too ever since I first tore my way into here. One last voice made itself known to me. And it was clear, not distorted, but it held no emotion and the tone was that of simple matter-of-fact.

“That last bit of light is always the hardest to snuff out.”

My heart missed a few beats when I heard that. And I felt as if a dragon had punched me in the gut.

“No,” I whispered in fear; not for myself but for the creature I saw before me, “please, whatever you do, don’t give in.”

And with that my vision ended and I was back in the center of the doors. But something was different. Instead of cracked, dead ground, I found myself standing on a solid metallic floor that formed a circle with the doors sitting on its edge. But there was no vision that awaited me this time. No, the only thing I felt from it was…

H-how? How could it? I don’t-I just- I thought in disbelief, T-this is far beyond my ability to deal with on my own; I need to get back to Tia, now!

And just as that thought ended, the dream world around me melted, signaling that the dreamer was waking up. Ejecting myself from the decaying dream, I wasted no time in spreading my wings, and making a beeline straight back to my body as fast as I could.

Whenever I dream walk during the day, there are certain things I can’t do, and certain senses are deadened. My sense of smell was one, and as the dreadful gale of the nightmarish storm started to fade, I was thankful for that. I knew what the blood rain felt like; I don’t want to know what it smelt like. The other thing was that when I was in an ethereal state like I am now, I could still feel things physically, but those sensations were separate from my actual body. Finally, emotions aren’t truly expressed in the same way as I would experience them when I was amongst the waking world. I could still feel them, but I was not capable of say, crying for example.

I idly noted that while the stem that the storm grew from was now gone, the storm itself still raged for three whole minutes before it finally dissipated. And the reservoir of blood below me started to burn off, red mist rising from the surface before dissipating into the breeze. It was still evaporating when I lost sight of it in the distance, and in short order, I soon found myself back in my chambers.

Its times like these that I’m thankful for the fact that I gain an ethereal body whenever I dream walk. If I was in my physical body, I’m pretty certain that I would have badly damaged my flight muscles in my haste to get back. The damage may have even been permanent.

Without wasting any time, I dove into my body and forced myself awake.

The first thing I became aware of was the sheer wetness I had my head against. The next thing I registered was the fact that I was curled up into a tight ball, and every muscle felt as if it was repurposed to provide a hardened exoskeleton against the outside world. With a wet squelch, I lifted my head up, uncurled the rest of me, and climbed out of my bed. I looked back at my bed and noted that the pillows would have to be replaced. I knew that what I had just experienced left an impression on me, but I didn’t expect for my pillows to look like the just came out of the wash without any time to dry. And it was all because of the tears I wept when I was inside that nightmare.

Snapping out of those thoughts, I turned and galloped my way out of my chambers, slamming the doors open in my haste, devoid of my regalia, and uncaring of my appearance. I didn’t have time for such things. Tearing through the hallways as fast as my legs could carry me, I arrived outside the throne room, and without any sort of ceremony, burst in like a crazed mare would.

Only to find that my sister wasn’t there. Looking around frantically, I noticed that the time on one of the clocks read twelve eleven. Three hours passed while I had been dream walking, and seeing as to how it was midday, Tia would be on her lunch break right now. Without missing a beat, I turned and sprinted full force toward the dining room. The doors were already open by the time I got there and I came to a screeching stop on the side of the table opposite to where my sister was sitting down. She was in mid-bite with a fork of something floating halfway between her and her plate. But once she saw me, she immediately lost focus and the fork was unceremoniously dropped, causing it to clatter against the table and for some of the food to mark her coat, which went unnoticed by her at the time.

I couldn’t blame her reaction, I probably looked like shit, and I didn’t feel much better. Taking in a deep, shuddering breath I addressed my most immediate family in the room, and while I prevented my voice from cracking, I could not disguise the upset tone that laced through it.

“Tia, we need to talk.”

In short order, and more than likely because Tia lost her appetite, the plates were cleared away and we were sitting next to each other as I began to recount the events that led me to get up in the middle of the day. A very rare occurrence if there ever was one.

