Hot Dam

by The Wind King

Rating: teen
Tags: My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Alternate Universe, Comedy, Other, Sex, King Sombra, Adventure, Princess Celestia, Crossover, Human, Anthro, Main 6, Princess Luna
Length: 24573

It was just supposed to be a regular jaunt through the Nevernever to make his report at Edinburgh, so why then is Harry Dresden stuck in a magical world full of anthropomorphised ponies without an escape route? It must be a Thursday.

Inspired by a conversation with Lord of Dorkness and Moongaze14, blame them.

After making a blind jump from the Nevernever, Harry Dresden ends up in Equestria, surrounded by attractive females; given his track record with the fairer sex this would be a terrifying proposal even if they weren’t obviously inhuman.

Now trapped until he can find a safe entrance back into the Nevernever, he must attempt to play nice with the local powers (all attractive females), explain his magic to the pre-eminent scholars in the field (all attractive females), and avoid the malevolent forces that seek to use his knowledge for their gain (all attractive females).

Chivalry, it can get a guy killed.

Takes place after Book 11 "Turn Coat" in the Dresden Files, and the beginning of season 3 and beyond.

Pre-readers are Lord of Dorkness, Moongaze14, and Appletank
Wlam (as of Chapter 3)

(Sex tag is for sexually charged situations; actual nookie may or may not happen and will include a ratings change)

Tags are: Anthro, Human, Crossover, Comedy, Adventure, Sex?

Character Tags will change with Arc

Featured 2nd Sept, 2016 - 5th Sept, 2016.

Published 2016-09-01 17:40:01 UTC
Last updated 2017-08-17 22:47:01 UTC

Arc 1 - Crystal Healing - Prologue

The forest was on fire and it wasn’t my fault.

No, seriously, it wasn’t my fault.

You have no idea how good it is to say that and not feel like I’m bending the truth into my own personal corkscrew for a change.

Maybe I should give some context here.

My Name is Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden, and I’m a wizard. Don’t snort in disbelief, I’m being serious, I’m in the yellow pages and everything. When the things that go bump in the night decide that mortal-kind has gone on long enough without living in terror of the shadows (so every five seconds, give or take five seconds), I’m the one that gets called in to pick up the pieces, find the slimy bastard that thinks women and children are suitable hor-d’oeuvres, and remind them why that’s a bad idea.

It doesn’t help that Chicago, one of the world’s great crossroads, and the place where I keep my stuff, is home to enough nasties that they’re starting to spill out into the light.

And that’s before my job as the White Council’s Regional Warden Commander of the eastern United States.

Which was the reason I was here in the first place, what with the brainwashing of Luccio, and the events surrounding Morgan’s death every warden was being dragged to the Hidden Halls of the White Council to complete what I had taken to calling ‘Brain Training 101’, and despite my best efforts at resisting the call, even I had to give in to my master asking nicely.

A quiet word to Murphy to look after my apartment, and more importantly my pets while I was gone for the weeklong mental primer, a goodbye on Thomas’s answering machine, a quick beer with Michael, a check in on Will and the other alphas to let them know I wasn’t gonna make this week’s session, and I was good to go. Precisely when I meant to.

I had only just broken the borders of Winter, maybe an hour out from headquarters, when everything went wrong.

If I had to use any sort of word to describe the outer edges of Winter it would be quiet.

That unsettling sort of quiet where you just know that something is there and waiting for you to look away so it can enjoy making you feel fear, subtly increasing that fear moment by moment until, at the very peak of that fear, whatever is stalking you lunges and drags you into the one patch of shadow you didn’t look into deeply enough.

That unnatural sort of quiet where you take your hands out of your pockets and walk as quickly and as quietly as possible, the hairs on the back of your neck tingling with each step.

The sort of quiet where the idiot who insists on challenging fate says ‘it’s too quiet’ and is promptly rewarded by getting a face full of monster.

Which is why I was understandably shocked about the group of fairies who were apparently sitting around a merrily blazing campfire like a group of college kids out for an autumn hike. Seriously, I think one of them had a bag of marshmallows.

The fact that all of them turned their heads to me as I stepped out into the clearing turned that shock to apprehension, and I felt my left hand tighten slightly on my staff, while all of them started to smile and stand, in a single fluid motion.

At the exact same time.

That wasn’t creepy at all.

“Good day, Wizard,” one of the fairies called to me as I continued walking, doing my best to surreptitiously shake my shield bracelet free without being noticed. “Come sit with us, share with us the fire, and some story of your life”

See they were just polite, well-intentioned ‘young’ fae who wanted to talk with me.

Not creepy at all.

I didn’t slow down as I continued to slog through the snow, a month or two of recuperation meant I felt confident in taking the ways on my own again, inadvisable as it always was, but at the same time I didn’t want to get caught up in whatever this was.

“While your offer is kind, I am on Council business and the Winter Queen herself has promised safe travel on her Ways,” I didn’t stop walking as I talked, thank god I wasn’t chewing gum at the same time, it would’ve been too much for my American brain to handle. “I am afraid I cannot tarry.”

This apparently wasn’t a good enough dismissal for the fairies as they continued to close in on me, still wearing these wide, completely honest smiles, almost childlike in their sincerity; it was exceedingly unnerving to see something so innocent in place of the normal predatory grins I was used to seeing.

“Now, Wizard, come with us to the fire, let it warm your bones, and tell us of your life” the talkative fairy was walking by my side as I picked up my pace slightly, not enough to look like I was scared or anything, but I’m a tall guy, I can walk fast enough to have people jogging to keep up.

It didn’t seem to perturb the fairy moron by my side at all, he just calmly strode on, matching me step for step.

“Twice I must refuse you for I don’t have the time,” I sent the still smiling fairy a glare from the corner of my eye, “now kindly fuck off, Peaseblossom.”

Apparently this was the wrong thing to say as all the fairies echoed the next few words together.

“We are afraid we must insist”

Before Talky’s hand shot out and grabbed me by the wrist just a little above where my duster’s sleeve ended.

Stars and stones I’m used to going up against fast opponents but this guy nearly put them all to shame; one second he was walking calmly alongside me, the next his hand was wrapped around my arm and his eyes were level with mine as he started to pull at me.

Only reflex saved me from being dragged from my feet, as my will surged through my shield bracelet and a dome of force snapped into existence between the two of us. A dome of force which severed his hand at the wrist; the now unpowered flesh construct falling apart almost immediately.

“Come, Wizard, let us share our fire with you. Let us warm your bones,” the fairies echoed as they stood there at the edge of my shield before…

Melting?

No melting wasn’t the right word; it was more like they fell apart like a sand sculpture being torn apart by gale force winds, their forms dissolving into clouds of ashes and embers, even as they continued talking, their mouths flapping emptily as sounds whispered through the storm, glowing embers in place of their eyes staring at me from within the rapidly growing haze of cinders.

“Let us share our fire with you, Wizard, let us warm your bones, speak your stories through the crackling of our flames.”

I barely registered the flare of light from the campfire in the corner of my vision, the flames dancing with a mad vigour over the bones that were being used in place of firewood as I noticed the broken stone circle around its edges.

Broken stone circle?

Oh hell’s bells.

What fool thought it was a good idea to break a campfire circle in the Nevernever?

Yes it was the broken circle that caught my attention, not the bones being used as kindling, honestly those seemed kind of kitschy in comparison to everything I had seen until now.

I resisted the urge to facepalm as the firestorm pressing against my shield continued to grow in intensity, sparks of blue magic flew from the shield as it resisted both the force behind the ash storm and the growing heat, while I summoned my will for what I was about to do.

The runes on my staff started to blaze with light as I spun it in my hands, building the first spell with each rotation.

“Hey, Peaseblossom, share this!”

I dropped the shield for a brief moment, ashes and embers piling in, reaching for me, hungering for me, before I released my next spell.

“Ventas Cyclis!”

Never let anyone tell you that wind magic isn’t scary. The other elements may be obvious in the way that they can destroy things, fire consumes, earth crushes, water erodes, spirit warps and twists, but all wind does is move. How is that destructive?

How about you watch a cyclone in motion and ask that question again.

My will went out with the spinning of my staff, stirring the air into a howling cyclone in a matter of moments. The savage winds tearing away the clouds of smoke, scattering the ashes throughout the clearing, snuffing out the free floating flames, and allowing a clear view to the blazing campfire. The flames flaring up to sky despite all the winds I summoned as it screamed in confusion.

“Why do you refuse us so, Wizard? We offer you naught but warmth and comfort.”

I withdrew my will from the winds, letting my staff fall to my side, and reached out to the snowmelt that now coated the ground. My will infusing the puddles of water marred with cinders and mud, pulling them together in a rushing curtain of fluid with a single word.

“Aquilevatus!”

Honestly water isn’t my thing for a number of reasons, but the scene had a strange ethereal beauty to it as this roaring wall of water flowed upwards, following the motions of my right hand as I lifted it to the air like a conductor, before I smirked.

And dropped it to the ground.

The rush of steam mixed with the still swirling winds to create dizzying patterns in the sky while I straightened up, letting out a breath. It felt nice to be able to deal with a threat so simply, rather than the contrived complexities that seemed to have taken over my life recently.

Only one thing left to do now.

I looked around for a suitable stone as I walked over to the remains of the campfire, ignoring the cracked and charred bones that had been washed every which way. Repairing the circle was important, leaving a broken circle like that in the Nevernever was a recipe for disaster and I wouldn’t be the one to leave it for some other fool to come across.

I was maybe halfway between the smouldering fire and the path before I felt a bloom of heat slap me across the face and light assaulting my eyes, as the campfire exploded back into life. The flames blazing with a barely contained fury; my shield sprang back into existence almost immediately.

“Why do you refuse us, Mortal Wizard?” Whips of flame lashed out, smashing against my shield and pushing me back over the muddy ground. “We offer you naught but hospitality and you destroy our guests.”

I stumbled backwards trying to get some sort of balance back as my feet skittered and skidded on the muddy ground, the lashing flames crashed against my shield again and again. Sparks of magic and fire peppered the ground as I gritted my teeth and tried to hold my shield together, my shield bracelet damned near incandescent as I poured energy into it.

“They accepted the same warmth and comfort you have so callously rejected,” another strike against my shield, another shower of blue and red sparks, a thin spider web of cracks spreading from the impact point.

I could feel the shield tugging at my mind now, trying to fall apart under the onslaught of fire and force as I was pushed backwards across the clearing, twigs and bones crunching under my feet as I struggled to stay on my feet. The trees around us blazed merrily, before feeding back into the now towering inferno.

“We will not offer you warmth again, Wizard, your fat shall be as tallow for our guests and your tale one of horror for those who would harm those in our protection!”

One last stream of flame came down against my shield with a cataclysmic impact, before the dome of force collapsed under the strain. All that released energy lancing back at me and knocking me off my feet and into one of the few trees that was yet to catch fire.

I tried to think through the ringing noise that seemed to begin in my head and end in my ears, but nothing was coming to me as the flames crept towards me and unbearable heat washed over me, nothing I could do to end this spirit outsider of a death curse that would make Tunguska look like a roadside picnic, and for that I’d have to die. I would prefer to avoid that.

“Have you any last words to end your tale, Mortal Wizard?”

What?

No seriously, what?

Was this thing offering me time for my last words?

Thank the stars for the rules of the fae. If this thing wanted to turn me into a cautionary tale it couldn’t just say ‘and then I turned the mortal fool to ash.’ That would be boring, and it couldn’t lie to tell a different, more chilling ending. It wanted drama, suspense, evil laughter and booming thunder. It wanted me to go out like a two-bit warlock who doesn’t know what a cliché is.

What better for a campfire horror story?

I couldn’t beat it with magic, some part of me wanted to go down swinging but it would a futile gesture against a meaningless foe. I could run, but I was already off of the Way, even if it was just by a few feet, I didn’t want to get lost in the Nevernever with no Way home.

“Our patience grows thin, Wizard, talk or we shall end thy tale ourselves.”

