The Taming of the Moon

Though my first day had been warm, the night was frigid. The wind howled through the leaves which surrounded my bearer and me, powerful enough to make me shudder. It was ironic, really; the darkness was my own domain so I ought to have been calmed by the familiar, mystifying eeriness. It was not, however, of my bearer's preference (naturally). She bucked and whinnied all night long at every little thing; a leaf on her back or a blade of grass tickling her side. It was enough to send a mare mad—but I was too tired for that, really. And so, as she bronced about, I curled up into a ball, fluffed out my feathers and surrounded my body with a wall of dirt to keep out the wind.

After a short and particularly restless slumber—being a mare of the night, I usually slept soundly enough to sustain myself with only a few hours—I awoke to, I had to admit, a rather pleasant morning. It was not such a surprise, though; of course dear Celestia would tease me so. To honour my night by still lowering the sun and raising the moon on my behalf—only to make my domain unpleasant and hers unusually agreeable.

My sister had not—and never would—change. That I knew for a fact, though it did make my heart ache slightly to think so. She was my sister, after all—but such a selfish and greed-fuelled monster of a mare such as she did not deserve even my acknowledgement.

I had more pressing matters to worry about, however, than my sister's pitiful and over-glamourised existence. My stomach growled and gurgled and my bearer nickered at me quietly. When I did not react to her, she began to nudge my flank gently and nipped slightly; I, in turn, gave her muzzle a weak buck and snorted, a scowl across my own face. Was this mare so foolish as to not realise that I, tied up as I was, could not get to her udder?

Seeing that my bearer, imbecile that she was, was not going to step towards me so that I could drink, I rolled my eyes and turned my attention to the rope which bound me. If I could only get a little magic to untie the knot—but try as I might, it was to no avail. I could not even manage so much as a spark or a feeble glow.

In that case, my earth-pony strength seemed to be the ability I needed now. As I closed my eyes I took a deep breath and began to pull, wincing as the binding around my neck dug in tighter—and the rope refused to fray in the slightest.

Well, Tartarus. I could not fly to free myself, for my foal's wings were much too small to give me lift—if I even had my magic to boost me up. But by the looks of it, I was completely lacking in any form of equine power, a realisation which made my immature heart freeze and drop from my chest.

But there was no need to panic, surely. No newborn foal has magic strong enough to control their race's talent; I should be no exception. Nevertheless, despite my reassurances and logical reasoning, I still felt as if something was absolutely, terribly wrong.

That was a worry for another time, however. The ape from before had returned and, to my surprise, carried a reasonably well carved bowl in his hands. It was made from bone, a fact which genuinely surprised me; such items had not been used since the time of the cavemares. It begged the question, could these creatures craft? And furthermore, could these apes—one day—be threats to Equestria's great civilisation? I quickly brushed off the thought and laughed to myself; such puny creatures as these would never be much of an issue for a race with magic so plentiful as that of the ponies.

With the exception of myself, I added rather bitterly.

Though my bearer snorted and whinnied at the ape, it did not seem too unnerved. In fact, though it watched her warily—notifiably its gaze rested on her hooves—he bent down to me and placed the bowl by my legs. Then, with a momentary pause, he raised his paw slowly and moved it towards me; unable to escape him, I merely bared my tiny foal teeth at him but otherwise kept still as he placed it on my fur. He began to rub slowly and then raised his paw to scratch behind my ear. The action drew a coo from me and I stopped snarling quickly as I gave a sigh.

The pleasurable fondling, however—I assured myself that it was not unbecoming when none of the creatures seemed to recognise me—ended much too abruptly. But, when I opened my eyes, I found something even better laying right in front of me; to my surprise, the bowl was not merely for display and was—surely a sign of an intelligent race—filled with exactly what I needed right now; milk.

I could not fathom how this creature realised my hunger, but I hastened to lower my lips to the bowl nevertheless and greedily began to slurp. Frankly, I wasn't sure what I had expected, but this milk was not the equine milk which my bearer had provided; it was, plain and simple, cow milk.

For some inexplicable reason, it felt like the best thing I had ever tasted.

The supply was gone much too quickly, however. As I licked the bowl for every last drop, the ape gave a deep chortle and removed it from my reach, ruffling my mane with rough paws. I, too, felt my heart rise slightly at the creature's delight; I gave a small whinney and bucked about on the spot, flapping my tiny wings as I did so. However, my bearer was less than pleased; she roared as she galloped forwards with a snort and snapped her teeth at the ape, standing protectively over me. She threw her head and stomped her hoof, ears completely pinned; the ape, to no surprise of my own, gave a short yelp and fled.

I snorted a little and rolled my eyes as I reached under my bearer's stomach, finally able to reach her teats now that I was full. But I suckled slowly all the same, if not for myself but to relieve the poor mare's discomfort. When I drew back, however, I couldn't help but smile—or try to smile with my peculiar new muzzle muscles—at the sight of her grazing quite contentedly now, nibbling at grass without worry.

I lay down quietly and let my head lay on the floor, sighing as I licked the grass tentatively. I was too young to eat yet, but that wasn't to say I couldn't enjoy the taste—or so I had thought, until a quiet but eerily familiar voice sounded inside my head.

Fate has been cruel and order unkind...

I stiffened for a moment and then froze, my only movements being the rapid darting of my eyes and the swivelling of my ears. But I heard nothing more, and my bearer had not so much as flinched at the gentle song.

Oh my gosh.

I hissed as I leapt to my hooves; a raging fire suddenly burned in my veins. I snorted and bucked and reared, striking the bark of the tree and catching the rope on my hooves. And then, as I gave an especially large kick, I felt my balance fail me; the rope wrapped around my leg and I fell with a thud on my back, entangled in the bindings.

I gasped as the pain shot through my body and then whimpered a little as my bearer stepped closer. Striking her with my free hoof, I then let out a breath and kept still, closing my eyes.

She would pay.