Her expression changed over the course of the time that I told her of my experience. When I told her about the storm, it was shock and skepticism, when I told her about the creature; it turned to confusion and concern. When I told her about the dream I found myself in she looked like she just got sucker punched in the face, and when I told her about the visions I was granted when I touched the six doors, she had an expression of disbelief and looked visibly sickened, not that I could blame her.

“And finally,” I continued though watery eyes, “when I stood on that metallic floor, I learned several things. I learned that those visions were the personifications of the different pains it feels. And I learned that the creature was a hundred years of age, and in those hundred years, these night terrors have never stopped tormenting him. But the worst of all? It has accepted the hopelessness, it has accepted the hurt and the sadness, and it’s just another day to it.”

“H-how could it?” I asked as a few hot tears spilled from my eyes and my voice finally cracked painfully, “how could it believe that it will never know happiness or love? I-I just can’t understand it!”

And that was the last thing I said before I felt he downy wings of my sister enclose me in a hug. That was all it took to break the floodgates, and I wept anew. Not out of some sense of hopelessness, but out of just how scared I was for the wellbeing of that tormented soul still out in Whitetail Woods. Tia let me weep for as long as I needed to, and when I had calmed down enough, she asked me a question in that sweet, serene, motherly tone that so many of our subjects seem to take comfort in. I know I did, at that point in time.

“Lulu, do you think this creature poses any threat to our little ponies?”

I could understand why she asked that, none of us wanted to face another Sombra after all.

“No sister, the creature doesn’t have any violent tendencies towards anything it recognizes as sapient. In fact, it does everything in its power to avoid confrontation.”

It was a weird sensation, feeling Tia relax and yet at the same time tense up when she heard my answer. I knew she relaxed because she had confirmation that her subjects were safe. But I also knew that she tensed up due to an equal measure of lingering shock and determination to help this being.

“Lulu,” I heard her whisper, “aside from what you have told me, I don’t know what could have possibly happened in that soul’s life for it to now feel like this. But as long as it lives in Equestria, it’s one of my subjects, and I think that you know that we’ll do whatever we can to help bring it back to the light.”

“I know, Tia, I know.” I whispered back just as softly, my eyes now dry of any tears.

I just hope it’s not too late. I thought, or perhaps prayed, to myself.

My sleeping schedule must have been thrown out of wack due to the events that transpired last night. I usually try to go to sleep an hour before sunrise, and get up an hour after sunset. And the only reason this currently held any relevance as I lied here in one of my dwellings was because a beam of sunlight was piercing though the opening; and sticking the lower part of my left forearm.
Once I felt that, I quickly recoiled out of its way as if my flesh was being burned by an old-fashioned brand. It didn’t hurt. Not physically at least. No, the pain was different in nature. It was…spiritual for lack of a better term.

I never really liked the sun to begin with. It was too warm, and to bright. I prefer dimly lit places, they were always easier on the eyes, and the cold was familiar even if it did not provide any comfort.
But then again, nothing provides comfort for me anymore, and in all honesty, I’m not entirely sure if anything ever did. So I just laid there, not even bothering to cover the entrance to the cave with a blanket of moss I kept tucked away for when I had to disappear for a time.

My dwelling, the cave was about three times my size when I was standing fully upright. The outside cliff it was located in was absolutely covered in moss, so the aforementioned blanket of the stuff, when deployed, would disguise the entrance so toughly that if you weren’t me, you wouldn’t be any the wiser.

Opening my eyes, I just stared listlessly at one of the walls for a time, just continuing to think. Maybe think wasn’t the right word. After all, it’s difficult to think when you feel near dead in body, mind, and soul. Near-dead. Somehow that phrase describes what these past hundred years has felt like to me in my waking hours. And whenever I close my eyes, the dreams are even worse. Even if I can’t remember what they were about scene-for-scene. All I know about my night terrors was that every time I woke up, regardless of how, I always felt more tired than I was before I went to sleep.

So, in other words, it was just another average rest.

