Three days later, Amy finally gave up.

She eyed the back of her dirt-covered hands, examining the damage to her false nails. Four were already missing, three lifting, one snapped at the tip and two stubbornly still glued down despite the chips and abuse. They were utterly beyond saving and, frankly, inconvenient to have on.

She was going to have to do something about them, and she was getting desperate.

The worst of the lifting ones were painful, but popped off without much resistance, save one. The remaining few were not so cooperative.

Gasping in pain and now bleeding profusely where the one on her middle fingernail had broken the natural nail underneath, Amy channeled a Cure Light Wounds into her hands. The day's calluses faded and her fingertips repaired themselves. It was almost too effective, as she wanted to build up at least a thin layer of tougher skin.

Eying the remaining false nails, she decided to get clever.

She squinted, looking to draw the thinnest fragment of power she could. The nails would pop off under duress, she just had to damage the plastic without damaging the real nail.

“Sacred... flame.”

At her whisper, a tiny point of gold light appeared atop the nail.

Nothing else happened. She focused a little harder.

Her hands promptly exploded in a storm of golden fire.

Amy gasped, swatting away the holy light and fires stinging her arms. At this point Cure Light Wounds was a reflex. On the bright side, the nails had been properly blown off and scattered into the potato field somewhere.

The centaur working the far side of the field glanced up as Amy hurried to look like nothing had happened.

That obstacle hurdled and the budding cleric thoroughly embarrassed, Amy got back to digging out the potatoes the plow had missed, foot by foot, sifting for tubers. Her goal was a row before noon.

The field was the size of a baseball diamond.

She was almost there when the sun beat her to it and her brother came out to relieve her. Brian was already drenched in sweat, but as usual these days his eyes were bright and determined. He threw himself into the job before Amy had even stood up.

“Hey, Amy. I’ll take over, get something to drink and make sure Zach and Carl are alive too,” Brian said, jabbing into the soil with the spare shovel.

“Thanks. You need anything?” Amy asked.

Brian shook his head. “Naw. Sicari said she’d be by to help when her chores were done.”

“Who’da thought,” Amy drawled, glancing at the lone fluffy cloud in the sky, “Literal worlds away and we still have to do chores.”

"There are worse things," Brian said. He'd been saying that a lot lately.

Amy dusted off her new improvised tunic gingerly. Brian had taken some time to haphazardly tailor some flour sacks into extra clothing for them with twine and saintlike patience, and they were holding up. Amy thought it was just as well, her robes were silk and it was probably a bad idea to get them dirty. She tugged her rope belt tighter as she walked back to the monastery.

It was already starting to become routine. Amy has been busy enough to not really think terribly hard about the weirdness of the situation, and the centaur monks weren't even shocking to see anymore. It was peaceful around the monastery, and Amy had developed a strong liking of peace after her first few days in this world. She stretched as she followed the east path back, running her fingers through her hair to help disperse the sweat built up under it.

A sound that didn't quite belong made her stop as she approached the wall, stepping out of the way of a passing monk. Amy cocked her head, listening.

She heard it again. Clang. From the forest to her right, outside the monastery. Metal hitting or being hit. And... a shout. A battlecry.

Zach's.

Amy burst into the fastest run her heeled boots would allow, heading for the noise. It was only a moment before she heard it again and pinpointed the clearing.

"Again!"

That voice wasn't Zach's, Amy was sure. Hand on her aching ribs and gasping for breath after the sprint, she cleared the brush just in time to see Zach, with his sword but without armor, swing at the batty old gargoyle that cooked around the camp.

The gargoyle, Hemok, raised a staff to meet it, creating the clang she had heard. It was a good block, but Zach did something odd, lifting the hilt of his sword high to jab over the top for the gargoyle's face. It barely missed putting the old creature's eye out as the staff shoved aside the blade and transitioned into a counterattack aimed at Zach's leg.

Zack, much to Amy's surprise, wound his sword around the staff to cut off the swing and bring the point to rest on the gargoyle' chest. It was clearly faked as he stepped back and mimed the thrust he would have taken to end the fight.

"Good! Again! No! Wait. Distractions." Master Hemok pointed at Amy. Zach looked and was immediately smacked on the shin. "Too easy, boy."

