He was watching. Something about his gaze both excited her and terrified her. She sat in the corner, sitting in a pile of something called ‘straw.’ It was comfortable enough to sleep on, pleasant even, sweet smelling, though it appeared to be something that food ate. Well, not-food. Malcanus had spent some time explaining why she couldn’t eat his ponies in a patient voice.

They were thinking, feeling creatures, just like she was, and eating them was wrong. She was inclined to agree, after everything that had been said, but she was unable to state her own opinions. Even with great effort to try and mimic Malcanus’ speech, she was unable to form words.

After trying to eat Freckle Speckle, she felt bad; guilty even. She had caused another creature the sort of fear that she had of the terrible iron rod. The knowledge that she had done so made her feel awful, and it had caused yet another entry to appear in her book.

I have learned empathy.

This, along with the other entries, mystified her. Her book was a precious thing, she had an overwhelming compulsion to keep it close, and Malcanus had allowed her to keep it near her. It was her only possession, something she valued, something she treasured. She was growing rather fond of the bowl with the little handle sticking off the side as well. She wanted it, preferably with food in it. Hunger was an almost constant thing, a terrible beast that lurked within her insides. She could satisfy it only for a while before it began to growl and thrash about. She was happy with her book and the bowl.

Malcanus’ eyes flashed in the firelight. He was waiting, waiting for her to continue the game. At least, she thought it was a game. She would point at something and he would say what it was. It was amusing, and helped to pass the time. Once she knew a word, it stuck in her memory, even if she couldn’t say it. The building around her was made of wood, and wood burned in the fire. So did straw. She had to be careful with the sparks flying out of her snort holes, because those sparks could set the straw on fire.

There was a table, and a chair, and the fire lived in a strange little house called a fireplace. Above her was a roof and rafters. She longed to hang from the rafters with her prehensile tail or what Malcanus called her ‘chameleon foot.’ He had named her feet. Eagle, eagle, pony, goat, lion, and chameleon. He called her a chimera demon, something from the lower planes, the deepest, darkest, most horrible of places in Tartarus.

Alas, she was too afraid to hang from the rafters, as she did not want to move from her spot and alarm Malcanus. He had told her to be good, and she was determined to do so. In exchange for being good, he had left the terrible iron bar outside, beyond the door.

Curious about the world around her and her own body, she pointed at her long tail.

“Possum tail. The Night Lady has a pet possum called ‘Tiberius’ that she adores.”

She flexed her possum tail and coiled it around her lion hind leg. She was running out of things to point to, and when those were gone, she would have no way to amuse herself. She held up her talons. She had three fingers and a thumb. She waggled them at Malcanus, already knowing what they were.

“Three talon-fingers and one talon-thumb,” Malcanus said, raising his eyebrow.

Grinning, she hid her talons behind her feathery wing. After a moment, when she revealed them again, there was something different. Something off. Her almost manic grin grew wider when she saw the shock and surprise in Malcanus’ eyes.

“Hey, stop being an infernal trickster! You put your talons back to the way they were, young lady! That’s seven talon-fingers too many! Around here, we try to follow the natural order!”

Young lady. He called her that when he wanted her attention and he was stern when he said it, but not angry. She waggled all ten of her talon-fingers, curled them into a fist, and hid them behind her wing. When she pulled them back out, she heard a loud, indignant snort from Malcanus, which pleased her a great deal.

“Too many talon-fingers. Stop that or I won’t give you a treat.”

The extra talon-fingers all vanished with a poof and her lower lip protruded in a pout. Threatening to take away her food was almost as bad as the iron bar. Hunger was an awful sensation—a painful one—and she didn’t care for it all.

The fun had to continue, boredom was almost as bad as hunger. Not knowing what else to do, she pointed at Malcanus. She saw his eyebrows rise and his ears perked forwards. She saw his snort holes expand, grow larger, and she heard him inhale. She enjoyed experiencing all of these things, something about Malcanus fascinated her.

“What am I?”

She nodded.

“I’m a pony.”

She shook her head. He wasn’t like the others. He inhaled again, and she waited, eager, anxious, and hoping that he would talk. His voice was soothing, comforting, and distracted her from both her hunger and her boredom.

“I’m part dragon,” Malcanus said in a low voice. “A draconic hybrid. Sometimes, I get called a bat pony, but I’m barely a mammal, much less a bat. I hatched from an egg.” He paused, cleared his throat, and then continued, “Princess Celestia drew me from my egg. She seemed to think that I was shy and didn’t want to come out. The Night Lady had not yet returned when I was hatched.”