The illumination the sunlight provided by bouncing off of the moist walls dimmed suddenly. Turning my head and squinting my eyes, I looked to the entrance of the cave. There, casting a shadow upon the ground while it looked at me was a small, brown, rabbit.

Odd, the animals of the forest always avoided me and my dwellings. Not that I could really blame them. After all, my current body was one of an apex predator. Even if I would never actually harm any of the little furballs. Whenever I needed meat in my diet, I could always go down to the lake and get myself a catfish. They may taste like shit, but couldn’t care less.

Anyway, after it just stared at me for a few minutes, it turned and hopped off. I spent a minute or two looking at the entrance though squinted eyes before lethargically returning my head to its previous position. I took a deep, rattling breath and sighed. But I did not weep. My tears are reserved for the night, where none may bear witness to them and where they could not hear my sobs.

Fat lot of good that did me, I sighed dejectedly in my thoughts, the natives may be cute and toy-like, but that yellow one is probably gathering a witch-hunt at this moment.

If they expected me to fight them, they were going to be sorely disappointed.

When I submit to them after I’ve been backed into a comer without bothering to fight, I asked myself, will they burn me at the stake or stone me to death?

Well, it’s not like I had anything better to do to wait for nightfall. Maybe, just maybe death would come for me before then.

But, then again, he seemed to take joy in delaying my application.

When Kindness seeks out Hurt

It had taken me an hour to get back to my cottage after my encounter with that creature. During the trip, I had asked Mr. Otter if he could tell me anything about what the two of us had witnessed. It turns out that he did have information, even if did admit that the majority of it was gossip.

For one, the creature had actually been around for a long time. So long, in fact that only a few forest animals were still alive today when it first showed up. He also told me that its diet was made up of plant matter and fish, and that it seemed content with leaving all of the other animals alone. A mentality, that as Mr. Otter explained, was shared in kind. It was also nocturnal, and had many different areas to bed down in during the day.

That last bit of information grabbed my attention, if my animal friends that lived in Whitetail Woods searched those areas and showed me them, I would know where to go to so I could start helping it. Mr. Otter was a little reluctant at first when I told him that, but he did come around by the time we arrived back at my cottage.

I made an offer for him to spend the rest of the night at my home, but he declined, explaining that he would get to work on spreading the message through Whitetail Woods before he changed his mind.

Bidding him goodbye and good luck, I slung off my supply pack, and jumped into the shower.
As the warm water cascaded down over me and I took my time bathing myself, I felt my mind wander back to that plea for help in the creature’s gaze. The tears that I had restrained during the walk home now came out in full force, only to be washed away by the spray of the water as it bore down on me, and with soft sobs escaping from my throat.

Breaking down like this in a forest in the dead of night would not have been the right time or place. And as much as I still felt regret for the whole Iron Will experience, I’ll admit that if I hadn’t learned how to become assertive in my own way during it, I wouldn’t have been able to hold off the tears until now.

The tears ultimately ran dry, and I finished rinsing off, proceeded to dry my coat and mane, preen my feathers, and go to bed. But before I closed my eyes, I took note of the time. One-twenty five am, I tend to get up no later than six, and prefer to get up at five so I could tend to the multitude of my animal friends.

I had another task tomorrow in addition to what my morning rituals consisted of, seeing as how that creature was nocturnal, once my animal friends finished scouting and reported back to me, I wouldn’t have to waste time trying to track it down and go straight to wherever it decided to sleep.

But I wouldn’t be able to do so without rest. So I closed my eyes and drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

I woke up feeling groggy, but that was to be expected, and it was nothing a few cups of black peach tea couldn’t fix. After finishing my morning rituals of feeding and tending to the animals that stayed at my cottage, and to my own hygiene afterword, I then spent my remaining time gathering supplies in a spare pack that I thought I might need.

In the end, I had packed a small stack of paper and several pencils, half a dozen doughnuts from Sugarcube Corner that were a day old yet no less appetizing, a spare blanket and pillow, several combs, and two entire bottles of dog shampoo.