Zach winced, flushed bright red and panting. "Yes, Master Hemok. Hi, Amy."

"What are you doing? What was that wiggle-sword thing?" Amy asked,struggling to control her breathing as she weakly mimed the overhead thrust Zach had reacted to being blocked with.

Zach looked away, wiping sweat off his head. "Oh. Master Hemok decided I needed to learn how to use a sword if I had one. He's teaching me Griffic fencing."

"Trying to, at any rate. Never had made it this far if it wasn't for dumb flapping luck!" Master Hemok grumbled, before suddenly transitioning to shouting. "CIRCLING TIMBERWOLVES! WHIRL! WHIRL!"

Amy watched, amused, as Zach groaned and started a complex, fluid set of spinning slashes as he stepped smoothly around the clearing, circling them.

"Offense as a defense?" she asked.

Master Hemok nodded. "Best against creatures with no weapons, more a Felyne technique than a Griffin one, but good exercise for him. OVERHEAD, BOY, not behind your noggin!"

The performance came to a stop as Zach stopped his spins with a last wide sweep, gasping for breath as he dropped to a knee.

"You'll need to work on your endurance, you can't get winded in a fight. That'll kill ya fast," Master Hemok noted, groaning as he started to hobble back toward the monastery entrance. "See you in the kitchen in a bit, boy."

Zach just nodded as Amy came over to check on him. She couldn't see any injuries, but Zach was good at hiding it. Amy knew him well enough to see he wasn't just flushed from exercise, though. He was probably embarrassed.

"That was pretty impressive anyway. When did you start?" Amy asked. He could use the encouragement.

Zach held up a finger, gulping water from his canteen. "This is... is..." He coughed, choking a little. "Day two. I'm still really clumsy."

"Seemed pretty good to me for two days of practice. You couldn't have done that last week," Amy said.

"Last week I'd never touched a sword. Or broken a bone. Or thought I'd talk to a pony."

"Careful. I'm the sarcastic one. You want to help me find Carl?" Amy held out her hand, and Zach took it to be hoisted upright. Amy was surprised; she doubted Zach had gotten any lighter, but she didn't have any trouble pulling him. She could feel his hands were building calluses, too. They were already getting stronger and it really hadn't been a week.

They started back, Amy thoughtful as Zach wiped dirt off his sword on the leg of his flour-sack pants and leaned it against his shoulder.

"Zach, could you teach me too? I could be a sparring partner."

Zach gave her a look. "Yeah, I guess. It'd be smart while we're here. Tomorrow?”

“Tonight. Carl can do your dishes, and I’ll Bless you so you’re not sore.” Amy asserted. She didn’t know what would happen tomorrow.

Zach nodded silently, balancing the sword by its edge idly as they walked. It was a long moment before he spoke.

“Deal. But sticks only.”

“Implying you had a choice,” Amy muttered. Zach snorted out a laugh. They walked together to their hut, where Zach put up his sword and they both grabbed towels.

By the time they made it to the bathhouse there were already centaurs that had beat them there around the huge central basin, washing themselves down. Amy led them toward the corner, grabbing the roll of fabric that acted as her personal privacy curtain on the way.

“Need help?” Zach offered.

“Yeah.”

Zach cupped his hands under the hanger, and Amy fitted the arch of her boot over them. She stepped up, using Zach’s head to balance as he groaned and putting her easily in reach. With a little fumbling, she had it up.

Amy patted Zach on the head, prompting him to lower her. “Thank you.”

“Anytime.”

Once they were separate, Amy set about washing up as fast as she could. The curtain only blocked the view of part of the bathhouse, and while the centaurs certainly didn’t care, she was still self-conscious.

More importantly, she didn’t want any of the boys seeing the large patch of mottled purple-and-yellow bruise across her ribs on her left side.

She didn’t know why she hadn’t fully healed it. She had started, setting the bone with magic and easing the pain, but something had made her hesitant. There was an excuse to build toughness in her hands and feet, but this was a constant, dull pain as the contusion healed.

