Boscage Dreams

Timbril was reared on her hind legs. Her forehooves scoured the pale brown, thin-trunked tree inches in front of her muzzle. She had been analyzing the claw marks on the bark for a solid five minutes now, but she was coming up regrettably empty.

Not big enough, she inwardly mused, and accompanying the thought with two more prods from her right hoof, eliciting a hollow tapping sound.

Eventually she fell back down on all fours and trotted to the next tree in sight, repeating the action of standing up taller than she'd normally be and pressing her weight into her short front legs, tracing the three deep scratches in the rough exterior with her hoof. All the while, she was biting back the wariness that arrived alongside the uncomfortable question nagging at the back of her mind: If these scratches aren't big enough to be a Timberwolf's, who made them?

A number of answers swarmed her. A badger, maybe. A bird with really grand talons? Not a dragon. At least, she was pretty sure it wasn't a dragon. Anything smaller than a Timberwolf was normally nothing to be feared, but it wasn't about size so much as it was about the sharpness of its claws, and judging by those long scores on the tree bark, this mystery creature had some sharp ones, indeed.

The corner of her mouth straightened out in a subtle grimace. She offered up a little shrug to nopony and ducked back into the shade, plodding on her way. It was a nice day and there were strolls to be had; Skulking about in the shadows and making assumptions was just the same as wasting time.

She was on the thin border, where thick trees in The Boscage became less plentiful and leaves weren't nearly as bushy. The trunks became narrower; The plant life looked dead. The grass and firm dirt gave way for sandy oasis, and transitioned seamlessly into a large, rolling desert as far as the eye could see.

A particularly giant mound obstructed what was beyond, but, sometimes, if Timbril stood very tall and lifted her chin higher than she normally carried it, she could see what looked like gray peaks, tall enough to touch the richly blue sky.

When the sun rose in the mornings, it gleamed on these peaks first. A structure (or multiple structures) made out of some sort of stone, or granite. It piqued her curiosity, but she had never ventured over there before. Danger was abound in any land she was unable to see from a fair distance away. It wasn't fun thinking, but it was smart thinking.

Along the area she walked to get to see them, and to get a face full of listless, lifeless wasteland when the mood called for it, every twiggy tree she passed was scratched by the mysterious claw marks. Either an animal in The Boscage wanted those in the desert to stay out, or an animal in the desert wanted all Boscage dwellers to stay in. The former sounded a teensy bit more feasible, if she was being honest.

Still, it made Timbril curious about the desert. What was out there? How would the sliding mound sand feel beneath her hooves? Her coat was already a toffee brown, but that was since birth; Maybe it would get even darker if she spent any stretch of time out there? It wasn't something she wanted, but it was just something to think about.

She settled on a middle ground-- literally-- and lied down in a patch of dewy grass wherein her front half was graced with sunlight and her lower half was submerged in canopy shadow and watched the distant curve at the top of the hill. She definitely wasn't up high enough to see the peaks now, but the sky sufficed.

It was always blue. Or painted with lingering clouds of pure white, and still blue. Timbril never saw anything or anyone up there. No birds; Not even vultures. And, at night, it was always a starry void of indigo. Clouds turned gray and treetops were somehow more alight than ever. Some nights, the moon was more glaring than the sun.

Some things in the woods, Timbril had more recently found, didn't need a light source to shine.

A sudden chorus of high pitched barking interrupted her train of thought. She swiveled around, her pointy ears keening to the sounds she was only just getting used to. Groaning of wood and gentle stamps on the ground alerted her to the ten footer approaching. It was Dumose, a mother Timberwolf with whom Timbril had grown acquainted to fast. Her four pups were the cutest, if a little overwhelming to a meeker, quieter pony. They were also the size of lion cubs.

Dumose couldn't talk, but Timbril could understand her. It was all in the heart, really;

"Hey, I've been looking for you all over!" she exclaimed. Dumose grunted from her throat and lowered herself to a gradual lie-down, placing the pup she had been carrying in her teeth to the grass. The three others were winding around her giant legs yapping their tiny heads off, but when they saw that Timbril was there, they made a break for her instead.

They tumbled over each other, growling in mock. They crowded her forelegs, sniffing and licking. Timbril prided herself on the company she kept.

"Where you been?" she casually asked the wolfess, after giving the noggin of each puppy a thorough rub. She walked over and sat considerably closer to her friend. With a simple swish of her tail she brought the smallest baby in against her flank. "You don't usually bring the kids out this close to the outskirts..."

Haarumph! Dumose shook out her neck and head, dislodging a pebble or two. There were many places a miniscule thing like that could get stuck without it sending her whole rickety body into disassembly. Timbril would never forget the first time she saw a Timberwolf fall to ruin in a pile of twigs and leaves and then slowly, magically piece itself back together. It was certainly a sight.

"They begged you to come with? Of course they did." She couldn't keep the affection out of her voice. She received an impromptu kiss on the nose from one of the little terrors. Their tongues were leaves, but undoubtedly moist. Not from sap, but from a liquid that had no color to it. Or odor. Timbril would never say, but the adults were the ones with the bad breath; The pups grew into it, so for the time being, they hosted no stink.

That only left her with the struggle of enduring how much they tickled. She fell astride them, a snicker escaping her as she batted out playfully with her hooves. Her neck was under attack and it was all kinds of awful. Even the smallest pup, who Timbril had to assume was the runt, joined in on the game.

She wound up on her back, taking one of the pups hostage in her arms. She came out a stickied, laughing mess with loose burrs in her mane and tail. The skin along her sides was broken in a few places, where they used their little pinpricks for claws on her. It didn't hurt too bad. It was when she placed her head down fully in the dirt, giving her an upside down view of the place she was beginning to decide she'd dub, "The Desert Region" that something caught her eye;

A gasp flew out of her. She uprighted, making the pups back off in surprise and consternation, because she needed to get a better view of the thing that just rocketed up into the air above the faraway peaks.

It offered contrast to the sky. It was mainly tan in color. Timbril didn't need to look closely in order to see the two wings quickly beating up and down causing a flurry of movement, or the-- Are... are those...?! Four hooves! She lifted a forehoof to take a quick, experimental glance at her own before returning her gaze to the mystery pony. A mystery pony with wings, in the desert! She never thought she'd be entertaining that thought when she woke up this morning!

Who is this? Why are they out there? Do they condone visitors? ...even if that visitor is a complete stranger?

That shocking sighting of the pegasus pony flying over the peaks was the last Timbril saw of them that day. They returned to the ground, beyond what was as far as she could see, and they never took flight again in the hours following.

Timbril lied down with her hooves crossed and her chin resting comfortably on them when night set in. She was deeper in the foliage this time; Dumose stated quite eloquently that staring, deadened, at the horizon waiting for more activity was no good for her, and invited her to come back with her and the pups to sleep.

The whiny snores of the kids lulled her. She was near, staring long but not very hard at the mossy log that made up the massive wolfess's trunk as she drifted off finally.

She needed to find out more. That much was obvious.