Once that was done, and with nothing else better to do, I made myself and Angel lunch, and waited for any word from my animal friends who were no doubt scouting the entirety of Whitetail Woods.

It was a little past midday before a Ms. Thrush came to my cottage and tapped on the kitchen window, a sign that she had information to share with me. Opening the window and allowing her inside, I listened as she tweeted with a small look of triumph on my face. One of the rabbits had managed to find the creature and was waiting for me on the edge of Whitetail Woods.

Once again, I told Angel to mind the house, and slipping on my spare pack that I had…well, packed, I soon left and trotted back to Whitetail woods, following Ms. Thrush as she led me to where the rabbit was waiting.

I soon met up with the rabbit and we were off. The trip was uneventful, and I soon found myself in front of a large, moss-covered cliff side with a cave opening tucked away in it a little over a mile away from the beaver lake.

“Are you sure this is the right place?” I asked my rabbit escort.

He nodded his head in conformation, and told me that when I was done, he would be waiting for me in brush that surrounded the cliff so he could escort me back.

Looking forward towards the mouth of the cave as light filtered into it, I took a deep breath to calm my nerves, adjusted my pack, and trotted up and into the mouth of the cave.

“H-hello,” I asked in my naturally soft voice, “are you in there?”

I hadn’t moved once since that rabbit hopped off, there wasn’t any reason to. So, here I was, waiting for nightfall, or for the panicked, angry mob to find me and skin me while I was still alive, whichever came first. And then I heard it, just outside of the cave.

“Are you sure this is the right place?” a soft, and I guess what could be called pure and innocent feminine voice made its way to my ears.

Innocence. I scoffed internally at that word. There are things I have learned over my past life, and a few more that I’ve learned during my hundred years here. One of those lessons was that innocence does not exist: there is only ignorance.

Regardless, the next thing I heard was the soft rustling of natural litter that soon gave way to soft tocks of hooves hitting stone. Judging by the location of the sound, it was safe to assume that the owner of the voice was in the cave mouth. I could still escape, technically. But that would mean going out into the sunlight, and for me, death was preferable compared to the burning rays of the sun. That and they probably had ambushes set up for such a situation.

“H-hello, are you in there?” the voice asked what I can only assume was me directly.

Well, I guess there wasn’t much point in delaying what was inevitable. Drawing in a deep breath, I let loose another one of my howls. Either it would scare them off, or they would bull rush me as fast as the cave mouth would allow. If I had any, my money would have been on the latter. There was a pause before the clopping of hooves on rock echoed around the chamber. It appears that the owner of the voice took my howling as all the conformation they needed, and allowed themselves into my dwelling. I didn’t bother to see who it was, keeping my listless gaze facing the same direction that it had been all day.

“O-oh, I guess you are here. Hello sir, o-or miss, I-I’m sorry, I can’t really tell if you’re a stallion or a mare.” The voice stuttered.

Well, if she was going to delay the inevitable, the least she could do is call me by my proper gender.

“I’m male.” I responded, loud enough for my company to hear.

Or, rather, that’s what would have happened if the second I opened my mouth and tried to talk didn’t result in a sensation of extreme tearing pain from my throat right were my vocal chords were located. Needless to say, I immediately rolled over, got onto my knees and hands and started coughing, gaging, and quite frankly, gushing blood from my mouth for a handful of seconds before the bleeding stopped.

Well, what else should you have expected, you idiot? I berated myself in my own head; you haven’t talked in the hundred years you’ve been here!

Oh, and my small episode resulted in my current company screaming her head off. Why though? It’s not like any living soul would ever care about my wellbeing. Hell, even I didn’t want to care about my wellbeing. But I was unfortunately cursed with a very powerful self-preservation instinct, one that I couldn’t break no matter how hard I had tried.

“O-o-oh my gosh! W-what happened? A-are you going to be okay?” The owner of the voice…whisper-shouted…somehow.

