White Wolf Of The Everfree

They were right behind her.

Her hooves sunk into the mud as she galloped, kicking up earth and grass along the dirt path. The contents of her saddle bag clinked and clanked. Rain lashed against her oak brown cloak with the subtly of a whip. Her breathing was becoming haggard and coarse with each lungful of air taken. The cold and unrelenting wind made her fur stand on end, as if tiny icicles were making their way between each individual hair on her skin. She gritted her teeth, fighting off the intense cold. She cursed herself for using up the remains of whatever magic she had left.

Glancing back, her violet eyes scanned the environment with the grace of a hawk. She could make out a figure up in the air, wings flapping, a fore-leg splayed above their head, as if it was looking for something. The mare narrowed her eyes. It was one of the Lunar scouts. She gasped, her eyes widening, heart beating like a drum.

As if the scout knew it was being watched, it turned its head in her direction, pointed, and shouted something to someone down on the ground. The mare turned her head swiftly, focusing on the path in front of her, sprinting as fast as her legs could make her. Droplets of mud splattered on to her face, dirtying her coat of beige fur. A freezing sensation was building up in her throat, her right side was stitching, just below the ribs. She blinked away a few tears, trying to keep a distance between her and her pursuers.

The pine trees at the edge of the road waved from side to side as the wind crashed against them, the creaking noises they produced sounded like they were in constant agony. A murder of crows flew by overhead, their black feathered bodies easily identifiable under the gathering of grey storm clouds. They cawed in panic, trying to escape nature's wrath. Pine needles blew out on to the path, sticking to the sloppy mud.

The smell of woodland dominated the air, causing the mare to flare her nostrils. The squelching noise of her hooves slapping against the earth made her wince internally. Her cloak billowed from both sides of her vision, feeling the piece of clothing wrap around her flank and sides like a wet towel. She took a quick peek over her shoulder.

Three Lunar scouts were right on her tail, shouting profanities at her over the howling wind. One was flying with the wind, leathery wings spread out, a spear grasped in its right fore-leg. The other two opted to stay on the ground, galloping after her, crossbows in hoof, getting ready to fire a bolt or two.

The sudden realisation caused her to sprint just a little faster, forcing some of her chartreuse green mane to get in her eyes. She quickly brushed it away with a swift flick of a hoof. Her breath caught in her throat as she felt a mighty force impact the mud just behind her. A crossbow bolt was fired. She turned her head to look back at her pursuers to see who would fire the next shot, but immediately retracted her head back, feeling a bolt whoosh past the side of her face and strike the ground just a few paces before her.

She scrambled along up the road, as if she was weaving in-between imaginary poles. She hoped it would be enough to throw off at least one of their aims. Her body was drenched in water and mud, and areas in which the water or mud had trouble seeping in to was stinking of sweat.

A tingle was felt on the tip of her horn and a small smile found its way onto her lips, despite of the situation. Her magic was coming back, slowly but surely.

The wind began to die down a little, only enough as to make out what the Lunar scouts were roaring.

"Queen Nightmare Moon only wants your head, Clover!" One of the scouts yelled, old, authoritative even. "And we intend to carry out just that!"

Clover's eyes grew wide. 'Queen' Nightmare Moon? Does that mean Princess Celestia is dead? She thought. Clover buried that thought, clenching her eyes shut. A sudden pang of fury darted through her, but it quickly passed. Taking on those three whilst her magic reserves were low was just asking for an early death sentence.

The same voice called out again, dripping with venom. "You can make this easy for us! You and I both know how this will end!"

Clover ignored him, running even faster, but she was starting to feel her legs give way, her saddle bag weighing her down. She inhaled and exhaled breaths in quick succession. Tears were threatening to escape her eyes as she knew she was only delaying the inevitable. She ground her teeth together so hard it had hurt, pushing on, the tip of her horn poking out from the brim of her hood.

She heard a crossbow fire.

