The Prince stroked his forehead to ease the pain from his magical burnout, and grunted as he staggered back from the soldier he'd just healed, "Now go, T'ap'arrakan. Don't let yourself be seen. Stick to eating smaller things. The vines in this forest are quite fleshy, and you may be able to live on a few of the beasts that wander these woods."
It didn't go away, but stepped forward to help him, and hissed, "You gave me a name." It repeated that sentence a dozen times as it fled from the growling patrician. It couldn't believe what had just happened. A name. A name! The Prince had given it a name, only the highest honor a changeling could ever wish for.
When it grew tired, it slumped against the trunk of a great tree, muttering to itself, "T'ap'arrakan. Wanderer. T'ap'arrakan." It shook its head disbelievingly as sleep swept it away from the waking world.
When the soldier awoke, it found a warm fluid placed to its lips, and though it had no clue what it was, drank. It heard a smooth, rhythmic voice, "Food is what you surely seek, and you'll find more nourishment if you speak." It opened its eyes, and looked up at the mare.
She was a very light shade of grey with darker stripes. Her mane was dressed into a narrow mohawk, with the lighter areas off the stripes at its base being replaced with white hair. Her hips each bore a dark grey spiral with outwardly pointing triangles surrounding them. Her neck and left foreleg each had five golden rings on them, and from her ears, large, golden earrings hung. Her eyes were narrow, wider than they were tall, and her grey irises held a warmth to them, an almost motherly glow.
The soldier looked around frantically, and then at itself, realizing that it wasn't in disguise. It froze, stiffened, and remained still as the zebra continued to speak, "You'll learn to find my company pleasant, or perhaps you are less than a pheasant."
It blinked at her, and gulped, exercising what little Equish it knew, "Queen is dead, the Prince told." It went silent, letting this news hang in the air, drill into its own head and wreak as much havoc on the zebra's mind as it was going through, but this information had little impact on the mare, who simply rubbed her chin with a hoof and hemmed thoughtfully.
After a long silence, the soldier asked, "Why you helping?"
The zebra chuckled a bit, and held the wooden bowl full of porridge to the changeling's lips. "I know of your affliction, and care not for your race's conviction," she said, pulling the bowl away from the soldier to let it breathe. She sat down before the changeling, and asked, "Now, what is your name, unless you have no glorious claim?"
It grabbed the bowl from her hooves, and tipped it back as it drank down the food. It sighed as it set the dish down, and said, "Wanderer. Yours?"
"Zecora, I am. Who was your dam?" she asked.
Wanderer looked up at her, and shrugged. "Some equine, thinks," it said, slipping into its native tongue.
Zecora considered her guest for a moment, then spoke in a much less familiar language to the soldier, one with clicking sounds no pony could make if they tried. After this yielded no response, she tried a series of distinctly avian sounds, though it had only learned what birds sounded like since its banishment.
After it say there for a while, dumbfounded, she returned to a language it could understand, "Perhaps you'll learn to talk with me, unless you have plans for the Everfree."
It looked down again, unsure of what she was asking it. "Not understand."
The zebra smiled softly, an almost motherly look in her eyes, like she was speaking to a child who would not understand her fully for many years yet. "I do not expect you to, Wanderer, not yet. Plans that seem carved in stone are never truly set. You will learn, and your trust I will earn," she said, sitting down beside the changeling.
Wrapping her forelegs around the mostly unresponsive creature's back, she spoke a standalone sentence without a rhyming second line, "I know you hunger."
The soldier blinked, not moving to push her away, though it was getting more confused by the minute. The zebra wasn't wrong, it knew, but it found suspicion scratching at the back of its mind. Why was this zebra so kind? Why was she so eager to offer a lowly soldier a meal? She wasn't in the hive. She wasn't under the effects of changeling magic to muddle her mind and build a willingness to interact with changelings.
Zecora's eyes were looking into the soldier's, reading its mind like one might understand a toddler. She sighed, pulling the changeling onto her lap and closing her eyes while she hugged it, permitting it to feed on the small trickle of love that always came with basic physical contact.
"I believe that we can form a symbiosis, overcome the problems an isolated life poses," she said quietly. "A teacher and a food source is what you seek, and I would like a friend with whom I can speak. For little, I ask. My visitors will listen to me if you would rather not wear a mask."
It considered this for a minute. "What ask?"
"Consider yourself a person under Faust's eye. Learn to say things like 'I' 'me' and 'my'. I will ask favors of you, helping me pick herbs and brew. What to do, I will teach you. Ask questions if you become confused, and I will not be unfairly amused."
The changeling made a short chirping sound, and lay its head down on Zecora's shoulder. "Yes," it said flatly, closing its eyes and nuzzling the side of her neck. "Will stay."
Author's Note
I plan for infrequent and fairly wordy updates. This one chapter has been slowly built up like a ball of paint during free periods and (usually) after homework is done. My last five log-ins spent writing this have all been to do background research on Zecora and making small revisions.
I hope that this is the start of my (inevitably slow) return to writing for this story.