His eyes grew distant and she found herself both intrigued and curious. Much to her relief, he kept speaking.

“It is a constant battle, being what I am. I understand your hunger. Had I been raised differently, I might see the little ones as food as well. But I was raised and trained to curb my instincts. To hold back my hunger. To deny my appetites.” Malcanus closed his eyes and his voice lowered into a soft whisper. “I am the shepherd, and these are my sheep. I might be a wolf among them, but I can choose to protect them. I can choose to be better.”

His eyes opened and she saw him staring at her. A new hunger flared within her, one she did not recognise. This hunger scared her. She had no idea how to satiate it, as it was not for food. It was for something else, something she could not recognise or comprehend.

And she felt it as she gazed into Malcanus’ eyes.

“I am one of the few that have been down into the stygian depths.” Malcanus voice was low and gritty. “I have been to Tartarus. I have seen the black seas of bile, the rivers of blood, I have looked upon the oubliette of souls. We use it as a prison, you know. The very worst sorts are taken there in body, bound, and sealed away. Like Lord Tirek. We take those who threaten our very existence and we cast them down into the stygian depths.”

His words made her ears stand up.

“The gate to Elysium is down there as well. I’ve looked upon it. It is a thing of exquisite beauty. I work hard to maintain the sanctity of my soul as one day, I hope to pass through it. It is why I choose be a shepherd.” There was a bellowing sigh from Malcanus. “If I deny my hungers, I shall pass through the gate. I will be welcomed. My immortal equine soul shall know peace and hunger no more. I’ll no longer be at war with my inner nature.”

She didn’t understand everything that he had said, but it sounded important. So there was a reward for not eating the little ponies. She understood rewards. If she behaved, Malcanus gave her dried meat treats. So this was why he didn’t eat the little ones. He had a reward waiting.

A new pain wracked her insides, and it was terrible. She felt something gnawing at her from within. Her guts gurgled and a new sort of ache lodged itself between her hind hips. She clutched her stomach, then with a whimper, she tucked her tail between her legs and held it against her belly, fearful that her insides would start leaking out.

“I was wondering when that was going to happen.” Malcanus let out a chuckle. “A near immortal she-demon you might be, but you’ve still got to pinch a loaf.”

She did not understand those words, “Pinch a loaf.” She looked up at Malcanus in panic, hoping that he would help her. She let out a pleading whimper and squeezed her hind legs together. Her insides were going to come squirting out at any moment.

“I suppose I am going to have to trust you. I’m going to take you outside. And you, you are gonna behave. Because you’re a good creature. You aren’t going to eat any of my sheep, are you?”

She shook her head no and clutched at her tail, certain that her guts were going to come squirting out at any moment. She didn’t understand what was going on and her whole body trembled with terror. She was coming undone. All six of her legs folded against her stomach and she let out a gibbering cry.

There was something new on Malcanus’ face, something she didn’t recognise. She thought it was sadness at first, but she was mistaken. Something about his eyes brought her a little much needed comfort as her guts continued to twist and tangle as they threatened to escape.

“All of this really was a misunderstanding, wasn’t it?” he asked in a soft voice. “You have no idea what living is.” His hooves thudded across the floor as he came over to her, and he held out one foreleg to her. “Come on, let’s get you outside. Let me help you.”

Her insides had come squirting out. Well, some of them at least. She hadn’t quite made it to wherever it was that Malcanus had wanted to go when the foul smelling liquid began leaking from her backside. She had made quite a mess of herself and she had soiled what Malcanus called snow.

Now she sat, shivering and miserable, her insides still twisting and writhing around inside of her, and she couldn’t tell if they would come shooting out of her tailhole once again. She was cramping and quite miserable. Great quantities of air trapped within her body also escaped through her tailhole, and some of the whooshes were wet and squishy.

Overhead, the blue was gone, replaced with blackness. In the blackness, little lights twinkled. Looking up was a dreadful idea in her current condition, and she kept her eyes focused upon the ground. Her talons clawed at the snow as her stomach churned.

“Malcanus?”

“Freckle Speckle, stay back!”

“I heard crying.” The sound of hooves in the snow could be heard. “Sounds so much like a foal… it’s haunting.”

“I said stay back!”

“The poor dear… she’s miserable… she’s sick… she’s crying.”

“It will pass—”

“Don’t tell me it’ll pass, ya big brute!”

“She tried to eat you, Freckle Speckle—”

“Aye, she did, but now she’s miserable and got the runs. And you are just letting her lay in the snow and squirt out?”