As my blood started to seep into the cracks and down into the earth, my company quickly scrambled over to my head, just outside of the remaining pool of crimson, and into my vision. I didn’t have to look at her directly to recognize that pink, loose mane or the canary yellow her coat was made up of. And on that face of hers, blanched and teary-eyed, was concern. If she looked in a mirror or someone else bore witness to that expression, they would have called it genuine. I called it for what it was: a lie.

The pain in my throat was now completely gone, the chords must have healed themselves during the small, one-sided exchange. That was something else about my new body, whenever I was injured, I would heal at what could only be called unnaturally fast speeds. But that only applied to whenever I injured myself, or was harmed by the environment. Injuries inflicted on me by other living beings would heal at a more natural rate. But that was fine. After all, physical pain and I may not be very well acquainted, but it pales in comparison to my other hurts.

After I coughed out the last of the blood, I unceremoniously dropped onto my side, facing the yellow Pegasus as I came to a stop. I just lay there, seeing her without looking at her, feeling and yet not registering the cold, rough and yet slick with moisture rocks on my side.
At least she stopped screaming once she asked those questions of hers. Her face started to gain more color as what I assume the shock of what she had just seen dissipated from her, and yet that “concern” was still etched onto her face. She just waited there for a while, probably waiting for the rest of the shock to work its way out of her system.

Then, when her face fully regained its color, and her eyes had tears flowing from them freely, she unslung her pack and with a burst of her wings propelled herself onto me. I barely felt it when she connected to me. I expected a knife to be racked across my throat at any moment.

So imagine my befuddlement when instead of the kiss of cold metal, the only thing I registered was two small forelegs doing their best to hold onto my head in what I assumed was meant to be a comforting hug, and for an equally small face to bury itself in my left cheek. Then there was moistness, attached to muffled sobs and a shuttering frame.

But why? Was this yellow Pegasus truly so delusional that she managed to fully convince herself that such a thing as kindness actually existed? How incomprehensively naïve, bordering on the irredeemably stupid. If she thought she could truly change me, that a simple hug would somehow magically take away all of the hurt and darkness I’ve experienced in my past life and continue to hold within me in my current one, she would only be setting herself up for failure. But she would have to figure that out for herself, that is, if for some reason, the mob doesn’t tear me apart first.

While I was thinking about this, the yellow Pegasus had managed to calm herself down enough as to where she no longer held onto me like a limpet, but was instead petting fur on the side of my neck. It was just for her own comfort, I’m sure.

I took in a breath and sighed. I was starting to get exasperated now, what was the point in all of this? Couldn’t you just have the courtesy to call in your cohorts instead of pointlessly doing…whatever this was?

As fate would have it, I got my answer when she got off of me and walked back to her pack, glancing at me every third step as if I would cease to exist if she took her eyes off of me for too long.

I’ve been here for a hundred years, I thought, I’m not going to vanish just because you take your eyes off of me.

She was at the pack now, head inside, rummaging through it. When she pulled her head back out, she had in her mouth a small stack of paper and several pencils. Trotting back over to me, she stopped at a rock flat enough to act as a makeshift writing table and placed the sheets of paper on one side with the pencils on the other.

“I know you’re sapient, I can see it in your eyes. And I was hoping that you would know how to read and write. That way we could still talk to each other without speaking. Oh, and my name is Fluttershy.”

I’ll admit it was smart of her to plan ahead like that. Well, if nothing else, I could tell her my gender, and ask what the hell was taking so long.

Taking a pencil in my hand and making sure not to break it, I wrote down what I thought needed to be said.

‘I am male. Tell me, when do you plan on calling in the others so that you can kill me?’

The small look of triumph on Fluttershy’s face was quickly crushed when she read my question, and replaced in record time with a sickened expression.

“K-k-kill you? No! That’s not what I’m here to do! I didn’t even tell anyone you’re out here in Whitetail Woods! I’m by myself, honest!”

Honesty? In my experience, that concept is nothing more than mask others wear to hide their true intentions.

I wrote some more.

‘I don’t believe you. Why would you have attempted to find me if not for that reason?’