A sudden force impacted her flank. Searing, white hot pain coursed throughout the area in question. A shrill scream escaped from her mouth as she tumbled to the ground, tripping over her hooves,  getting coated in slimy, wet mud during the process. Clover lay there shivering, breathing haphazardly. With a weak turn of her head, she could make out a crossbow bolt sticking out of her left side, embedded in the cutie-mark. Blood oozed out of the wound, the rain washing it down her body. Her cloak lay to her right, drenched in mud and grime. Some of the contents of her saddle bag were scattered behind her. Notes, scrolls, quills and a golden brooch face side in the mud littered the trail. Tears streamed down her face like a river. Pained, shuddering breaths wheezing out of her.

She perked her ears up slightly. The sound of hooves impacting the ground drew near, accompanying it was the noise chain armour would make, as did the flap of wings.

A condescending laugh from one of the scouts made her shudder. "A well placed shot, Drill." Clover closed her eyes, choking back a sob. "Aw look, the poor girl is crying." The two other scouts chuckled. Clover felt a hoof prod her. "Listen here, you skank, you have made me and my lads travel for three fuckin' days chasin' after you. So for that," he paused, "we're goin' to make your death slow and utterly painful. Snag, give me the knife."

"Aye, sir."

Looking up at her attackers, Clover could see that their leader was an orange earth pony with a scar trailing down from the bottom of his eye to the top of his lip. He and his little troop were adorned in the armour any member of the Lunar forces would usually wear, but in the scouts' case, they were wearing a light, purple chain-mail instead of a heavy, fuchsia coloured plate. This 'Drill' stallion had a snow white coat of fur, he was an earth pony also, and 'Snag' seemed to be the only bat-pony that accompanied them, its slitted eyes glaring balefully at her.

Gathering up every ounce of strength she had inside her, Clover used her fore-legs to drag herself forward, if only a little. Mud stained into her fur even further, but a sharp and stinging pain in her flank made her bite her lip, suppressing a yelp. The crossbow bolt dug into her flesh even more.

"You're trying to escape from us?" Their leader snarled. "After what you put me and my lads through? Keep the knife, Snag. I think-" his voice grew low, menacing, "-it's about time we relieved a little stress."

Clover's eyes widened, more tears flowing. Even harder she tried to drag herself across the ground. She was on the edge of hyperventilating, exhaling quick shuddering breaths.

"Are you crazy, Fern?!" Drill exclaimed, young, his voice cracking. "Our Queen doesn't want her body desecrated!"

Fern turned to him. "Are you daft, foal? Our Queen only demands her head. Maybe you grew deaf durin' our little brief."

"No sir, I didn't." Drill spat, narrowing his eyes. "I have a family, and I will not bring myself as low as to rape an injured mare."

"Maybe you won't then, Drill, maybe you won't. Maybe I'll just have to force you-" Fern stopped abruptly, eyes travelling to the ground, before narrowing them, he turned to Snag. "Get that brooch off of the ground, it could be worth a few bits."

"Aye, sir."

Clover's mouth was hanging open. "No! Please, don't take the brooch!"

Fern raised an eyebrow. "And why should we not? Is it impor-"

A low pitched growl cut him off. The stallions, eyes going wide, readied their weapons. Fern scanned the environment, gazing along the tree-line. Another growl.

"That sounded like a wolf." Snag muttered to himself, spear in hoof. He turned his head to Drill, baring his fangs. "I thought you had said there was no wolves along this path?"

Drill sputtered. "There shouldn't be!"

"Enough!" Fern shouted, glaring. "Shut up and protect the trophy. I intend to please our Queen, no matter the ramifications. Form a circle around her." He gestured with a hoof.

Clover lay there, distraught. Somewhat thankful that the wolves delayed her terrible fate. From her place on the ground, she could see nothing in the trees. The forest wasn't as dense as the Everfree, which was an odd fifty miles back. The wolves should have been easy to see in the expanse. This got Clover to think. The only wolves capable of hiding in plain sight were Equestrian timber-wolves.

The growls grew closer.

"I don't see anything." Snag said, eyes narrowing, his voice raising a little in pitch. "I can't see anything." It was mutter of disbelief.

"You don't see anything?" Fern whispered, harshly. "You bat-ponies have the best eyesight among the legions, how can you not see anything?"

