"Ughmm..."
Something was crawling on Timbril's ear. Her head jerked up and her mane flew out around her, spraying particles of dust and dirt from the multicolored strands. The ear still twitched and a sneeze escaped her as all four of her elevated legs fell to the soil. She was lying on her back, hardly comfortable, with green eyes blinking up at the overbearing night sky above.
Pale light from the crescent moon illuminated jagged branches far in the air, much higher than she could ever reach. She pawed at the ground with her forehoof as if to test its ability holding her weight, then clambered to stand-- albeit shakily.
The pain in her stomach was gone. She didn't feel even the slightest trace of it, giving her hope that it wouldn't come back. She fell asleep in agonized knots who-knew-how-many hours before, focusing on the vivid emerald-and-brown shades of her cutie mark until she could no longer hold her head up anymore.
Something woke her up. A sound, like a shrill croon on the wind or something sharp carving the bark off a tree. Maybe both. Timbril darted a quick look around during her steady ascent down the slope, breaking out into a trot. A world of dimly lit shrubbery and winding dirt paths breaking off from the treeless clearing opened up in front of her, and no direction looked more dangerous than any other.
She closed her eyes once more like she was making plans to fall back asleep standing up, except this time she stuck out a hoof in front of her and chose without visual incentive. Her whole body teetered far left. She heard the sound of her feet plodding over the terrain before she realized she was moving again, which was when she reclaimed her sight.
A good thirty feet above her head, an owl hooted from his towering stance. Timbril nickered back. She high-stepped over a bush and hopped over a protruding root in the tough ground, all the while searching the foggy expanse of woodland she had yet to trod.
It swaddled her neck and head the closer she approached, but the fog was weightless. It obstructed her vision, however, so when she saw two bright chartreuse slits blinking out at her from within the next crop of trunks, she was thoroughly convinced for at least a minute that they were a larger, greener-hued species of firefly and that was that. Move along; Nothing to see here.
But, of course, they were eyes. Timbril faltered in her step and stared back. Her mouth was a straight, closed line, and her flanks visibly deflated upon her breath hitching in the way that it did. Two hooves were off the ground, and they stayed that way, quivering in midair.
A surprisingly strong breeze blew in. The eyes receded back into the shadows, and Timbril felt strangely more alone than usual. She didn't know who she wanted there with her to keep her company, but she certainly wasn't in the mindset to be picky.
In the very same direction the eyes disappeared to, she heard scuffling on the terrain. Dark figures moved about and fleeting streaks of smeared, glowing green happened past. That was, if one squinted. Timbril proceeded onwards, albeit slower. Her legs carried her through a shallow trench in the dirt between her stance and the crop. What sounded like a low set growl caught her ear, making the fair hairs in her coat stand on end.
The area smelled of something sour. Almost foul, but not terrible. She couldn't place her hoof on what it was, but it nearly deterred her from going any farther and that had to stand for something.
Imperceptibly, she began to hum. It was either a nervous tick or a casual habit, but she tended to only do it when she was concentrating. She didn't know what the song was; Songs were few and far between in these parts. How'd this one even stick, anyway?
And, speaking of sticks, a particularly sharp one dully dragged over the far side of her back, having snagged her. It made her wince, but the look of discomfort made way for wide-eyed confusion very soon; She was surprised when the tree to her right literally up and moved for her, to say the least. It was before she belatedly remembered that trees don't move on their own, so why--?
RrrrRAWF!
Timbril leapt away from the vicious noise but only bumped bodies with another warm, hard mass of breathing wall. The exterior of the beast reminded her of a tightly woven picnic basket, but with more leafiness seeping through the cracks. Wet breath fanned her mane around, effectively messing it up. The creature didn't have pupils in its eyes; Only beaming flashlights emitting malice. For her, namely.
"G-g-get--" Why she thought she could finish a full sentence, she hadn't a clue. She could barely get the first word out.
Wolves, born from the trees? She was not informed of this happenstance!
The wolf glaring down at her shifted his focus to the clacking and rustling of another of his kind charging in. He was bowled into, snarling ferociously on his way down to the forest floor. Timbril darted out of the way of his fast descending body and almost got crushed underneath it doing so. He was pinned beneath the claws of another wolf now, puffing out gross-smelling breath and seething solely at Timbril in spite of his very present opponent.
The victor roared, loud and for miles. The earth mare bearing witness to the action felt her ears ring. Every sense was heightened but no sweat collected on her brow.
During his time on the ground, the wolf terrorizing her swatted a paw out in a final attempt to bring harm onto her... and lost a leg for it. It was crunched under the weight of the topside wolf's paw, and with the jerky movement the two fighters separated with a scared yip from one and a haughty chuff from the other. The mean beast jackknifed away down the narrow path Timbril hadn't dared go yet, leaving her alone with the first wolf and her rescuer.
They smelled of pine. They varied in size, but the one who came to her aid had to have been at least fifteen feet tall. They had wagging fronds for tails and noses wetted with sap. One touched his to her shoulder and a string of the golden-brown ooze came away. Timbril turned in a woozy circle and fell back onto her rump, dazed.
'Thank you,' she mouthed the words, because her vocal cords were having trouble keeping up with her thoughts. She received a gentle poke to the shoulder with a long, jagged claw. These two didn't advance on her like that other one did, but their menacing fronts were still there, intimidating her with silence.
A whole throng of chartreuse lights flickered on in the backdrop, glittering eerily. Dapples from the canopy leaves reflected in each attentive eye as they assessed her all at once. A carnivorous crowd stared back at Timbril-- a pack-- and she wasn't under the impression that she was unwelcome.
Chapter 2: Skirting Boscage
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.