Maybe I shouldn’t have asked that question. But as much as I hated to admit it, Fluttershy’s
response did leave me minutely curious, even if it was dishonest in nature.

At any rate, she sat down after reading my inquiry and proceeded to explain herself while looking me in the eye.

“When I encountered you last night, while you were crying on the end of the rock pier, I saw your eyes. I saw the pain and the sadness as clearly as I see it now. But I also saw something else in them: a silent screaming plea for help.”

Fluttershy’s voice started to crack at that last bit, and tears that made themselves absent soon came back in those blue eyes of hers.

“I-I couldn’t just ignore that. That’s why I’m here, to answer that cry for help.” She choked out.

As she spoke, I saw a certain weight make itself apparent on her shoulders. It wasn’t physical by any means, but that made the strain that much more difficult to bear, and she soon found herself lying on her stomach, weeping freely. And through the wailing, the coughing racking breath, and the red and puffy eyes, I just lay there. How could I offer her comfort if I haven’t felt it myself? And besides, she had no reason to try to bear my burdens.

Yet, as I watched Fluttershy crying without looking at her, an idea slowly took form in my mind. I didn’t trust her, and I didn’t believe her. But if she was serious about her own delusions, then I would humor her. For the next six months I would make this cave of mine my permanent home. If she wanted to “help” me as she claimed, then it would make her finding me far easier. But when she came to her senses and actually gathered another witch-hunt to come after me, at least then I would be able to die. Or maybe there wasn’t a bloodthirsty mob outside waiting to tear me into a thousand unidentifiable scraps. She could easily be a scout.

Fluttershy had stopped crying by this point, and proceeded to pick herself back up before using a spare sheet of paper and using it like a tissue. After that was done, she dragged herself back over to her pack and unpacked whatever she had in there.

Without anything better to do, I took note of the items she pulled out. I counted a spare blanket and pillow too small for me, a box of baked goods, and…shampoo and several combs? My expression never really changes all that much during the day, but Fluttershy must have somehow picked up on my unasked question.

“My animal friends told me that you eat nothing but fish and plants, so I thought that you would like something sweet for a change.” She explained, placing the box within my reach.

Baked goods mean nothing to me, I commented to myself, food only exists to fulfill a purpose, to provide fuel for one’s body; it doesn’t have to taste good. And that explains the rabbit from earlier.

Fluttershy continued, undeterred.

“I thought that you would like some extra bedding, but I forgot to take your size into account.” She admitted with a sheepish blush.

I can see that. I thought.

“And I noticed how matted your fur is, so I was hoping you would let me groom it for you? I-if you don’t mind that is.” She asked.

Still holding the pencil in my hand, I wrote down my response.

‘Don’t you have more important things to do than give me a bath? I can’t see myself being worth all this effort to anyone.’

Fluttershy shook her head at that and was quick to rebuttal my response.

“No, you’re the most important priority for me right now, and even if you don’t believe you’re worth it, I do.”

Another response, with the sound of graphite scraping against paper over an uneven surface.

‘I only go out at night, and it’s still daylight. Despite whatever you seem to think that you can do for me, I know that you can’t follow me everywhere. Sooner or later, you will have to go back to your home.’

“I know that,” confirmed Fluttershy, “but I would still like to try and straighten out your coat before I go. And besides, it will be night soon.”

She was right about that, the glow from the sun was now starting to diminish rapidly, and it would soon be dark out. Also, I would have to forage, and it had been a while since I had any fish in my diet. But before I could write this out to her, I heard a growl from Fluttershy’s midsection, which was accompanied by a blush on her face.

“Sorry, I guess I forgot to pack something for myself to eat, and it’s getting close to dinner for me.”
This warranted a change in what my response. Shifting my gaze without physically moving my eyes, I took note of the baked goods and gently pushed them toward her.

‘Eat then, I never did like sweets anyway. And before you deny it, I doubt I would be able to keep the sugar down, I’m just too used to bland food.’ I wrote.