A particularly strong gust of wind blew through the area, it was tinted with sparks of green, almost like lightning. The trees whispered, threateningly. The grass fell flat, as if it was being stood on by an invisible force. The rain hit the ground, harder now, with the force that of hailstones.

Clover could feel her magic seeping in through the tip of her horn. A sad smile tugged on her lips. The ambient magic in the air was causing her magical energy to regenerate at a faster rate. She closed her eyes.

And waited.

A few, long moments passed and all of a sudden, the growls ceased. The rain stopped. The wind turned from a strong gale and into a small breeze. The storm clouds stayed, hovering above. Pine needles fell gently to the ground, floating on top of small puddles. Cuckoos, pigeons, finches and crows began singing once again. The scouts, still in their formation, did not move an inch, waiting.

Drill stared in every direction he could, breathing growing quicker. "No, no, no. . ."

"What is it, Drill?" Snag whispered.

"Everfree timber-wolves can not be this far out."

Breaths hitched. It was as if their hearts stopped beating. Beads of sweat formed under the manes, trailing down their faces, down their necks.

Loud and hungry growls sounded all around them. Crescent slits formed by the tree-line, an aura of bright green emanating from them. A wind picked up, fast and unforgiving. Weeds, shrubs, sticks, twigs and branches flowed with the wind, forming up at the tree-line. With the ground as a base, the debris collided with each other. Twigs and sticks snapped into place, weeds and shrubs climbed the branches like snakes wrapped around their prey. All around them, the wolves gathered. Building up.

The paws formed, claws digging into the earth. Then the legs, stocky and firm. Along came the bodies, branches creaking under the strain, smacking against each other as the wolves made themselves whole. The heads came last, combined with small rocks and pebbles, twigs off of pines turned into teeth, ready to slice into flesh. Their eyes of autumn green flowed with the wind, a deadly sense of beauty about them.

"Get ready, lads." Fern said, his voice low, quivering somewhat. "Drill, ready your crossbow." The white stallion grunted in acknowledgement.

The barking soon began. The timber wolves were snarling with a fiery intensity no other animal of its kind could ever hope to match. Spittle, in the form of tree sap, dripped from their jaws. One took a single step forward, causing Snag to raise his spear in its direction. The spear shook slightly in his grasp.

Clover, opening her eyes, took in the scene around her. The stallions were surrounded, and she was the only unicorn there. A plan quickly came to mind. She couldn't teleport out, her magic reserves were still too low, but she could heal herself up while the scouts weren't looking, and possibly set a timber wolf or two on fire.

Summoning up her magical energy, her horn glowed a faint lavender. The same lavender hue enveloped the end of the crossbow bolt on her flank. She tugged on it, only to bite down on her lip to quench a scream of pain, the magical connection cutting off. She breathed out quickly and quietly, clenching her eyes shut. Feeling the metal bolt underneath her skin, the nerve ends reacting to every tiny nudge of the bolt, made her shiver.

Again, she grasped it firmly with her magic, exhaling a quiet sigh, calming herself. Clover clenched her teeth together, numbing the burning sensation in her flank. She tugged the bolt as hard as she could, a little squeak escaping her throat, pulling at the protrusion. Her eyes went watery yet again, blood gushing from the wound like a waterfall as the red liquid trailed down her thigh. With one mighty and strained pull, the bolt was out of her flank like lighting and in her grasp in the air, blood dripping from the tip. She sighed quietly, before placing the bolt gently next to her. The burning pain soon turning into a dull throb. With her horn emitting a faint light, Clover began to heal the wound to some extent, using too much magic for the healing alone would get rid of any chance to escape.

The wolves were beginning to make their move. One rushed forward, barking madly, only to get a crossbow bolt to the eye. The beast staggered back with a whine, before rushing forward, seeming to ignore the fact that it was just shot. Another ran in from the opposite direction.

Snag, with a single flap of his wings, propelled himself into the air, before swooping down, his spear aimed at an incoming wolf's head. Catching the beast mid-stride, the spear entered one eye, making the wood that acted as a skull crack and snap under the force. The steel tip of the spear exited through the opposite eye. The wolf fell apart into a pile of sticks and stones immediately after, pieces scattering everywhere.