“What else can I do?” Malcanus asked.

She felt a soft touch and lifted her head. The pony she had tried to eat was standing next to her. Her pink coat was dusted with snow, even though no snow was falling at the moment. She was stocky, chubby, and shaggy.

“You poor dear… Malcanus is a soldier… he’s not big on comfort. He’s a big savage, smelly brute that doesn’t like soap—”

“Mare, your soaps make me sneeze.”

“Anything that smells pleasant and nice makes you sneeze!”

Something warm, fuzzy, and a bit wet wrapped around her head. Freckle Speckle was now sitting in the snow beside her and cradling her head. She closed her eyes. The pony was soft and there was something pleasant about this. She felt a deep and cutting sense of regret for trying to eat her. More whimpers escaped her lips and it felt as though something was reaching up inside of her to tug her insides out.

“She’s sick… Malcanus, what do we do? Can she die?”

“I don’t think she can die from this, but she can be miserable.”

“What’s causing this?”

“She’s never lived before. Her body has never digested food. All of this is new to her.”

“And you were just going to stand there and let her suffer through the runny shits?”

“What else could I do?” Malcanus demanded.

“You could hold her, like I’m doing—”

“Look, I told you to stay away, Freckle—”

“OH SHUT UP!” Freckle Speckle snapped as she rocked the strange creature she was trying to comfort. “You are an insufferable ass!”

There was an indignant snort, but no other reply from Malcanus. She rubbed her cheek against the soft, velvety fuzz of the pony holding her head and waited for the terrible cramp wracking her lower half to pass. The extra chubbiness on the mare made her pillowy, and she was very, very warm in the cold, frigid air. She felt a somewhat damp but otherwise pleasant foreleg rubbing her neck. The soft touch made things better. It made things bearable.

“I don’t understand you, Freckle Speckle—”

“You don’t understand mares, period,” Freckle Speckle replied.

“I might not understand you, but the world is a better place for having you in it.”

Freckle Speckle let out a grunt but said nothing in return.

The sounds of more hooves could be heard crunching in the snow. Beautiful silvery light illuminated the snow and made it glitter and gleam like diamonds. Another pony approached, this one strange and mysterious. She almost looked transparent. She had a horn, just one horn, not two, not three or more, just one.

“What is going on here?” A pause. “Our prisoner appears to be sick.”

“Aye, Glitter Glammer, she’s sick and Malcanus was being a brute again—”

“I was not!”

“Quiet, both of you,” the new mare demanded. “Freckle Speckle, don’t start. He saved you from being a meal.”

“Hah!”

“And you, Malcanus… a little soap wouldn’t kill you,” Glitter Glammer said.

“Hey!”

She felt her head surrounded by a warm, gentle tingle. It was then lifted and she found herself looking into the eyes of the new mare. Soft, gentle eyes. Eyes that were kind. She could feel the new mare breathing on her. Wincing, she felt a cramp threatening to tear her insides apart. The warm tingle enveloped her whole body and the painful cramping eased. Without knowing how she knew, she knew that the mare was doing this somehow, lessening her pain.

“She’s as weak as a newborn kitten,” Glitter Glammer said, “while I’ll admit that she could be a threat to us, she doesn’t seem like she poses much of a danger at the moment.” The mare lifted her head and looked up at Malcanus. “When this passes, I want her brought to the bathhouse. Freckle Speckle and I will clean her up.”

“But—”

“But nothing,” Glitter Glammer replied. “I understand that you worry for our safety. You will stand guard and keep us safe, Shepherd Malcanus, though I doubt she has the strength to try anything.” There was a pause, then she continued, “I should make you bathe her… and use soap. Perhaps some of it might rub off on you and improve your malodorous, musty funk.”

There was a low, wordless grumble from Malcanus.

“And you there, tiufel spawn… if you repay my kindness with agression, know this… I’ll magic your heart right out of your chest and crush it in my waffle iron. I believe in treating everypony fairly. This homesteader’s village is filled with former convicts, felons, and other questionable sorts. I give everypony exactly one chance. Just one. I’ll offer you the same. You can live here as our guest, rather than our prisoner, but I’d better see you cooperate with everything you’re told to do, or else I’ll unravel your existence faster than you can blink.”

She clung to Freckle Speckle, fearful of the mere mention of the word iron.

“Do you understand me?”

She nodded.

“Good. Let’s see if we can get you cleaned up. This has to be miserable for you.”

Author's Note

What if I told you that not all mysteries can be solved...