Once again, Amy looked at it, considering. Wondering why she had so many excuses not to, each thinner than the last. To build pain tolerance. To make sure she had enough magic if they needed it. To learn how long it took. Silly.

Once again, she instead toweled off and pulled her clothes back on.

“Zach, you done yet? Can I come out?” Amy called.

There was a slightly distressed noise as Zach hurried along his process, like every time. One of these days Amy resolved she was just going to just barge out past him. That would convince him to hurry from the start.

“Done, I’m safe, you can go, Amy,” Zach’s response was fairly quick this time. Amy tossed the curtain aside and trotted past him with her boots and towel over her shoulder, annoyed at the wait. She wanted to get back into her cosplay dress, it was much more comfortable if she wasn’t going to be working.

The rest of her evening was spent carefully copying the last bit of their map down, alone in their hut.

Tambelon. Brian had relayed to them from Sicarei’s stories that it was an old land, once the great civilization of the Gargoyles. Now, it was seen as a new frontier to explorers and settlers. Their map was only of the easternmost section, including the land bridge to the Equestrian continent.

Amy set the pen down and rubbed her eyes, looking at the rougher section where Brian had first started.

Here Be Dragons, read the label on Mount Quassi to their south. Beware of Trolls claimed the note near the river.

Last week Amy would have given her firstborn to meet a dragon. Now the thought made her sick to her stomach. A troll was now a creature to seriously consider and have a plan for.

A world of adventure was a dangerous one.

Leaving the ink to dry, Amy glanced outside at the reddening light. She’s had a good rest through the afternoon, so she was sure she’d be ready for sparring with Zach. Nobody had come for her, so she figured she had more free time till dinner.

“Hi, Amy.”

Carl wandered in, announcing his presence without any enthusiasm. He was shirtless, again, something Amy wished he would cover up since Carl was a really skinny twig of a guy. That and he looked ridiculous with his giant wizard hat. Thankfully he took that off and threw it on the bedside table.

Amy managed to muster some concern for him. “Hey. You doing ok?”

Carl nodded as he sat down on the far side of their shared bed, but Amy pressed.

“No, seriously, Carl. You’ve been really quiet the last few days. You’re worrying me.” Amy turned around, looking at his back. He’d definitely worked up a sweat, but Amy thought he’d just been helping the monks alphabetize scrolls.

“What do you care, dude?” Carl groaned, shoulders slumped. Instantly angered, Amy took quick action.

She reached across the bed and grabbed a handful of Carl’s shaggy blond hair, yanking him over onto his back. Carl yelped, cowering as Amy glared down at him and pinned her hand to his head so she couldn’t pull anymore.

“Owowow! W-what the fuck, man?!”

“Carl.” Amy took a deep breath, struggling to get her temper under control. “I don’t like many people. I have room to tolerate five or six in my life. There are literally three people in this world for me to care about.”

Amy relaxed her grip, letting Carl free. She took one last parting swat at him as she scooted back and Carl squirmed away. “So I’ll ask again. What’s. Wrong?”

“I’m just studying!” Carl whined, rubbing his head. “Jesus, Amy! All I’m trying to do is learn magic!”

Amy slapped down on the mattress in frustration. “And I care about that! I care so much about that! I’m trying to learn magic too and it should be impossible and none of it makes sense so I really, really-”

Amy stopped as her vision blurred, and she hastily rubbed her eyes. This was stupid. This was a stupid thing to get this worked up over.

“I’m sorry, man,” Carl said quietly. “I thought you just straight-up had your magic.”

Amy nodded, trying to sniff back the rest of the tears as subtly as she could. “I can. I mean, I do. But I shouldn’t. And I don’t know why. Everyone is working so hard to get us out of this and I can’t even pick potatoes fast enough. But I’m fine. Zach’s too… well... Zack to even notice something is wrong with all this, and Brian is so busy being a boy scout that all he does is work, talk to the centaurs and sleep. So what’s with you, Carl?”

Carl hung his head, glasses glinting in the light of the lantern. “‘Ya know anything about first aid, man?”

“Just that it saved my brother’s life,” Amy said solemnly. Carl flinched. Amy threw her flour-sack pants at him. “Look, doofus. You’re a massive dork, you’re quiet, you’re lazy, but damnit if you aren’t full of surprises. Next thing we’ll hear is you saying you learned how to wallhack from your Global Elite account in Counter Strike.”