Snag stayed in the air, thrusting the spear at the wolves below. He didn't take notice of Clover.

Fern had a sword in his mouth, and Drill had a crossbow in hoof. They weren't faring as well as Snag. The wolves were getting uncomfortably close before being struck by a sword or the side of a crossbow, before jumping back, circling. One or two of the wolves were eyeing Clover as an easy meal. Clover, summoning all of her strength and willpower, got up onto her hooves, without a sound, the saddle bag still firmly attached to her back.

A timber wolf charged at her.

Clover's horn emanated a darker hue of purple then that of previous. Charging up a spell she knew only too well, Clover glared at the wolf, letting it come close. The timber wolf snapped its jaws as it came within spitting distance. Clover smiled slyly before a blinding beam of fire streaked from the tip of her horn. As soon as it made contact with the timber wolf, a mighty explosion rocketed the area, turning the wolf into nothing but an ash pile. This caused the other wolves to stop their advancements, and the Lunar scouts to turn their heads in her direction.

It was few moments before one of them spoke. "Nevermind pleasuring ourselves. We can't afford her running." Fern growled. "Snag, kill her. We'll deal with the timber wolves."

Snag had the audacity to smile, a lone fang showing. "Gladly, sir."

Clover cursed their ungrateful and utterly stupid attitudes under her breath. 'The enemy of my enemy is my friend' didn't seem to work, she thought bitterly. With her leg slightly healed, she ran for it, a slight limp befalling her. Another wolf rushed at her, snapping its jaws ferociously. She blasted it apart with another fire spell, a cloud of ash in its place. Glancing back, she could see that wolves didn't bother giving chase, only focused on killing Fern and Drill. Her vision travelled up. Snag was right on top of her. Spear aimed downward, coming right at her.

Clover dodged to the left, missing the point of the spear by inches. She could hear Snag roar out in frustration. Looking up again, the spear sailing down just ahead of her. Clover made a sharp turn to the right, barely feeling the spear touch her, before running down the trail. An idea came to her mind. If it was any other day, she would have grinned.

Clover halted mid step, the spear jutted down just in front of her. Using her magic, she grabbed onto the spear, and pulled it out of Snag's noticeably strong grip with ease. Snag came down with it, hitting the ground. He quickly pushed himself back onto his hooves. Using the blunt edge of the spear, Clover readied for a swing.

Snag propelled himself at her, fangs bared into a snarl.

The spear came at him fast and strong, whacking the crown of his head, the top of the spear splitting off with a crunch. Snag roared in pain and fury, holding his head in his hoof. As Clover prepared a spell to incapacitate him, Snag snapped out of his pain-ridden phase and made an all out charge at her. He rammed head first into Clover's chest, winding her momentarily.

A sudden hoof rocketed down on her face with the force of a brick. Clover, feeling slightly dizzy, felt a great pain in her temple. Another hoof came down tremendously, forcing Clover to spit out some blood. Regaining focus, Clover grabbed the next hoof with her magic, stopping a few short centimetres from the side of her face and hurled it back into Snag's snout. A crunching sound immediately followed as she used her hind legs to buck him off of her. Snag collapsed onto his back, like an upturned tortoise.

Clover took this has her chance to cast the incapacitation spell. Mumbling quietly to herself, a stream of lavender bolted from her horn. Snag was clambering on to his hooves before being struck by the magical blast. His eyes, slowly and agonisingly, rolled to the back of his head as he collapsed to the ground, the squelch of mud sounding thereafter, his body splayed. Clover looked back, breathing heavily, the main fight still ongoing behind her. She couldn't see the battle clearly, but she managed to make out that some of the wolves had grown bigger.

They probably absorbed the remains of their friends, no doubt. She thought.

Blood flowed from her snout as she wiped it away with a muddied hoof, the blood staining her appendage even further. She wanted to cry then and there, but she knew she had to push on. She was so very close to the border.

Clover turned around and quickly trotted off, pulling her hood up. "There's no point in going back," she mumbled, "I can get the brooch later."

A scream that could have been heard for miles, echoed between the trees. Clover shivered, but didn't look back.

The fate of those beasts was now left for the wolves to decide.