Right decision time, I threw my right hand out, ripping at the fabric of the Nevernever as I did so with the motion of my fingers and a single word, pulling open a portal to gods know where, before I rolled through it.

And fell blindly into what I hoped would be safety with fire dancing at my heels.

Author's Note

And so it begins.

This is the third draft of the prologue, the first being deemed too similar to the prologue of PsychicScubaDiver's "Dresden Fillies - Strange Friends", and the second being this but with less details and different formatting.

For those of you not in the know when it comes to the Dresden Files, this takes place a month or two after book 11 in the series, "Turn Coat".

Lastly I own neither "My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic", or "The Dresden Files", these being the properties of Hasbro, and Jim Butcher respectively, I hold no claim or copyright to the characters, settings, or worlds within. This is Fan-Fiction only.

Chapter 1 - A Pegasus Across My Chest

Normally, stepping through a way into or out of the Nevernever is like walking through a door. Yeah, it’s a portal to the spirit world where the laws of physics don’t quite work right, but it’s still just another kind of door. The only real indicator that I just slipped out of objective reality I’ve ever encountered is a brief brush of ‘static’ against my non-physical senses and the air temperature rapidly changing.

This wasn’t like that.

I’m not sure why, but the moment I rolled into the portal I knew something was wrong. For one thing the cloying, almost pervasive, sense of ambient magic didn’t disappear, even as everything became twisted. Up became down, red became black, screams of torment rang in my ears, and the flames flickering around me cast the shadows of despair on crystal growths that reflected only broken dreams.

Normally I don’t have to fall through a literal hell-scape to walk through a door.

I’m not sure how long I fell like that, unable to look away from the horrors that surrounded me.

I did notice when the fall ended however, as I hurtled through another portal. The ‘static’ jolt bringing me out of my horrified stupor before I was dumped back into reality about six feet from the ground, landing as though I’d just belly flopped off of a diving board.

I laid there for a moment as I tried to will air back into my lungs before I disentangled my limbs from my duster and the Grey Warden’s cloak I was wearing, and began pulling myself to my feet.

The first thing I noticed were the wooden walls covered in shelves of books and scrolls and other papery goodness.

The next thing I noticed were the signs hanging around with such catchy information as “FOAL’S FICTION”, “HISTORY”, or “BEGINNER MAGIC”, giving the place a very distinct library tone, something that was enforced by the desk oh so helpfully labelled as “LIBRARIAN’S DESK”.

The third thing I noticed as I tried to figure out what floor I had deigned to grace with my face beyond ‘strange library’, were the globs of flaming ectoplasm and shards of burning bone that had scattered around me from my impromptu and energetic entrance.

I’d like to say I jumped into action, immediately smothering the flames with my wizardly wisdom and consummate skill, a heroic action far outside my normal comfort zone.

Mostly, I just stood there as my brain tried to take in the fact that yes, there was a building on fire, as small as that fire may be, and no, it wasn’t my fault, again.

What really sucked was the complete lack of obvious slobbering monster to actually pin it on.

I’m not entirely sure how long I stood there, my mouth flapping soundlessly at the pure unfairness of it all before I snapped out of whatever trance I was in and actually realised what kind of damage an out of control fire could do in a library.

A library that seemed to be constructed out of a single flowing, piece of wood I noted as I strode forwards to stomp on the nearest flame with one ectoplasm-soaked hiking boot before continuing to the next. The resulting squelches and hissing as the small blazes winked out of existence became a regular background sound as I threw books away from the most immediate danger.

I had no clue where I was and, considering what I had just gone through to get here, I had no actual desire to return to the Nevernever for a second shot without a chance to rest my head, soothe my aches and pains, and scrape myself clean of all the ectoplasm that had found itself where it didn’t belong. Even if it dissolved quickly there are places that shouldn’t be that damp or slimy.

Knowing my luck, I would get none of these things.

I was maybe three-quarters of the way through cleaning up my intrusion when I heard the door swing open behind me and what sounded like a young woman’s voice grumped its way through the air.

“Spike, I’ve told you, just because your comics are late it doesn’t give you an excuse to stomp about…”

I turned just as the words faltered and faded to a strange combination of a startled squawk and a fearful squeak, letting my eyes rest on what might have been one of the strangest things I’ve ever seen.

And I’ve seen some pretty damn strange shit.

What looked to be a young woman was standing in a doorway that I hadn’t seen during my sweep of the room, giant purple eyes widened in shock as her pupils shrunk, purple ‘skin’ paling to pinkish white, strands of her purple, pink, and violet ‘hair’ standing up with the almost cartoonish noise of a spring snapping.

What I’m saying is that she was extremely purple, almost blindingly so.

I barely noticed the clothes she was wearing, presumably to avoid blinding anyone else with her pure purple presence, but then there was nothing special about them. A long white lab coat with only the occasional stain, a shirt buttoned up enough to be sensible, a pair of loose jeans, no shoes or socks, but I doubt that she would need those considering she seemed to have hooves. They were just normal clothes: no shimmering fabric that shifted, warped, and drew the eye in the most sensual of ways, no hanky sized squares of fabric covering only the important bits, and no strange bulges where she could have concealed weapons beside a pair on her chest, which I was pretty certain I shouldn’t stare at, she might take offense to that.

If wasn’t for the fact that she looked like a humanoid horse with a horn sticking almost six inches out of her forehead and a tail in the same colors and state of disarray as her mane, I possibly could’ve mistaken her for a university student who had fallen into a vat of purple and pink dye before going to her lessons.

Again I just stood there, my own expression likely a mirror of hers, although I doubt my slime-splattered and scorched appearance was any more reassuring to the purple thing that was currently staring at me than the constant unceasing thrum of power around it was to me.

And then her eyes darted to the destruction I had wrought upon, presumably, her library: scorch marks on the floors and walls; books and scrolls thrown to one side away from the fires; and rapidly dissolving ectoplasm congealing on the floor. Her eyes narrowed from dinner plates to thin slits of rage, power danced around the horn jutting from her forehead, and her hands clenched into fists.

Maybe I should try being diplomatic.

“I can explain.”

I have never been good at being diplomatic.

I barely managed to get a shield up between us as a glowing ball of pure magic lanced forward from her horn, the raw energy of the attack pushing me back with enough force to make the soles of my boots slide frictionlessly across the floor.

She wasn’t that powerful, I just had a lot of slippery gunk on my feet, alright.

“EXPLAIN?” she screamed at me as more power gathered around her horn, what little bits of her hair I could see behind the ethereal glow of raw magic seemed to ignite “You can explain why you broke into my home, set it on fire, and started destroying my books?”

I scrambled to the right before another bolt of magic could hit me, the whatever-she-was darting to my left to keep me centered in her line of sight, a pair of hooves clopping against the wooden floor only further cementing the humanoid horse with a horn image.

I decided to try diplomacy, again.

“This was an accident if you’d just give …”

Screams of rage and balls of raw magic are not conducive to the diplomatic process.

“Accident,” the word was almost spat, before she started to snarl at me “so you just accidentally broke into my house, set it on fire, covered it in changeling slime, and started to ransack my books?” Her glowing eyes started to strobe erratically as the deep thrum of her horn grew in pitch to a rumbling whine.

“When you say it like that it looks bad…” I managed to admit before another bolt of power splashed against my shield, the dome of force angled so it would push me to the side rather than straight backwards, purple moving in tandem with my graceless slide.

It also had enough force behind it to slam my arm against my ribs, hard enough to make me wince.

Time to stop being diplomatic.

“Girl, I am done trying to talk this through,” I drew myself to my full height, towering over her even at this distance. My black duster and grey cape fluttering in counterpoint to her white lab coat, as something in my voice broke through her mania, her eyes fading back down to their ‘natural’ violet color. “Attack me without provocation again and I will respond in kind.”

“Attack you without provocation?” and there are the glowing eyes again, oh how I missed them for a second “I ATTACKED YOU WITHOUT PROVOCATION?!”

Another glowing blast of pure magic rocketed from her horn, time seeming to slow as it crackled and fizzed with raw power.

Which was exactly what I wanted.

I mean, who would be stupid enough to use pure magic against a wizard?

If she’d been throwing anything else I would’ve started fighting back immediately after that first shot, and I had been tempted to start throwing my own punches after the second one just dissolved the moment it shot past me; that was a scary level of control if she had that kind of precision, even with just raw magic.

But why would I throw my own punches when I could use hers?

I dropped my shield as the sphere of energy came ever closer and swept my staff up in one of those simple moves that Murphy had been drilling into my head with a staff of her own. Left hand blocks: right hand attacks.

Granted she hadn’t been demonstrating how to use a wizard’s staff to channel the forces of creation, but the concept was the same.

I felt the pure magic of the attack sweep into the staff as I brought the base up, let the energy surge into the wood, twisted my body around on my feet, and spun the length of wood around before I unleashed it, alongside my will, as I slashed the staff’s head through the air.

“Ventas Servitas!”

I may have underestimated just how much power was in that blast as a gale force winds burst forth. Howling and screaming as they swept through the library, picking up books, scrolls, chairs, dwindling globs of ectoplasm, a pile of library cards that had been sitting loose on the desk, and a small wooden statue carved in the shape of a horse’s head.

I would not have been surprised to see a kitchen sink in there somewhere.

It certainly surprised A-grape-a though, her eyes widening with shock for a moment before the rolling storm of paper and wind picked her up and carried her through an open archway behind her, her wild flailing causing her to flip around in mid-air, before I heard a crash and the loud echoing clang of a falling pan and the tinkle of falling glass.

I bit my lip for a second as I mulled over either running away, or staying and checking that the girl was unhurt after her impromptu flight. Despite my posturing I hadn’t actually wanted to hurt her, and covering someone in broken glass and kitchen debris sounded like it hurt, just a little.

The problem being that even if all she could do was throwing those bolts of magic, simple as they were to deflect, nullify, or counter, she seemed about as exhausted by firing those blasts as I was by dealing with them. So I had a choice between fleeing the scene like I’d actually done something wrong or getting caught in an increasingly frustrating battle of attrition and hoping my opponent would eventually tire enough to listen to reason before the authorities arrived.

My decision was made for me when the thrum of power that had been coming from her increased to a high pitched whine across my metaphysical senses, and a scream of rage echoed forth from the very messy kitchen of the damned.

Spinning on my heel I barrelled towards what I hoped to be an exit, my boots crunching on books and paper alike as I took in exactly how much damage I had done to the library with my over enthusiastic wind spell. Tables were toppled, chairs cast aside, loose pages and book covers carpeted the floor and all the windows were blown outwards with shards of glass and broken frames clinging grimly to the walls.

But, hey, at least it wasn’t on fire any more.

I barely slowed down as I ripped the door open and stepped outside.

Right into the small crowd that had gathered around the building, nerves obviously on edge from the screams, shouts, and explosion of wind.

I’ll admit to the fact that I just stopped dead for the third time. I don’t think my mouth flopped open into another guppy impression, but my brain certainly stopped working as I took in the sight before me.

A mob of technicolor faces stood there staring at me, their eyes wide as I stood there with my coat and cape fluttering in the breeze while I scanned over the crowd almost automatically.

The first thing that caught my attention was just the insane amount of colors on display, fur and manes from sorrel red to storm grey and all shades in-between, oh my. The second thing was the fact that damned near the entire crowd was female, I could see blockier masculine faces in the crowd, but they were few and far between.

Thirdly seemed to be the variety of ‘horses’ on display.

My eyes flittered almost immediately to a group with wings that were hovering just over the crowd, lazy wing beats keeping them in the air with what was obviously more than just physical power. My gaze then darted to another group that had horns similar to the purple girl I’d just swept off her feet, each one giving off a quiet hum of power that seemed to merge into a harmonious whole. Lastly, my focus fell on the rest of the crowd who looked normal as far as the whole half human/half horse thing went, but something about their numbers and the fact that they all seemed to move in concert, little teams becoming readily apparent with a second glance, made me just as nervous about what they could do to me as I was with the others.