Fluttershy opened her mouth to protest at that, but another, louder groan silenced her. She looked between me and the sugary confections several times before deciding to just roll with it. She opened the box and the contents were soon gone, with only a slight paunch to provide any clue as to where they went.

As she stifled a burp, I noticed that the glow of the sun was now fully gone. Even though I never truly want to get up, my self-preservation would not allow me to stay idle. So, I shifted myself and prepared to stand at my full height, but not before I wrote one final comment.

‘You are fooling yourself if you think you can truly help me, none can. One day, you will realize that some hurts cannot be healed.’

Not waiting for Fluttershy to respond, I got up and left the cave, but made sure to keep my strides short enough for her to follow if she chose to. Smelling the air, I took note that she did not gather a witch-hunt for me this time, but now that she knew where one of my dwellings was, it wouldn’t be long before word got out.

There was the sound of the shuffling of hooves on forest debris and patches of rock as Fluttershy raced to catch up to me due to my head start. It soon leveled out as she trotted by my side, her pack having been filled with items again if the odd rustle was any indication.

“How do you know that your hurts can’t be healed?”

I didn’t ignore her question so much as the fact that I couldn’t respond to it, at least not without going through another episode. At any rate, the rest of the trip to the lake was uneventful, and I soon came to a rocky part of the shore with Fluttershy still following me. I had found that the rocks extended well into the lake, and as a result it was the best place to get catfish.

Wasting little time, I waded in up to my lower chest while Fluttershy watched me form the shore, concern and worry still etched on her face, before she unslung her pack and flew her way over to me. Maybe she was worried that I would drown myself. Not likely, after all I didn’t have any intention of doing so last night when she had startled me, and I have no intention to do so here and now.

Taking a deep breath and ignoring her sounds of alarm, I dove beneath the surface, nictitating membranes covering my eyes to protect against any debris and provide proper focus to my surroundings. Feeling around the nooks and crannies in the rocks, I found what I was looking for and in one swift motion; I grabbed my quarry by the gills and punctured its heart with one of my claws. Blood pooled out from what I could see was a twenty pound blue catfish, large enough to keep me going, but not large enough to completely sate my hunger. The multitude of wild plants would make up for that.

Standing back up above the surface, I took in a deep breath as miniature waterfalls cascaded off of my coat and back into the lake, leaving only small droplets behind that I imagined caught the light of the stars as they clung to me. Ignoring this, I made my way back to shore with my catch before I proceeded to eat. I didn’t tear into it like a wild animal. I took my time, eating slowly not from restraint, but from a certain type of lethargy that cannot be described to those who haven’t felt it.

Fluttershy landed next to me and patiently waited for me to finish my meal. It took an hour or maybe a little more for that to happen, but when the final scraps of flesh disappeared down my throat, she spoke up.

“Will you let me groom you now?”

She was persistent, I’ll give her that. Fine, though. I needed to wash off the remains of my meal anyways. Turning back to the lake, I waded in until I was knee deep, then I lowered myself until I was sitting on the bottom of the rocky bed. Taking water in my hands, I splashed my mouth and throat until they were rinsed clean. Then, getting back up and walking back to the shallows, I laid down on my stomach with my head resting on the bank twitching my left ear at Fluttershy.

Thankfully, she understood the gesture, and was soon rubbing me down with shampoo. I had never tried maintaining my coat aside from washing off any excess debris that seems to be attracted to it like a magnet. So it came as a bit of a surprise when the matted fur was combed out with virtually no effort on her part.

Fluttershy continued to bathe me in the waters of the beaver lake, at times hovering above the surface to prevent getting her wings wet, and at others actually standing on my back with her small hooves rubbing in the hygienic product before straightening out my coat and rinsing it off. I wasn’t keeping track of time as she did this, nor did I find any comfort or relaxation in it. As I stated before, I had no trust in her, nor did I believe she was genuine in her efforts to help me. I guess that was part of the reason why I allowed her to touch me: a hope for death coupled with the lack of motivation to get her to stop.