“Accuse me of hacking again and I will cast Grease on everything you own once I learn it.” Carl threatened with a sharp glare.

“I’m joking, joking!” Amy giggled. “Look, tomorrow, let’s work together on what we know about magic. Should help us synergise better when we get going.”

There was a knock on the door and both of them looked up. Brian, looking worn to the bone, leaned in. “That sounds smarter than you usually are, Amy. Dinner is about to come out, B-T-W.”

“Swag,” Carl said. Amy sighed.

“Put your stupid shirt on and stop being so stereotypical.”

“No.”

“One, two, three, four-five, one!”

Zach and Amy echoed each other as Zach counted, improvised branch-swords swishing in tandem. Amy had kept her slightly crooked but otherwise trusty birch walking stick, which was a little long but was plenty sturdy. Zach had gone for a slightly smaller stave pulled from the camp kindling.

“Again,” Zach huffed.

Alicorn Guard, cut to left Dreamer. Lunging cut to right Dragon’s Tail. Thrust, pull it back to Left Minotaur, immediate overhead circular cut and settle back to Alicorn.

“One, two, three, four-five, one!” Zach repeated, quietly enough that the noise wouldn’t carry to the huts further away.

Amy panted as they worked their way forward and back across the top of the monastery wall, dim torchlight at their feet and bright moonlight above. Her sides burned with a cramp from exertion after the strange centuari beet pie, and her feet hurt from far more steps in her heeled boots than she had expected today. But there was no way she was going to let Zach convince her to quit.

“Ok, break, break.”

Amy immediately dropped to a knee, propping herself up on her stick and clutching her side. “Oh God. Dinner. Was. A bad idea. Ow.”

“You too?” Zach gave a lopsided grin. “Yeah, me too. We should find a better time.”

“Probably,” Amy agreed. She hauled herself gingerly to her feet. Zach rolled his shoulders.

“Ok, let’s just run through the Guards one more time, then turn in. Bottom up, take ‘em and name ‘em.”

Amy nodded. She gripped both hands on her staff just above the knobby end, centering it in front of her hips before dipping the far end almost to the ground beside her.

“Dreamer. For rising strikes. Defeats Alicorn and Minotaur.”

Keeping her hands by her hips, she raised the tip to point at an imaginary opponent.

“Dragon Tail. For thrusts and blade locks. Defeats Dreamer.”

She raised her arms to shoulder height, stick still level.

“Minotaur. Thrust and power swings. Defeats Dragon.”

Finally, she widened her stance, raising the staff fully overhead.

“Alicorn. Aggressive cuts and counter-cuts. Defeats Dragon.” Amy let out a breath as she relaxed. “Real-talk. I get the rest, but the hell is an Alicorn?”

Zach almost immediately brightened, like he did whenever he got to share his prior knowledge of the pony world. “Oh! Alicorns are special ponies, basically the power of all three pony races. They’re strong like Earth Ponies, have wings like Pegasai and a magic horn like Unicorns. They’re super-powerful and basically immortal. There’s only three in the show. Wait… no, four. All princesses.”

Amy ground her stick into a divit in the top of the wall. “So… a ruling race?”

Zach chuckled as he hopped down onto the ramp-side of the wall, holding out a hand to help her. “Ha, yeah, more like god-race. Celestia and Luna are literally goddesses by another name.”

Amy tried her hardest not to look shocked. “A… goddess?”

Zach nodded happily. “Yep! It’s actually their story that kicks off the whole show.”

Amy’s mind was racing. This had the potential to upset her whole understanding of how the universe worked, but if it would keep them alive… she would have to consider it.

“Maybe you should tell us some of the stories from the show, sometime,” she suggested casually.

Zach actually squeed in excitement.

To be continued in Chapter Eight: Normal Quote Unquote

Author's Note

Things Mr. Welch is No Longer Allowed to Do in an RPG #158: I will not declare myself a god just so I can grant myself spells.

Yeah, it’s a bit short.
PS: despite the world’s efforts, Not Dead.