I was just about to open my mouth and say something before another scream of rage came from the library behind me—causing a trio of ‘normal’ mares standing at the front of the crowd, each of them wearing flowers in their hair, to scream “the horror” at the top of their lungs and start running as though I was a demon from the depths of hell itself—with the crowd following their sterling example.

Needless to say I joined in on the impromptu stampede, yelling at the top of my lungs as I charged forward into the startled mass. Horses scattered every which way in an attempt to escape me, while I just picked a direction at random and ran as hard as I could down the cobblestone street. Anything to get me away from those screams of rage before I had to do something I’d probably regret.

Let me tell you, there is no better way to escape attention than a crowd, even one that is running in terror of you. In a panicked crowd everyone else is the source of the fear and anyone else is just another thing to escape from, and combined with my yell of ‘it’s behind us’ I managed to ride the crowd for a short while before it thinned out as doors slammed shut and shutters clicked together.

I just continued onwards as the last few horses around scattered into their homes, my feet pounding against the road as they carried me towards the edge of whatever strange horse town I’d ended up in.

I was maybe ten yards away from the end of the road when another horse with a horn—may as well just call them unicorns as it’d be quicker and easier to say—cantered out from behind the last building running in the direction I’d just fled from.

Which led her right into my escape path.

She looked every part a self-styled lady despite her apparent young age: poised, elegant, glistening white fur, and an indigo mane that looked as though it took an hour minimum with an egg-beater each morning to get just right. Her clothes looked handmade by a master of the craft and were designed to draw attention to her curves while leaving enough to the imagination to maintain a sense of decency and mystery.

This being me, of course her sapphire eyes were narrowed in anger and her horn was humming softly with a cloud of blue magic. Her clothes doing nothing to hide or hinder her fencer’s stance before her horn flared, and instead of the blasts of magic that A-grape-a had been throwing at me a tangle of thread lanced out at me like a nest of snakes. Each thread encased in an aura the same color as the cloud surrounding her horn as she yelled. “Stop right there you ruffian!”

I didn’t bother with a shield, anything big enough to actually stop the entire thing would slow me down too much. Instead I began focusing my will and summoning just enough power to boost my candle lighting spell enough that it wouldn’t flare and accidently ignite the unicorn’s pelt.

“Flickum Bicus!”

I stumbled slightly as the power left me, my boots slipping on the cobblestone street while I fought for my balance. The unicorn flinching away from the nest of threads that burned merrily with tiny flickers of fire, as parts of the cat's cradle from Heck turned to ash in a second. Only partially charring most of them, though, as my old lighter spell had only been intended as a distraction.

Kudos to her though, she’d barely flinched away from the tangled knot of fire before she stepped out into the road to try and stop me again. Her expression set in grim determination while her horn started to glow anew.

I really didn’t want to get bound up in another spell-slinging match and if she was even half as skilled as the other ‘unicorn’ I’d already faced there would be no way to avoid throwing punches intended to stick or a pointless argument over my non-existent nefarious intent. At the same time I wasn’t quite ready to go full-force against someone that was attacking me with string.

So I took the softest option I knew.

I barely had enough time to call on the power I needed before another web of tangled threads lunged at me, the mass of fabric shimmering with the prissy looking unicorn’s aquamarine aura, as I swung my right hand upwards, magic spilling out from my fingertips.

“Ventas Reductas!”

Ashes and cinders danced upwards right into the mare’s face on hair dryer force winds, smearing her ivory fur with lines of dirty grey, while she clenched her eyes shut and held an embossed handkerchief to her mouth and nostrils before she could breath in too much of the sudden ash cloud. The second web of fabric she had been levitating started to fall as her horn winked out from the sudden cloud of dirt and dust that she struggled against.

I brought magic into myself again as the mare coughed and choked, attempting to get out more words as the light around her horn guttered out like a candle in a hurricane; my power and will reaching out to the still falling tangle of thread, before I released a second spell.

“Laqueus Incarcere!”

Back before the war with Red Court had gotten into full swing I had experimented with a spell that would animate a rope I could use to capture any mortal attackers without actually hurting them. At the time I hadn’t been able to make it work anywhere outside of my apartment, I needed to base the spells off of the wards set up on my threshold to give it any sort of lasting effect, and before I could get any further with experiments I had found myself dealing with stronger evils than the average rope could hold down, making the whole thing almost a complete waste of my time.

I got to use it once. Twice if you count the time I triggered the wards by accident and spent half an hour trying to wiggle loose before Murphy arrived.

Then just over a year ago I’d received an impossible gift for an incredible task. The archangel Uriel had invested in my future after I’d managed, somehow, to redeem the shadow of a fallen angel that had taken residence in my head. The shadow I’d named Lash saving me from a mental attack that would have shredded my mind and cost me my life, that single act of sacrifice being enough to save a newly made soul from damnation.

This investment took the shape of Soulfire, the very fires of creation were mine to command, so long as I paid the price for using something so grand and terrible.

The price of which was my soul, everlasting and immortal.

The best explanation I’d got was that in using Soulfire I mixed my magic and my soul together to achieve something that neither of them could do on their own. The Hellfire I had gained from the shadow may have made my combat spells more destructive, but Soulfire made my spells simply more. My evocations acted true to the purpose I called them for, my wards grew stronger against hostile forces, and my thaumaturgy reached complexities that would have evaded me before.

But in doing so I used a part of my soul as a catalyst, use too much and I would be dead or possibly worse.

It’s not as bad as it sounds, the soul grows back with all of life’s little joys: good food, sweet song, and fast friends, but the last time I had used Soulfire in any serious capacity I collapsed almost immediately afterwards and remained exhausted and shaky for the following week.

I didn’t put nearly as much power into the binding spell as I had into any of the last few spells that had used Soulfire, but I still felt a numbing tingle run through my body as I released my will, my power, and just a tiny piece of my soul all as one.

A nimbus of silver light wrapped around the abandoned strings as I caught them in my workings, before they lashed out at the white mare who was still struggling against my impromptu ash storm. She barely had time to notice the glittering threads before they had wrapped themselves around her: binding her wrists behind her back, forcing her legs together, encasing her horn, and locking her mouth shut in a matter of moments.

She remained standing for a moment, her eyes wide as she struggled against the shimmering, soul infused strands before she slowly started to topple forwards, unable to maintain her stability with the sudden restraints I’d forced on her.

I darted forward aiming to catch her before she could meet the cobblestones with her face, I mean I’m not completely callous, she probably didn’t deserve a face first meeting with the ground.

Which was when something plowed into my back with all the speed and fury of a runaway freight-train.

A freight-train that was screaming something in my ear.

To be honest I couldn’t make out the individual words as my brain rattled around in my head, the enchantments on my duster might have protected me against blades, bullets, claws, and harsh words. The problem was it was still flexible, blunt force didn’t need to break through the protective layer to do damage, it just had to hit me hard enough; and by the feel of it whatever had hit me had made sure to hit me as hard as it possibly could.

It hit me hard enough in fact, to send me careening straight into little miss priss with my full weight, and I vaguely felt her fall away from me as I continued onwards and downwards.

I didn’t feel anything break as I tumbled along the road, but I knew that my back was going to be one big bruise by the next day, it would go well with the bruises on my ribs, wrists, face, and ego.

I stopped after about three-four feet of rolling, my staff clattering to the ground somewhere to my right. I tried to catch my breath as I lay face-down on the road for a second, before I felt someone flip me over and I suddenly found myself face to face with another horse, a pair of wings jutting from her back instead of a horn sprouting from her skull. “WHAT THE BUCK DID YOU DO TO RARITY YOU NOODLE LIMBED FREAK?”

I could faintly hear muffled groans coming from behind where the pegasus—hey I had a theme going with the unicorn thing—had me pinned.

“That’s just the traditional greeting of my people,” I spoke as dryly as was possible with a cerulean pegasus straddling my chest. “Would you like to experience it for yourself?”

I barely noticed the fist before it crashed into the side of my face—although truth be told I barely noticed it afterwards either. No offense to the mare but I had faced so many things that could actually throw something more than a regular punch, that I couldn’t even be bothered noticing what she could dish out.

“DON’T JOKE WITH ME!” the mare screamed and I felt a surge of magic wash over the both of us as her wings flared, tempestuous forces pressing against my skin like vengeful fall winds. I remembered the one time I had been forced to hunt down a storm sylph that was causing cyclones in tornado alley. I even got to ride along in one of those Tornado-hunter vans as the cyclone chased us.

Simpler times.

“Girl,” I snarled back, not even bothering to hide how little patience I had left, “since arriving here, entirely by accident might I add, I have been attacked twice, treated as some sort of eldritch horror, and I have not raised my hand against anyone except in minimal self-defence, I am just about done with today” I met her eyes for just a second, nowhere near long enough to trigger a Soulgaze before focusing on a spot above and between her eyes again. “Raise your hand against me again and I will stop holding back.”

She didn’t even bother responding, instead just slamming another fist into my face with a grunt of effort.

This one actually hurt. Mostly it hurt my feelings, but there was a tiny sliver of pain in there somewhere.

Time to show her how to actually throw a punch.

It’s something I’ve made a point to practice, being able to fight with or without magic. At least to the point where I can hold my own against most mortal thugs in a closed fist, blades and beat-downs brawl.

Given my fucked up monster filled life I got a lot more use out of my constant running practice than I ever did my ability to throw a punch, but when all people expect you to do is stand on the sidelines and throw fireballs all night long they tend to let their guard down. If I ever stopped smiling at people’s faces when they realised my staff was also a six foot length of lightning blasted oak that could be swung, hard; it’d be because I was dead.

I saw her eyes widen for a split-second before my fist swung up and clocked her straight in the jaw with the meaty thump of flesh meeting teeth, her entire body jerking to the side as the impact damned near lifted her off me before I brought my right hand to her gut, fingers outspread.

“Ventas Servitas!”

The mare didn’t even have a chance to react before a gust of wind caught her outstretched wings, sending her ass over teakettle into the air, trailing cusses all the way.

I hauled myself to my feet as she caught herself in the air in a way that made me further doubt the point of her wings as anything but biological foci, before she started to plummet towards me in a cyan blur.

Deciding not to give her the pleasure of landing hooves first on my skull I reached into my coat with my right hand and pulled out my blasting rod. The narrow length of wood was a far simpler focus than my staff because it had been built as a weapon. Bolts of lightning, gouts of flame, crushing force? All of those and more are available with a blasting rod in a wizard’s hands.

Yeah, with a staff I could do anything, but it took time and honest effort. With a blasting rod all I could do was destroy things with ruthless efficiency.

I didn’t think things were that far gone yet, but it was time to send a message.

I could see the runes in the wood light up from the inside as power flowed from me, through the rod and out into the world as I brought the rod down like a conductor’s baton.

“Ventas Servitas!”

I’m not entirely sure what the pegasus mare was expecting as she brought her wings in against her back. Maybe she figured that I was going to throw another gust of wind directly against her. Maybe she thought I was targeting the appendages themselves. Whatever she thought I was planning she got it wrong, as my will grasped the winds above her and slammed her towards the earth with a sudden down-draft. Turning her dive into an uncontrolled plummet that ended on the cobblestones with the thump of flesh, the crack of stone, and a cloud of dust.

Hey, she was planning on using me as a landing pad at that speed, I was fairly certain she’d survive a bobbled landing.

My shoulders slumped and I slid my blasting rod back into its holder as I felt the tension I was holding lessen ever so slightly before I stomped over to where my staff was lying on the ground and scooped it up with my left hand, thoughts and plans for the immediate future rattling about in my head. It probably wouldn’t be long before whatever passed for the authorities here arrived and I already had enough trouble with human cops, really didn’t want to add another organisation to my ‘respect, but dislike’ list. Even if it was most likely made up of the strangest damned mix of human/horse/mythical beings hybrids.

I hadn’t even taken a step out of town before I heard the raspy voice behind me.

“Get back here you noodle limbed ground pounder!”

Sighing heavily I turned around to look at the pegasus, actually getting a good look at her for the first time. Seeing as she wasn’t so close I could taste her breakfast or moving at a speed closely related to the speed of sound.