Still, I had to admit that I would likely not die this night. Fluttershy didn’t seem to be carrying a knife or any other kind of weapon on her, but nothing was stopping her from telling the others that I was out here, or from rectifying her mistake at a later date.

I hadn’t been paying attention to the time, but my impromptu bathing session came to a close before long. My back, sides, and the top of my head were now free of matts, but my stomach, legs, arms, and tail were still like they were before. At any rate, Fluttershy was now sitting on the bank less than a foot from my nose with an apologetic look on her face.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t get the rest of your coat, but I used up all of the shampoo I brought with me.”

Slowly, I got up to my full height and walked back to the rock pier where we had first met, with Fluttershy trailing behind me after she had reslung her pack over her shoulders. Walking to the end of it, I crouched down on all fours and stared out over the expanse of the water. The trees that lined the edge of the woods had yet to get their full growth in; it was still spring after all, as evidenced by the lukewarm crisp in the air. Behind me were the cattails that Fluttershy managed to sneak up on me with, and near the center of the lake I could make out several beaver dams. The night sky was crisp and clear as it usually was, with the multitude of stars spread across its expanse glittering as if an artisan took the dust of a thousand diamonds and blew them into the air, where they stay suspended by some force beyond ones comprehension. The lake’s surface was still to the point where it almost resembled a sheet of glass as it usually was most nights this time of the year, providing the illusion that it was made of stars as they were reflected by the night sky.

It was beautiful, but it always seemed to have a certain measure of sadness, as if it was a piece of art in a museum that deserved to be seen for its beauty, but to only be kept in storage because no one ever saw what it was truly worth, only that they passed it by without a second glance.

Similar to myself in some respects, but vastly different in others.

I heard the soft tocks of small hooves coming up from behind me, and the shifting of weight as Fluttershy sat next to me. There was a small gasp as she beheld the sight before us, followed by a certain measure of awed silence as she attempted to digest it. For my part, I kept my silence, not like I could say anything anyways. It stayed that way for a brief time, with me still feeling the crushing weight on my being, and with her to awestruck to do anything else. But that ultimately came to an end when the quiet was broken by a voice by my side.

“I-I’m sorry,” Fluttershy said with a tone that said that she didn’t want to leave, “but I have to go back to my cottage.”

“Before I do though, would you maybe tell me your name?” she asked, taking out a sheet of paper and the same pencil I used earlier.

Not an unreasonable request, so I obliged, with the sound of graphite on compressed wood fibers. Only for letters were necessary, and if she wanted to know what the meaning of my name was, she would have to look it up for herself.

‘My name is Dolor.’

Fluttershy read it a bit more quickly than I thought she would, soon turning her attention back to me after she put back the paper and pencil.

I had expected her to leave after addressing me once again, but what I did not expect was for her to rear up on her hind legs and hug my neck as well as she could with our differences in height.

“I don’t know what caused that look in your eyes,” she whispered, “but I won’t stop helping you until it has been replaced with a better one.”

My only response was to sigh as Fluttershy removed herself from my neck and trotted away from me. But I could tell that by the way her hooves were falling, she wanted nothing more than to come back and stay by my side. In short order, they faded into the distance, bound for her own home.

Once I was sure she would not be coming back this night, I lowered my head and took stock of my reflection. My gaze that I had come to know so well in the hundred years I’ve been here stared back at me unchanged. My vision became blurry as tears started to roll down my muzzle only to be interrupted by the silhouette of a large, purple winged unicorn with a flowing, star-studded mane and some type of what I assume was patchwork armor and a black tiara on her head right behind her three-foot horn.

Snapping my head up to her location in the sky, I felt a certain calm wash over me as she descended to land on the same pier that I was currently crouched on.

As I turned around to look into those blue eyes of hers, I couldn’t think that maybe, just maybe, the reaper had finally filed my application.

“Greeting creature,” she addressed me in a soft tone, “I am Princess Luna, Keeper of the Night and Guardian of Dreams.”

The calm that had settled over me dissipated at hearing her name and titles. I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised that the grim reaper would have trolled me like that. But damn if it wasn’t crushing regardless.