Man was she short. Yeah I’m a human skyscraper with my feet on the ground and my head in the clouds, but even with that in mind she was short. I think she was shorter than Murphy and somebody once asked her if she was my daughter. That poor fool.

The next thing I noticed was the fact that she was apparently wearing a clown wig on her head and ass.

I have no clue how I didn’t notice that before now.

I mean the styles and colors I’d seen so far didn’t seem like anything natural, but they still looked like something that could be done with a mirror, a tub of dye, and a comb. This did not.

Perfectly separated colors lay in a short fringe which only just covered her forehead, before sweeping back into an uncombed mess that hung past her shoulders, blues and greens and indigos resting on the white shoulder straps of her midriff baring tank top, the much wider straps of her nigh-flat sports bra visible underneath the twin layers of hair and top.

My eyes continued to track downwards, taking note of the muscle definition that was somehow visible under the cyan fur on her abdomen. Continuing on past the pair of sweat and dust stained exercise shorts that only seemed to exist because nudity is illegal, no matter what strange magical equine dimension I ended up in. Before finally sweeping down her athletic legs, one of which she was clearly favouring after her crash landing.

Crap.

She might have had power rolling off of her, but she looked to just be a teenager. A brash, cocky, headstrong, idiot, teenager who’d thrown herself into a fight she was in no way prepared to deal with.

I’d been there, done that, and gone back time after time as an adult. It had never worked out well. Consequences from those fights have a way of sticking to any survivors, and it had taken a good few close-calls that I’d been lucky to escape from before I wised up.

I tried to make my voice as soft as possible as I started talking. “Girl, I am going to give you one chance, check on your friend there,” I waved my staff at the still prone unicorn who was now lying on someone’s front lawn groaning and struggling against her bonds, “take her to a hospital, her home, or whatever, and get out of my way; do that and I’ll let you do it under your own power.” I could see her magenta eyes flickering back and forth between me and little miss priss, her wings bristling at my words before I continued, my voice returning to its original scathing harshness as I started to pour the intimidation on. “Continue trying to stop me and you will get to experience what happened to that purple idiot who attacked me.”

You know what I really hate?

People who don’t respond to well meaning intimidation for their own safety.

Granted, I may have a tendency to start snarking before I immediately go to violence as the solution. However I can’t count the number of people and things who’ve thought a little bit, or a lot, of pressure would be all it takes to get me to back off.

On both my hands, and with my socks off.

Clearly I was dealing with a kindred spirit, see above comment about being brash, cocky, headstrong, idiotic, and ultimately having to deal with a whole new set of scars when the dust had settled, and laugh at the irony of it all.

Clown-Wig didn’t even give me the benefit of snark before she launched herself down the street at me with clenched fists and murder in her eyes, and she did it fast enough that she was dragging a cloud of dust in her wake.

Shame that gimped leg gave away her start as I already had my left hand in position before she’d even got halfway to me, my shield bracelet flickering with arcane light as I felt my power flowing through the tiny charms on my wrist.

“Vento Tonarius!”

I hadn’t used my old shielding spell in a long time: maybe not since I’d been an apprentice trying to be far more elegant than was necessary, or practical. Pure force was far better for stopping bullets, not to mention it was much easier to control compared to the wall of wind that whipped past me, but raw force wasn’t soft enough for what I needed. Using a wall of stubborn, unyielding force might have been great for throwing vampires and other nasties around, but contrary to what damned near everyone thought of me I was capable of showing restraint.

Respect, not so much.

And honestly, I didn’t put that much into it. Just enough power to flip her head over hocks and disorientate her before I made a run for the forest I could see beyond a final outlying cottage.

I barely saw the mare’s eyes widen in horror as the shield sprung into existence before she could slow down enough to avoid it, hummingbird wings beating at the air in a mad attempt to slow herself down as much as possible.

Then she got caught in my wind shield.

One second I was standing on my feet as the cyan mare crashed into the wall of wind that should have bounced her back onto her ass. The next I was standing in the eye of a cyclone, the frenzied storm plucking at my clothes and hair as the cyan pegasus’ magic fed uncontrollably into the wind wall I had conjured.

It almost felt like time had stopped as the cyan pegasus hung in front of me for the briefest of moments. Her eyes once again meeting mine for a split-second, and I could damned near feel her panic as the wall of wind ripped itself away from my control as her wings finished their frenzied flapping.

Then rainbow light flared from my shield bracelet with an intensity that was felt rather than seen and I found myself lying on my back in the field behind me without ever having moved. Clear blue skies stretching out above me as the clouds flickered in and out of focus in their stillness.

My back was a mass of agony, my head was ringing like a bell, and I could barely feel my left arm through a haze of pin and needles; the numbing tingle running against my nerves like static. All my important bits were still attached though. Which was good. Somehow I hadn’t managed to lose any body parts yet and I wanted to keep it that way.

Now if only the world would stop twisting around like one of those mechanical bulls I never got to ride any more.

I gingerly pulled myself to my feet: both hands on my staff as I used it to support my everything, the world lurching under my feet as the bull continued to buck and spin; trying to send me back to the ground.

Somewhere, somewhere in the background I could hear screaming. It sounded so distant and muffled, like I’d had my head shoved under the waters of Lake Michigan.

Shuffling and stumbling I turned my back on the haze of colors and noise that had been a village and staggered towards the dark forest. My staff dragging on the ground with each shameful step that took me further away from any more one-sided fights.

Dammit, but I hadn’t wanted to hurt anyone.

Author's Note

Main 6 height scale, from shortest to tallest (Height with Horn in brackets)
Rainbow Dash, 4’11
Twilight, 5’4 (Horn 5’10)
Pinkie, 5’6
Rarity, 5’8 (Horn 6’1)
Applejack, 5’9
Fluttershy, 6’1

Additional characters of potential interest, from shortest to tallest

Spike, 4’2
Zecora, 5’7
Cadance, 5’10 (Horn 6’7)
Shining Armour, 5’11 (Horn 6’8)
Big Mac, 6’4
Sombra, 6’6 (Horn 7’2)
Luna, 6’08 (Horn 7’6)
Harry Dresden, 6’9 (and exceptionally skinny, staff 6’6)
Chrysalis, 7’ (Horn 8’2)
Celestia, 7’1 (Horn 8’5)
Nightmare Moon, 7’4 (Horn 8’10)

What Attacked Ponyville this Week?

Was it …

Twilight’s guess - A Changeling bent on revenge (Slime, fire, eating her magic, attempting to lower her guard with honeyed words)

The Mob’s guess - A Banshee summoned by Twilight’s foolish experiments (Flapping raggedy cloaks, unnatural aura, howl’s of rage and pain)

Rarity’s guess - A beast from the Everfree (Screaming mob, looks unlike anything in Ponyville, heading back towards the forest)

Rainbow’s guess - (Something that needed to be punched)

Or none of the above

Chapter 3 - Beseech, Beseech, Toil and Teach

My first morning in Zecora’s hut was odd, and considering what my last twenty-four hours had been like that was saying something.

I stumbled awake to the smell of coffee, the noise of someone futzing about my stove, and the feeling of cold feet sticking out from the end of my too-short bed. Vague mutterings of how I was going to do something not nice to whatever had woken me were the only sign I wasn’t some sort of particularly horrific zombie as I searched for my blasting rod and revolver before blearily remembering they were still in my Duster, which I’d hung up by the door.

At least I’d kept my shield bracelet close to hand, the metallic gleam catching my eye as it sat on the unfamiliar side-table next to my slightly too-small bed, my pentacle amulet and force rings lying next to it.

So equipped with boxers and jewelry I staggered past the curtain that some joker had replaced my bedroom door with, to face whatever had broken into my apartment, and was promptly met with the sight of a Anthropomorphic Zebra mare who was in the process of pouring out two mugs of coffee.

I didn’t pause in confusion this time. I paused in recollection, as the memories of yesterday overcame my sleep addled brain while I stared at her, the morning light streaming through the windows allowing me to see her much, much better than I had last night.

The first thing that stood out to me were the stripes running across the back of her neck, under her eyes, and mingling with her mohawk. Beyond the fact that they were black stripes on white fur, they looked nothing like a real zebra’s might. They were too thick, too ordered, too unnatural, more like some sort of tribal tattoo than any sort of natural camouflage.

The second thing I noticed was, now that she was wearing some sort of combination of a wizard's robe and a doctor’s lab coat that fit far better than the shapeless pink fluff of last night’s bathrobe, showing just how feminine she was. The clothes doing nothing to hide any of her curves, or the flatness of her stomach, or the soft sinuous movement of her legs as she stepped back from my sudden appearance.

The third thing I noticed was the fact she was staring at me as I stood there, all but skyclad save for my heart print boxers, still blinking the sleep from my eyes, and reeking of stale sweat from the day before.

It only took another few seconds for these facts to enter my brain, where they were seized by my two currently active brain cells, and rattled around until I realized what they actually meant.

“Well, this is awkward.”

“Quite, you make a frightful sight in dawn’s first light,” she chuckled before picking up a teaspoon and a sugar bowl. “An undead horror fit for Nightmare Night, now would you like your coffee sweet or with a bitter bite?”

“Two sugars, no milk please ,” taking the proffered mug, I sipped gratefully at the elixir of wakefulness while ignoring the occasional floating coffee grind, before my brain slipped back into gear. “Thank you, Ma’am”

“Zecora is what ponies call me, a name you can use freely.”

“...Thank you, Zecora,” I paused to sip at the coffee again. “I’m just going to get dressed, then we can talk about those chores,” I started to turn only to see the mare smirk at me.

“I’m afraid you’ll find that you cannot, for all your clothes are in my washing pot,” she turned to check on the bubbling pot of oatmeal hanging where the cauldron had been last night. “With your height it was a challenge true, but I have found some spares that will do.”

“You just happened to have spare clothes in my size?” I responded with a mix of incredulousness and irritation. This was starting to feel just a little too good to be true again, and I made sure that my staff was still standing by the door where I had left it last night. My coat was nowhere to be seen though, which was just as worrying as my staff going out for a Mister style ramble.

She just rolled her eyes at my question. “For bandages old sheets and clothes oft come my way, when ponies discover their ailments are not long to stay, of your options it is for the best, unless you would like to go through the day so lightly dressed?” She quirked an eyebrow at me, somehow making that tiny gesture incorporate the spreading patches of blue, black, and yellow bruises that were my ribs, my bare feet, and my arms.

“Or you could have not washed my clothes.”

“While you may have been able to ignore how sour they smelled, they had a reek that would’ve left a Diamond Dog felled,” Zecora cringed momentarily, her entire muzzle wrinkling in distaste. “I shall not have a stench that will last forever fouling my hut, now go get dressed so we can fill your gut.”

“And my coat?” Folding my arms over my chest I did my best to loom over the mare. Washing my clothes was invasive, but they could be replaced, eventually, assuming this place accepted dollar bills, and she hadn’t left my wallet in my pockets.

My duster was a different story. It was a gift, one of the few things I had to remind me of Susan, it had a timeless style regardless of how many ‘El Dorado’ jokes I suffered, and it was stuffed to the brim with enough defensive enchantments to make me more impervious to bullets than the average Hollywood action hero.

My duster was important.

“It is safe upon the line outside, no beasts come here lest I tan their hides, now in my bedroom you’ll find clean clothes freshly pressed, so cease your complaining and go get dressed.”

And so it was I found myself wearing the Hulk’s hand-me-downs, a bowl of oatmeal gruel in one hand, and a washcloth in the other, doing housework for a Zebra Witchdoctor.

By the time lunch rolled around I was seriously wondering when I’d get my Pumpkin Coach, and if I should be on the lookout for glass slippers.

Not satisfied with just cleaning up the resulting mess that my quagmire coated clothing had spread across Zecora’s floor, I had made the mistake of asking if she needed anything else done once I’d finished.

Her smile was not comforting.

As it had turned out she still had a lot that needed doing. Windows washed, cookware cleaned, potions polished, herbs handled, and my rags rinsed out just a small selection of the tasks she sent my way. I had forgotten just how demanding housework was after having a Brownie cleaning service maintain my apartment for the better part of a decade. The bruise that was my body hadn’t stopped complaining the entire time I had been doing my best Cinderella impression.

Now I was stuck chopping firewood as I waited for my clothes to dry in the growing summer heat.

I had managed to build up a decent sized stack of kindling, and was in the process of taking a rest when I heard the voices approaching the hut.

“Ah keep telling ya, AJ, Ah can walk to Zecora’s mahself.”

“And Ah’m telling you, Bloom, whatever attacked Ponyville yesterday escaped inta the Everfree. Ah wouldn’t take any chances with that, an’ Ah sure as sugar ain’t letting you take chances with that.”

“Ah wouldn’t be taking chances!”

“Bloom, what’re you do... Bloom you slow down an’ get back here right now!”

Voices which apparently had southern accents. Of all the cockamamie things to show up in this realm I was not expecting the horse version of Texas, especially considering Humansville was in Missouri.

While it was good to know that naming conventions could be just as idiotic across dimensions, at least I had enough time to prepare myself for what fresh, new, equine, abomination was approaching this time. The sound of galloping hooves against the dirt path coming closer by the second.

Thankfully it wasn’t anything I hadn’t seen before this time. Just a pair of plain “horses”—I really needed a broad mythological equivalent for them just to keep the theme going. Mearas, wasn’t greek but it’d do—running along the path as if they were out for a day in the park, and not the Mirkwood.

The first one to reach the clearing was the youngest one I’d seen to date. Couldn’t have been more than eight or nine years old, pale yellow fur, amaranth mane and tail, almost stereotypical farm girl clothes topped off with a pink bow that was peeking out from behind her head. Oh, and her bright orange eyes were staring at me as I sat on the chopping block.

“Ah swear Bloom, when we get back to the farm Ah’m gonna tan your hide.”

And that was when the second mearh came crashing through the underbrush with the speed of maternal worry and rage.

Okay maybe that was unfair. I wasn’t sure how well my judgement would carry over, but the newcomer didn’t look much older than her early twenties. Even if she wasn’t visibly aged by farm labour, it would mean that she had gotten pregnant at an uncomfortably young age. It was more than likely they were sisters or cousins.

I watched as the newcomer rounded on Bloom, anger in her eyes, before she noticed that the kid wasn’t paying any attention to her encroaching doom and lifted her head to look at me herself. Which in turn let me get a good look at her.

She was a real southern Belle, if you were into the horse thing I suppose. A bright orange coat mirrored the younger mare’s eyes save for patches of whites ‘freckles’ that were dotted around the corner of her eyes and the bridge of her muzzle. A blonde mane loosely tied in a, heh, ponytail fell out from beneath a stetson that was tilted back on her head, upright ears keeping the brim from falling over her face.

Her clothes weren’t anything special. I’m fairly certain I had the same checkered shirt somewhere at home and the work trousers were just that, work trousers, but something about the way she wore the outfit just screamed confidence, that she didn’t need the false elegance of perfectly tailored dresses or the protective image of being something she wasn’t. She was what she was, and damn anyone who told her she needed to be otherwise.

But the most striking thing about her were her eyes.

They were they green of freshly cut grass, bright and intelligent and alive, but faded somehow… loss, isolation, worry, sleepless nights and restless days. Like she had carried a burden by herself too long and just didn’t know how to put it down again.

At the moment however those eyes were narrowed at me.

“Good day miss, can I help you?”

I took how she relaxed slightly at my question to be a good sign. Her eyes were still narrowed, but she didn’t look like she was ready to try and kick my ribs in for merely existing anymore.

“Ah reckon you can. Mah sis has a lesson with Zecora right about now, she in?” The yellow filly peered out from behind her, now definitely, sister’s legs, to stare at me with a mix of fear and wonderment.

I started to answer before I caught a hint of motion in the corner of my eye, the door to the tree gliding open on freshly oiled hinges.

“Apple Bloom, Applejack, and Dresden too, come on in, come on in, lunch awaits you.”

“Well that answers that,” reaching out I grabbed the door handle, stopping it from swinging shut behind Zecora as I gestured with my free hand. “Ladies first.”

The older mearh, Applejack I was guessing, just snorted as her sister scurried along behind her, keeping as far away from me as possible. “Ah ain’t no falutin’ high-society lady, but thanks anyways.”

I waited for a second as the two of them scuffed their hooves on a worn welcome mat, before following the two of them in. The door clicking shut behind me, sealing me in with the three mares.

The lunch that Zecora had prepared was pleasant. While I doubted she would ever be able to beat Mac’s steak sandwiches, grilled cheese and tomato soup was a classic that bridged dimensions, and I proceeded to keep my mouth full and my ears open as Applejack and Zecora chatted away like old friends, just letting the calm atmosphere wash over me as I relaxed for the first time since I’d arrived.

It worked for about five minutes before Apple Bloom decided to involve me in the conversation.

“Are ya some kinda monster, Mister Dresden?”

Both the mares stopped talking as she spoke and I only just caught their reactions out of the corner of my eye, both of them perking their ears. Even if Applejack fixed her sister with a disapproving glare that made her wilt behind her half finished bowl of soup.

“Ah didn’t mean it like that, sorry, Mister Dresden,” her ears fell to the side of her head while she looked away from the force of sisterly disapproval. “Ah’ve just never seen anything like ya an’ Ah’ve seen gryphons, donkeys, bat-ponies, changelings, an’ Discord”

I’d expected the question at some point, given the general reaction to me so far had been either fear or violence, but the fact she’d considered the possibility of me being a monster simply on first sight? I wasn’t that spooky looking, even without my dark and mysterious wizard get up, was I?

“I’m a human,” I answered as shortly as I could.

Blank stares and confusion were my only responses as I took the final bite of toast and cheese.

“That answer there’s as clear as sky an’ about as tangible, Sugarcube,” Applejack cut in. “What exactly is a human?”

“Well, what exactly is a mearh?”

“A mare is a female pony,” came the immediate reply. “Even if you’ve got a queer way of saying it.”

“Not a mare, a mearh, but fine. What are you exactly?”

“Ah’m an earth pony.” I felt my eye twitch slightly at that name. It was almost as bad as calling a chlorofiend a plant monster. Yes it was accurate, but where was the artistry? Where was the evocative imagery? Where was the pride? I’d stick with mearh if that was the alternative.

“And what exactly is an earth pony?”

I don’t think she liked that particular question judging by how her eyes narrowed at it. “Ah would ask how somepony ain’t ever heard of us earth ponies before considerin’ how much we do fer Equestria.”

Zecora chose that moment to jump in. “Applejack my friend, I would suggest you put that question to an end, after all before you continue on your diatribe, need I remind you how little you knew of my tribe?” The orange mare fidgeting under Zecora’s gaze until the zebra turned back to her soup, leaving Applejack to shuffle in her seat.

“Fine, if’n ya don’t want to answer Ah’ll stop askin’ about it. But Ah do want to know what’re you doing here?”

“An accident with a Way dumped me out on the outskirts of this forest, I spent most of yesterday either running for my life or hitting things in the face so they would stop chasing me and then running for my life until Zecora was kind enough to offer me sanctuary for the night.” Wasn’t exactly wrong, and I kept my answer as casual as possible, despite having to force down the guilt at the memory of who exactly I had to hit.

“And it is on that note, that Applejack and I have spoke,” Zecora turned to face me before I could continue further. Probably for the better as I was about to get wildly sarcastic, it would have been a speech for the ages, but I don’t think it would have gone over well at that moment. “I have no doubts that you can see, on us both how stressful continuing this arrangement would be.”

“And that leads us to the fact she asked me to take you in,” The orange mearh looked uncomfortable at the idea as her muzzle scrunched up like she’d bitten into something rotten, but buried it under the least sincere smile I’ve seen. I should’ve tried to make a better first impression, too late now. “Ah’ve got no real problem with that, if’n a philosopher like you can do honest farm work that is. We don’t have no idle hooves at Sweet Apple Acres, guest or otherwise.”

My own smile was just as innocent as hers was sincere. “My mentor owned a ranch and taught me magic between making me take care of the, uh, livestock,” my voice stumbled as I choked back the word ‘horses’, no way to tell how anthropomorphic horse people would take that particular idea beyond ‘probably not well’. “Hogs, sheep, cattle, etcetera, and he made me do it all by hand, always telling me it was to help me understand ‘why to use magic, rather than just the how’. It took a while, but it did sink in, eventually.”

“That so?” The raised eyebrow combined with the smug skepticism in her voice said it all. She no doubt expected me to fold up inside of a day of her ‘honest farm work’ which wasn’t going to happen. If I could get a shower, a decent feed, and a safe spot, getting back to the Nevernever should be a snap, even after a couple of days of ‘grueling’ farm work. It was where I was going to end up that would be the real problem. “Ah gotta get back to the farm, chores wait for no mare after all an’ Ah need ta set up the guest room for you,” Applejack popped her spine after shuffling out from the alcove table. “You want to come with me now, an’ help me get you situated, or do you want to stay here an’ Ah can pick you up when Ah come back for Apple Bloom?”

I shook my head apologetically before answering. “My clothes, the only things I had with me when I got dumped here, are still drying out there. You can see why I might be averse to leaving them behind.”

“Suit yourself.” The mare snorted at me before turning to Apple Bloom. “You behave yourself Bloom, you better believe Ah’m going to be adding to your chores after that little stunt earlier an’ if Ah hear of any of your shenanigans from Zecora, Ah don’t think you’ll be going on any of your crusades for a good while.”

The filly shrunk in her seat, pinned under the older mearh’s glare before she muttered something that sounded like a “yes sis”.

“Good, Ah’ll see the two of you in a few hours so you better have your things together by then Mister Dresden. Ah don’t want to be out in the Everfree after dark with that thing that attacked Ponyville yesterday still around, even on the paths,” She turned her glare on me, before her eyes softened a little. “An’ Ah’ll talk to a friend of mine, if it’s a magical accident that brought you here, Ah can’t think of a better filly than Twi to help get you back home.” With that she turned on her heel and walked out, the door falling shut behind her swaying hips and waving tail.

Why did I notice that?

I was broken out of my self-recrimination by the noise of Zecora gathering up the dishes as the serious expression she’d been wearing throughout Applejack’s little speech twisted itself into a mischievous grin.

“And now that Applejack has taken her leave, it is time for your lesson I believe.” Apple Bloom’s head shot up, all traces of childish guilt scrubbed away. “Now while I did have a plan for today, having Dresden here has given us another way.”

“And now I’m being volunteered for something else on the Cinderella chore circuit” I muttered loud enough to be heard. My statement exacerbating Zecora’s smile as her ears perked.

“If you do not want this task, all you have to do is ask, but otherwise you’ll be sitting watching your clothes dry, outside under the open sky.”

“Do you mind if I borrow a book?” A read and a snooze sounded really, really good right then. My body had started to stiffen up again after being folded into the corner of the alcove and the bruises on my everything were aching even through my, unfortunately, well-tested pain tolerance.

“Ya don’t want to teach me?” I was beyond glad I had my eyes closed as I stretched my back, the noise of snapping celery making me wonder if I’d actually managed to break something in there when that clown-wigged idiot dive-bombed me. I’d seen the result of Michael getting swarmed by his kids when they were wielding that voice. Seeing the Fist of God laid out on his couch as the endless balls of energy and crazy cavorted away, giggling like the children they were disguised as, was a terrifying sight. All I needed to do was not look, and I wouldn’t be caught in her diabolical trap.

Of course, not looking had been going great for me so far.

I opened my eyes only to be immediately met with a pair of big yellow peepers, framed by tears, ears pinned to the top of her skull, and a pout that could melt the heart of Mab herself. I think I felt my heart expand three sizes in my chest before I tore my eyes away and slammed them shut again, hissing like Bela Lugosi recoiling from sunlight.

Really didn’t want to get into a soulgaze with a kid, even an inhuman one. It wouldn’t be pretty.

“Dammit, Zecora!” I yelled from behind the arm thrown over my face. “I thought I told you about Soulgazing last night.”

A sheepish silence descended over the rapid heartbeats and panting breaths as I tried to force myself to calm down, just letting the sudden burst of fear drain away, as the sound of hooves meeting floor echoed around me in the quiet room.

“My apologies, Dresden, on that subject you taught, in my haste for this jape your aversion to eye-contact I forgot.” I lifted my arm to see a worried Apple Bloom hiding behind the legs of a contrite looking Zecora, her arms crossed over her chest as she refused to ‘meet’ my eyes. “However I meant it when I said, this lesson would benefit from your aid.”

“And what makes you think I can help with whatever you have planned?”

Just for a second her smirk returned before she started speaking again. “One doesn’t advertise for a service they can’t provide, to do so openly is deeply unwise,” and then she fished out a small piece of card, one that I recognised having carried at least one of them on me at all times for the last decade. “No endless purses, parties, or love potions, now what could give your customers such notions?”

“Maybe the fact it also says Wizard right across the top in big, bold letters?” I supplied right back. “Please, get to the point.”

“I was prepared to teach Apple Bloom my alchemy today, however with your help I can show her another way. When I studied under my master, he apprenticed me to others to help me learn faster, however as you will plainly see, in these lands there are no shamans but me. I do not wish to steal the secrets of your craft, but simply aim to aid my student in the mixing of her draughts”

I stood there, trying to puzzle my way through what she was saying, although I’m fairly sure my height made it look more like I was looming over them in judgement, given the way Zecora started fidgeting with my card.

Before I could give any answer though, Apple Bloom decided to use that moment to put her two cents into the ring, and decide it for me.

“Why don’t ya want to teach me, Mister Dresden?”

I tried not to look, I really did, but the moment I heard the filly sniffle I felt my eyes creeping downward, only to take in how truly and utterly crestfallen she looked. Her eyes were still framed with tears and her ears were plastered down to her her skull, but her entire body seemed to slump down in disappointment like she had just watched her favorite seal pup get clubbed. It was all I could do to not completely shatter my manly image by kneeling down and promising to make everything better, actually following through on my threat of taking a nap wasn’t in the question.

“Fine,” I grunted, doing my best to make it look like I was doing this under duress, which I was. “It’s no skin off my back either way.”

Zecora at least tried to hide her smile as she turned around and started to clear away a bunch of the omnipresent clutter that was found on any workbench, but Apple Bloom didn’t see any point in disguising her feelings. Teary eyes instantly dried up, ears perked up in joy, and her wobbling lips transformed into a smile that looked like it was going to take the top of her head off as she bounced in place chanting, “yes, yes, yes.”

Grimacing in trepidation of the oncoming disaster, I trudged across the room behind Zecora and set to helping her clear enough space in the cluttered workbench. “So, what do you actually want me to do? Because I’m not exactly the greatest alchemist around.”

“Just a single demonstration of your skill, whether theoretical or practical will fit the bill, this is of course, so long as you do not use up too much of my resource.”

“Using up your stock shouldn’t be a problem,” I rubbed at my temples, trying to remember any potion that didn’t require motor oil or caffeine, as Apple Bloom bounced up behind me still quietly chanting under her breath. “It’s whether or not you have the ingredients to begin with. The stuff I use can be extremely esoteric and hard to come by, even among other alchemists.” Okay that was a lie, I couldn’t actually afford the more esoteric stuff most of the time, but nobody else I knew made their potions out of bottom shelf energy drinks and their used bus tickets.

“Don’t worry Mister Dresden, Zecora’s got the biggest collection Ah’ve evahr seen, it’s even bigger than Twilight’s, Ah’m sure she’s got what ya need.” Damnit Apple Bloom, stop poking holes in my escape plan. Then again if I couldn’t get my nap now, may as well try and fry two nasties with one fireball.

“Okay then, how’s about I show you how to make a sleep potion, Dresden style?” I asked as I ran through the list of ingredients in my head, there wasn’t anything that should be too much of an issue there, and as an added benefit it was near impossible to overdose on the recipe I had planned. Something that had been tested pretty extensively seeing as it was made for the Wardens dealing with the aftermath of outsider psychic attacks. Those who got nightmares were the lucky ones.

Apple Bloom was nearly vibrating in place with excitement, her eyes and smile cartoonishly wide, while Zecora just sighed good-naturedly at the filly’s exuberance. “A slumber potion does not pose too much risk, although I will make sure of your thrift.”

“Well let’s just make sure you have what I need first,” was the reply as I pulled a smallish cauldron and an oil burner out of the pile, setting them up as I ran over everything one last time in my head. “The eight ingredients for this potion are fairly common so there shouldn’t be too much hassle, but I’m going to need about a pint of hot cocoa for the base, a sleep mask for sight, a few drops of eucalyptus oil for smell, some shreds of a blanket for touch, forty winks worth of snoring for sound, some valerian root for taste, a carving of a sheep for the mind, and a written lullaby for the spirit,” checking around on the work-table for a jar of fuel for the burner I ignored the lack of noise for a few seconds, before turning around to see both Zecora and Apple Bloom staring at me like I was out of my mind. Glad to see I wasn’t the only one who could pull off a convincing guppy impersonation.

“What?”

Apple Bloom just continued to look at me like I was insane, but Zecora managed to swallow her first response which, if her lashing tail had been any indication, would most likely have been harsh enough to make Charity’s regular lecture sound tame.

“By your requests I will admit to being confused, from these items how could any potion be brewed?” Her restraint didn’t stop her voice from sounding strained and incredulous. Molly had been like that too when I’d started to teach her potion brewing. Apparently telling her not to touch my stock of depleted uranium only introduced more questions, such as why I had depleted uranium in the first place.

“I’ll explain as it’s brewing, but first I need those ingredients, please.” She continued to stare at me for a second until she snorted and turned to the shelves of urns and jars, a barely concealed grumble keeping pace with the slow flicking of her tail.

Hunting down the ingredients didn’t take that long. For all the chaos that the room seemed to be in, it had taken Zecora less than a minute to pick out a pair of jars, find a wooden sheep, throw Apple Bloom a bag full of rags to sift through, and start brewing up a cauldron of hot chocolate over the central fire pit, bustling through the room a like a black and white striped Flash. All before I’d even managed to touch quill to ink-well to scribble down the simplest lullaby I could remember.

It might have been a testament to just how out of practice I was with the blasted things that I’d only just finished my scratchy and blotted copy of ‘rock-a-bye baby’ when Zecora was lifting the hot chocolate from the fire, carefully balancing the cast-iron cauldron on the burner stand, next to the six carefully measured out ingredients she and Apple Bloom had found for me. Unfortunately she didn’t have any captured snoring, instead giving me a look that made it clear she thought I was insane for asking. I was going to have to fake it and just hope it worked as advertised, which wasn’t a given. Potion making could be deceptively tricky even with the simplest recipes, and while it didn’t get much simpler than what I was doing there was still plenty of room for error.

“Are we gonna get started now, Mister Dresden?” Apple Bloom was almost bouncing in place with enthusiasm as she passed me the final item like it was the most holy of relics. A freshly cleaned wooden spoon. Very important, you don’t want to stir your potions with a dirty spoon.

I didn’t miss Zecora’s tiny smile of pride at her apprentice’s eagerness as I turned back to the cauldron, making sure the burner was going at a nice low simmer, before I started to add all the ingredients I had. The liquid taking on a warm glow when I dropped the wooden sheep in, much to the curiosity of my audience, and I had to hold up a hand to ward off Apple Bloom’s questions before I could add the final ingredient. My fake snores.

Leaning over the cauldron I took a deep breath, which may have been a mistake as a wave of cocoa and eucalyptus assaulted my lungs nearly making me cough instead of snore as I forced thoughts of sleep to my mind. Lazy afternoons spent napping under one of the oak trees on Ebenezar’s farm. My almost too small bed and sleeping diagonally to keep my feet under the covers. Just stretching out on Murphy’s sofa and grabbing what rest I could during cases. Combined with my current exhaustion, I had to fight against my eyes flickering shut as the sound of sawing logs rasped its way out of my throat and into the brew.

Now for the normally boring part, although given that Apple Bloom had been near vibrating with excitement I doubted I was going have much chance to be bored. “Okay, fire away.”

“Is that it? Ah was expectin’ something more showy.”

Stupid TV, and stupid movies. Ruining everything with their flashy CGI and special effects. I am literally turning household detritus into a magical potion, but if it doesn’t immediately sparkle or glow people want their money back.

“No, I’m not done yet,” I said, trying and failing to push the scowl from my face as Apple Bloom hid behind Zecora’s legs, before I slumped back into the chair like the grumpy old man I was slowly becoming. “There’s one more step, but this has to sit and simmer for a while first.”

“So you can finally answer my confusion, to why such miscellany is needed for your infusion?”

“Potions, at least the way I was taught, are more about the magic than the chemistry. Granted there’s a lot more precision in alchemy than there is in evocation, but without adding magic to the mix, which is the final step, this is mostly just a foul smelling, inedible mix that not even the strongest fae glamour could make appetizing.” I tried to remember the way I’d explained this to Molly.

“The thing is that it’s a carefully chosen mix of poisons because this method of potion making is notoriously tricky. Each and every potion requires exactly eight ingredients, a base liquid, one ingredient for each of the five senses, another ingredient each for the mind and spirit, and even then these ingredients need to be symbolic of what they represent to the individual.” I paused for a second to stir the bubbling potion behind me, it already smelled bad enough without me burning it, and pushing just a tiny trickle of magic in, something to start the mix. “Sleep potions are universal enough that most practitioners can get away with the recipe I just showed you, but there are people who get better results using ovaltine as the base, or can substitute valerian for passion-flower, anything trickier than this and most wizards end up just experimenting to make their own personal recipes.”

“I see, so this exact recipe will not work for me?” I had to take a deep breath to keep myself from snapping at Zecora’s questioning tone.

“Not as well as it would for me, and that’s even assuming you can activate the potion, but as I said, sleep potions are fairly universal, and just knowing how I do it can give you an insight as to how you’d follow the same method.”

“I believe I understand the notion, although what is you mean by activating the potion?”

“It’s like mixing oil and water,” I stirred the potion mechanically while putting the answer together in my head. “Normally the two refuse to mix unless you add another chemical. Potion ingredients act the same way, they’ll refuse to mix without magic acting as a bridge and the ingredients will separate out in a few sunrises without proper storage.”

“Like an emulsion?” Apple Bloom asked, before she shrank back behind Zecora again, continuing in a low mumble. “Ah mean Ah always have to stir the paints before Ah use ‘em and Miss Cheerilee said it’s ‘cause they were emulsion paints that separated over time.”

“Exactly.” I agreed with the filly, it was a good enough comparison for now. “The only difference is it’s impossible to stir a potion back together, so you either need to know what you’re going to need in the near future, or they need to be really carefully stored.” I could already see more questions bubbling up in the filly’s mind as she peeked out from behind her zebra shield.

A zebra shield who decided to voice her own opinions on the matter.

“I must confess, to being unimpressed, why put yourself through so much stress, when a regular brew could stand time’s test?”

“Could you brew an anti-gravity potion?” I did my best to keep the irritation out my voice, so of course Zecora fixed me with a glare as I continued. “How about capturing sunshine in a handkerchief? Turning yourself into the wind for a moment? Making it so that people will simply ignore you? Heck, I made super-coffee one time. Theoretically there are very few limits to what can be done with alchemy.”

“Can ya make a flight potion?”

Turning back to Apple Bloom I smiled gently “I haven’t made one in a long time, but that was one of the first potions I learned to make.” I hit the wooden spoon against the rim of the cauldron, sending a few stubborn droplets back into the swirling, velvety, liquid before I set it aside and shifted my chair so that Apple Bloom and Zecora could get a better view. “Although first, we’re going to do my favorite part of this thing.”

So far I hadn’t lied about how finicky alchemy could be, the wrong ingredient in the wrong place and the entire thing was likely to go boom in a multitude of interesting ways. I’d once spent a week fumigating my lab because I’d accidentally used cat fur instead of dog fur, and what was supposed to be a tracking potion became a stink bomb.

Activating potions however wasn’t complicated, it was just tiring. All the magic in the potion was shaped by the ingredients yes, and normally forcing the magic into a specific shape was one of the more rigorous aspects of any spell, but that magic had to come from somewhere. A special location, a ritualistic focus, or a sponsoring spirit, but the best magic comes from inside people. There’s more magic in people’s emotions and willpower than they ever realise, similar to how an icecube has the same amount of heat energy as a lit matchstick and I’d always used that internal energy when making my potions.

The downside was just how exhausting it was. I was using my body’s energy and I wasn’t exactly being gentle with it either. Master alchemists might’ve been able to make a potion the same way that a wilderness survival expert could make a fire out of two branches, a magnifying glass and whatever they had in their pockets, working the power expertly with as little effort as possible to create something beautiful.

Compared to them I was a monkey with a jerry can of gasoline and a lighter.

On the upside I normally had plenty of fuel for the metaphorical fire.

Worry, anger, fear, pain, regret, all of the emotions that had been bubbling through me since yesterday, welled up under my metaphysical senses, tumbling together into a ball of energy inside my mind. Until, with a burst of fake latin, I released all of that energy into the inert liquid, the words helping to shape the energy with my will, forcing the raw potential of my emotions to comply with the structure of the spell contained in the potion.

I slumped backwards in my seat as far more energy than I had thought I would need rushed out of me, my reserves emptying into the incomplete potion, and I swore I heard Zecora start to scoff before the potion exploded into a cloud of thick orange smoke, froth creeping over the cauldron’s lip.

I was too tired to do much more than wave my hand and wheeze out a ‘ta-dah’, but I could imagine the look of surprise on both of their faces at what should have been a complete impossibility.

“I feel I must apologise for my scorn,” I heard Zecora shuffle closer as the potion’s bubbling died down, “never have I seen such magic without a horn.”

A wheeze let her know I accepted her apology, even as Apple Bloom bounced her way up to me, chattering so fast I couldn’t get a reply out. “That was amazing, how’d you do that thing with all those little flickerin’ lights, and the chantin’, and the...”

“Apple Bloom can you not see the state of my guest, it is clear that he needs a rest.” That felt like the understatement of the year as I struggled to pull myself back into a sitting position, muttering something that I think was along the lines of ‘how’d you guess?’, if you spoke caveman grunts.

“Need to bottle this first.” My hand flopped in the direction of the cauldron as I teetered myself upright.

“Leave that to me, Dresden, just rest your head and sleep again.” I slumped down as a striped hand wrapped across my back and Zecora settled under one my shoulders, half supporting me, half dragging me to her bed as I stumbled through the bead curtain.

It was when we reached the bed that Zecora let me go and I toppled forwards like a scarecrow taken off its pole, flopping onto the mattress as my eyes fell closed.

I was asleep before I even stopped bouncing.

“Mister Dresden, Ya need ta get up now”

I grunted in neanderthal as something tried to pull me awake, one hand waving for my trusty mickey mouse alarm clock as I swung my feet off the mattress only to come face to snout with a tiny horse, person, thing.

My brain didn’t actually stall at the sight this time, although I did avert my eyes from Apple Bloom’s, my earlier warning having been apparently forgotten.

“Come on Mister Dresden, mah sis is gonna be here any minute.” The filly tugged at my wrist as I levered myself off of the bed. The overalls having shifted enough while I was sleeping to pinch uncomfortably helping me wake up at several rather personal sensations as I shifted into a sitting position. “Yah need to get dressed ‘fore Applejack gets here.”

The noise of fabric hitting fabric caught my attention as Apple Bloom dumped my clothes—which were attempting to revisit the one time they’d been neatly folded— on the chair alongside my wallet, my revolver the box of ammo, and the generic wizardly detritus that I never left my apartment without anymore I’d had in my duster pockets, before running back out of the room.

It was almost indecent how quickly I found myself struggling out of the overalls I’d been wearing before slipping back into my actual clothes. The noise of an opening door, followed by the familiar drawl of a southern accent making me pull everything on faster.

“Oh it feels good to be back in the saddle again.” I said to myself as I slipped my duster back on, the heavy leather settling down against my shoulders, before the southern twang of Applejack’s voice came through the bead curtain.

“Hey Dresden, would ya stop muttering ta yerself an’ hurry it up? Ah’d Like ta get back to the farm before Celestia sets the sun.”

I bit back a retort as I checked over my pockets, making sure that I had everything I’d brought with me, before I strode out to the main room, pushing aside the bead curtain as if I was some old beast rising from the depths.

Which was why Applejack fell over laughing the moment she saw me.

Author's Note

Colourful Ponies and the Seven Laws

So this is a little bit of worldbuilding for you right here.

Ponies aren’t mortals as defined by the seven laws of magic. Breaking the law against them would be seen to be roughly the same as blowing up a RC/BC Vampire or a Fae.

There’s a reason behind this (at least to my eyes), but to get there we need to establish what defines a mortal under the Seven Laws, and personally I think there’s three rules that have to be present.

1 - They’re human. Yes Harry performed Necromancy on a Dinosaur, and it was still considered to be a violation of the laws, but because Sue wasn’t Human, and because it was a “Desperate Times, Desperate Measures” situation, he got away with it, just.

2 - They Have a mortal lifespan, or can die of Old Age. Somewhat self-explanatory, but a mortal must be Mortal. Wizards count because they say they do, and they just live longer anyway. Not even they can keep from becoming part of the Harvest forever.

3 - They have Free Will. This is the big one and it’s mostly covered in the RPG books, but it’s regularly mentioned that as the PC’s assume more and more power, they lose more and more of their available free will, the inherent power all mortals have to make a “Choice” and as such alter fate. Lose too much of your free will, and you become a slave to the power that you now have. You must act according to your nature; to do so otherwise invites madness and is breaking the Rules. (At least that’s what I took away from over-spending Refresh.)

So do these rules affect ponies?

They’re not human, although they’re close, and they don’t have Free Will because of Cutie Marks.

If a pony tries to ignore, act against their Cutie Mark, or gets their talent ignored/removed, they can’t cope, they can’t do anything ‘right’, they go mad, Lesson Zero, Nightmare Moon, Discord, Starlight Glimmer and her cult of Equality, all of these are points to prove it.

Ponies with Cutie Marks can’t have Free Will because they can’t act against the nature of their Cutie Marks, which in turn implies that they are not Mortals as defined by the Seven Laws.

What does this mean for Harry? Jack and Squat for now. He doesn’t know these things. We the audience, with the future seasons under our belt, do.

But as I said, he doesn’t know this, yet.

I’ll write more on the other species as I piece it together in my head, but as a rule of thumb, the species that aren’t Mortal are: Ponies, Zebras, Changelings, Spirits, Centaurs, Gargoyles, Dragons, and Hybrids (Hippogryphs, Zonies, Mules (I think that’s the correct name for Pony/Donkey), etc, etc) so long as the Hybrid chooses to possess a Cutie Mark.

1) As one of my pre-readers asked, "what does this mean for Blank-Flanks?" Well it's like the changeling choice from the Dresdenverse (nobody calls it that). They exist in a sort of limbo, where they count as Mortal, but technically aren't, once they "choose" their Cutie Mark, they cease to be mortal however, becoming something that is bound by their nature.

It is entirely possible for a Pony to go through their life without a Cutie Mark, just as it is possible for anyone to go through life as a Scientologist.

Society might have something to say about it though.

A Mythological Name for Earth Ponies (READ THIS BEFORE COMMENTING)

So this is something that bugged me, and considering Harry’s struggle with naming the Chlorofiend stands a chance of bugging him too.

Earth Ponies do not have a fancy mythological counterpart.

Both unicorns and pegasi are named after greek myths, although I will always say that calling any winged horse a “Pegasus” is like calling all humans a “Steve” if the first human you ever met was called Steve. It’s wrong. Pegasus was an individual legendary mount, not a species unto himself. Winged horse does just fine, or if’n y'all want to be fancy try “Alar Equus” (I think that’s somewhere in the neighbourhood of right), granted nobody does this because it's a bit of public consciousness that will not go away (Frankenstein = Frankenstien's Monster), but the point stands.

Harry being much more familiar with myth, legend, and fiction (which sometimes contains a grain of truth, see Dracula (Novel) in the Dresden Files) and me having access to google, it wasn’t too difficult to search Legendary Horse Races, which led me straight to Wikipedia’s Lord of the Rings page.

Lo and behold it’s pointing me at Shadowfax, Lord of the Mearas (Mearh singular), a race of horses that are smarter, swifter, stronger, and tireless. And seeing as good ol’ J.R.R.Tolkien was a scholar of Language the name Mearas is taken from Old English, which happen to be the base for several Sidhe names and the like.

So yeah that’s the origin of that particular name, did a google search to sate Harry’s curiosity on something he already knew but couldn’t remember, and was pointed to LotR, which considering several rather odd parallels with the first Summer Knight, J.R.R could’ve had more knowledge of the Sidhe than just some random author off the street.

Chapter 2 - Zebra, Zebra, Cooking Hot, What Concoctions In Thy Pot?

There’s a reason every fairy tale known to mortal and immortal alike takes place at least partially in a forest. Forests are some of the spookiest, scariest, places to be: they are dark, they are oppressively silent in the noisy way that nature always is, they are without mankind’s civilising touch, and they feel like they are alive and well-aware of the mortal fool that has stumbled his way into their domain.

As Sinclair put it when he wrote ‘The Jungle’. "Relentless, remorseless, it was; all his protests, his screams, were nothing to it---it did its cruel will with him, as if his wishes, his feelings, had simply no existence at all; it cut his throat and watched him gasp out his life."

Granted Sinclair was talking about Chicago when he wrote that, but a city is as just as violent as nature, red in tooth and claw. The only difference being that the city wants to drink you dry first and will use every civilised trick in the book to do so. Nature just wants you dead, and will do so in many, many interesting ways.

Or terrifying ways. It’s really all the same thing once you step into nature's dark realm.

It’s this constant sense of vague malice that digs at the nerves. The long shadows cast by each tree-trunk that blend together, hiding anything and everything with each subtle shift of the underbrush that could be a stalking predator or a whispering wind. The invisible things that reach out and touch you uninvited: thin slapping tree branches coming out of nowhere to leave welts on exposed skin, soft, wet, moldering leaves that caress against your body like the hands of long-dead lovers, and spiderwebs that suddenly cling to your face as if they were curses sent by a cruel god. Even the ground itself is twisted by some malign will, rising and falling with each carefully made step, while stones, vines, roots, and underbrush rip and pull at your feet and legs hoping to trip you over a hidden ledge that could be anywhere between six inches or six feet.

I’ve read plenty of fairy tales, something that’s almost a job requirement considering I’ve thrown down with monsters out of the said stories, that treat running through these sorts of forests as a hero’s past-time: dodging around fallen logs, hopping over snarled roots, gliding through catching brush, all like it was the most natural thing in the world. One of the many fabled powers of one-true-herodom.

In real life it never works, unless you have something looking over your shoulder the entire time.

Okay maybe it’d work in those vast, ancient European oak forests, where they love to shoot ‘medieval’ dramas about Robin Hood, Merlin, Arthur, and whichever of the Bard’s tales they feel like sucking the subtext out of. But in the forests I’m used to, that horrible, clinging, unrelenting, trap of nature that is the USA’s native brush? You’d be better off finding a sledgehammer and a nurse who’s willing to recreate 'Misery' with you.

At least the main character of Misery survived. I wasn’t sure I’d have the same luxury.

Oh this place wasn’t the nightmare tangle of the hikes I was used to. The ground was clear enough and the trees weren’t exactly clustered like too many people in too small a space, but the undergrowth seemed to grow in thick green walls—stretching from trunk to trunk while leaving the rest of the ground no worse than an ill-maintained city park. And if that wasn’t enough the whole place was unreal.

It had been maybe sixty, seventy five minutes since I’d staggered out of that village and into this place. I think I’d prefer the inside of whatever jail cell they’d stick me in for the crime of self-defense and property damage.

Don’t get me wrong, the cell would be dull compared to this place. In the first thirty minutes I’d already seen flowers in black and white and all colors and shades in-between, including several colors that I’m sure were never meant to be seen, thorned and bloodied vines that I gave a wide berth, and poisonous looking mushrooms of great girth and those were only the most notable of the things on display. It was beautiful in that weird ‘I’m walking through something that shouldn’t exist and will probably attempt to kill me’ way that I only got to experience when I was walking through the Nevernever for the first time.

After the first time through the Nevernever I had been a bit too fixated on the fairy godmother attempting to turn me into one of her hunting hounds to really appreciate the scenery.

I’m fairly certain the jail cell wouldn’t feel like it was waiting for me to fall asleep before it pounced though.

I hadn’t noticed when I stumbled under the first trees, my head still swimming with the backlash of my out-of-control shield spell. I don’t think I noticed even as my wits returned to me and the self-recrimination started. I did notice when my hand started drifting unconsciously towards the revolver that had somehow stayed in my pocket despite the wringer I had just been put through.

Something was watching me.

People will talk about the heebie-jeebies as though they’re some sort of irrational and uncontrollable urge that shouldn’t be taken seriously, but when it comes down to it, when you’re alone in the dark and the hairs on your neck start to stand up, everyone reacts the same way.

They run. They hide. They escape the dark and pray to whatever they have faith in.

There’s a damned good reason for this ‘irrational’ behavior.

Even in mortals without magic those hairs on the back of your neck are a sign that things are wrong, the bump in the night is a warning to turn on the light and hide under the sheets, that shiver on your spine should set you towards safety.

It sounds stupid, and to people who haven’t ever seen the things in the dark it can’t ever be explained in a way that won’t get you sent to a madhouse, but the heebie-jeebies exist for a damned good reason.

And that’s just in plain vanilla mortals who have the barest of sensitivities to the supernatural. With a wizard’s senses it can be much worse.

I didn’t slow down as I started to check over my shoulders for any sign that I was being followed. It would be just my luck that wherever I had landed had some kind of expert tracker on hand for this sort of emergency.

Nothing seemed to be following me, but then again I was never a boy scout. I could have been surrounded by any number of things and not heard or seen anything until there were fangs around my neck, claws in my back, and my blood was soaking the forest floor. A fact that the Alphas had shown me multiple times over the years I had known them.

If anything checking over my shoulders and not seeing anything made the sensation of being watched all the worse. I could feel my hand tightening on my staff through the remnants of numbness from my earlier spells as the hairs on my neck damned near sparked and crackled with nervous static.

Quickening my pace, I started pushing my way through the thick undergrowth that hadn’t been this bad a minute ago.

Whatever was following me got closer. The rustling leaves moving despite a complete lack of wind.

I didn’t speed up again. I am a wizard, one of the wise, and one of the few to whom even the things in the dark hide under the bed when we pass. I just really didn’t want suffer the tender ministrations of the establishment after putting so much effort into escaping.

The butterflies I could feel in my gut were the result of skipping breakfast and lunch. I’d done too much on an empty stomach. Just got to remember that.

My metaphysical senses were fluttering under the pressure as I struggled to push them while avoiding outright opening the Sight. The last time I had done so in this sort of situation I’d learned the hard way What was following me, and spent hours gibbering. I couldn’t afford that in this creepy forest.

I stumbled as my foot caught on a snarl in the undergrowth sending me bouncing from tree to tree like a demented ping-pong ball.

But at some point I’d found my footing and sped up again. I wasn’t sprinting through the undergrowth, but it was damned near close enough to be just as dangerous. I could feel branches slapping at me through the spell toughened leather of my duster leaving invisible welts and thorns clawing at my short hair as I barrelled through the thinnest parts of the undergrowth. My legs burned as I barely managed to leap over a fallen log, only just keeping my balance when I heard something crashing through the undergrowth behind me.

I could feel whatever it was chasing me pressing in against my senses as it pulled closer and a wave of fear sent fresh energy into my legs as I tried to stop the distance between me and it from shrinking even more while I charged towards the first bit of good luck I’d gotten on this whole rotten trip.

Light shone down as I continued towards a break in the trees with hints of a clearing just beyond the thin cover of vegetation where I might actually stand a chance to spot something coming at me. The fragile illumination highlighting my goal as it grew closer, before, with a final herculean effort, I burst through the thin green film.

And my right foot immediately registered the fact that there was no ground underneath it.

For one gut-wrenching, heart stopping, stretched-out moment I got to live the life of Wile E. Coyote as I hung there in mid-air. Gravity ignoring me so long as I didn’t look down at the lack of support beneath my feet.

So of course I looked down. I’m an idiot like that.

I felt the beginning of the earth’s cruel attraction tug at me, my stomach lurching up in nausea before one of my flailing arms latched onto a leaning tree. My left foot scrabbled at the ground, kicking up clods of dirt and loose pebbles as I desperately struggled to avoid falling with what little purchase I had.

Which was when the presence that had been chasing me burst through the remnants of the undergrowth that had disguised the cliff I had almost plunged over and I felt myself instinctively drawing in enough magic to send whatever it was flying all the way back to Horsetown, United States of A-mare-ica.

The complete lack of anything physical put a stop that, and the creeping sense of irrational anxiety fled from my mind as a breeze drifted past me, carrying on it the distant sound of laughter and a smug sense of self-satisfaction brushed against my mind, before the presence disappeared into the treeline on the other side of the narrow gorge I was hanging over.

I didn’t let myself hang there for very long, the rest of me apparently having had enough of just standing there and letting my jaw flop at the raw strangeness of the things I’d been seeing. It was easy enough to pull myself back to solid ground where I just collapsed with my back against a tree as both magic and adrenaline drained out of me, leaving my legs and my mind shaky from the continued exertion.

I wasn’t even done when I could feel whatever the hell that thing was begin pushing against my mind again. Nowhere near as subtle as it had been to begin with, but it didn’t need to be. I knew it was here now. It could be as subtle as it wanted and it wouldn’t do anything against the fact that I knew something could possibly be manipulating me alongside the defences I could muster in response. And with all the psychic attacks I’d already faced, on top of the White Council’s current paranoia over mental infiltration, this thing may as well beat its head against Helm’s Deep for all the good it would do.

As such, I didn’t even need to fully recover before I felt my will focus and the questing presence recoiled back as my mental shields snapped into existence in my head. Walls of imagined stone and phantasmal fire cutting me off from the foreign presence in my head, and stopping any new fabricated emotions from taking hold.

My heartbeat had finally returned to normal while I focused on reinforcing my psychic protection and I stood up gingerly on stable, but still wobbly legs. “Well if it’s a chase you want,” I snarked to the presence that was still pressing against my will as I turned on my heel and started walking alongside the narrow canyon. “Meep meep.”

I staggered out of the bushes deeply regretting my earlier bravado.

Apparently whatever capricious will I had provoked earlier had taken my words personally and I had spent the last eternity avoiding every single lethal thing it could throw at me. From sudden sinkholes opening up under my feet, trees damned near falling on my head, patches of blue flowers that gave off one of the creepiest auras I’d felt growing into my path, to a fucking manticore the size of a minivan.

With such forces arrayed against me, it was no wonder I looked like I had been dragged through a war zone consisting of hedges. Mud was caked on my clothes up to the knees from a particularly well hidden quagmire, my grey cloak was torn and rent with claw marks, my brain felt like it was swimming in molasses after holding my mental shield for so long, and small scratches littered every inch of exposed skin I still had left.

And to top that all off, now the sun was going down, with me no closer to my new goal of escaping this fucking place.

I really did not want to be in this place once the lights went out. Forests in the day were nice enough if you didn’t stray from the path, or have to move too fast, or could avoid the wildlife. Forests at night were an accident waiting to happen without any of those things, add them back into the mix and what was a potentially lethal accident becomes an almost deliberate suicide.

Although, in my case, it looked like it was shaping up to be death via natural causes.

Stopping for a moment to catch my breath, I started glancing around as I tried to weigh my options. I could try to keep going until the sun went down completely and hope to escape before it was too dark. I could try and set up a camp here and now and hope that whatever had been trying to kill would let me sleep peacefully.

Or you could follow the path you’ve stumbled upon to those lights in the distance.

Or I could follow the path I had stumbled on to a set of lights I could see shining through the trees, and hope the Laws of Hospitality were a thing in this strange horse based dimension.

I looked down at the packed dirt under my boots, traces of old hoofprints going back and forth and finally realized what my subconscious had been yelling in my ears. I was standing on an actual man made path, the first sign of civilization I had seen since I stumbled into this place. I could even make out what looked like the flickering light of a fire through the thickening gloom.

So bad choice 1, continue into the forest even as night falls and risk being pixie-led to my death. Bad choice 2, try to set up a campsite and pray that I don’t get eaten while I sleep. Or bad choice 3, follow the pretty lights to potential civilization and hope really hard that the Laws of Hospitality still exist in this world.

I was spoiled for choice, I know.

I ran through my options again as I stood there, resting my weight on my staff in the thickening gloom and growing chill.

Minutes passed and the sun continued to sink as I thought, and thought, and thought, running each choice through my head and just coming up with what ifs, and potential pain. Goddammit, but I hated not having all the information I needed to make a choice. I was supposed to be the grand knower of dark secrets and ancient magics, not some idiot paralyzed into indecision over what pizza to buy.

It was the cold that made my decision for me, misty tendrils of chill seeping under my coat and reminding me of just how cold I was getting, just standing around and thinking. I’d much rather risk dying warm, than freezing to death piece by piece.

And so it was, with weary bones and squelchy boots, I set off down the path towards the light shining through the trees.

Turns out I didn’t have all that far to go. Maybe only a couple of minutes or so. The presence that had been making my woodland stroll absolute hell didn’t even press once against my mind while I was on that path.

It was a nice break from the confusion of everything.

And so when I reached the end of the path I couldn’t even muster up the strength of mind to be surprised when the confusion returned in full force at what I saw.

It was a fairy tale witch’s cottage.

Built into a tree bigger than my old apartment building.

Even with only the light from the windows and the pale glow of my pentacle I could see the bare outlines of stick figure fetishes and bottles hanging from each low hanging branch, twisting and dancing in the wind which carried away the faint clanking, clacking song of their collisions. Tribal masks I only barely recognized from a brief education with an African shaman cast their shadowed gazes across the clearing, their hidden eyes peering through the shadows as if the darkness was nothing but an inconvenience to them. Chill mist curled around the tree’s gargantuan roots, white fingers curling, grasping, snatching at the air as if driven by some insatiable will, hungering for life and warmth.

The entire place was trying so hard to be creepy—and I’m sure to anyone else it would be—but I couldn’t help but chuckle softly at the sheer kitschiness of everything when taken as a whole.

“By the pricking of my thumbs, something tired this way comes”, I muttered as I stopped in front of a door set in a space between two gargantuan roots, a single mask looking down from its lofty perch above the door frame, scowling at my shellshocked appearance.

Hopefully the hut’s owner wouldn’t be so judging.

I knocked softly before stepping back down the porch stairs and waiting for whoever was home to come to the door. I can’t say I was surprised when another ‘horse’ opened the door, although calling her a zebra would probably be more accurate considering the black and white stripes running across her coat. The dark lines mixing with the shadows on her face in such a way to highlight her piercing teal eyes while the flickering firelight bounced off the two golden hoops earrings she was wearing.

Neither was I surprised to see her holding a heavily ornamented staff, small charms, feathers, more potion bottles, and even a few slivers of gems hung from the twisted gnarled head. Although I was more impressed at the fact that it actually looked heavy, the collection of gewgaws and trinkets covering up shallow dents in the wood.

The fluffy pink bathrobe and slippers, however, were unexpected.

“What is this strange thing I see, a wanderer lost in Everfree?”

As was the fact that she started speaking in rhyme.

I tried to smile disarmingly, although it might have come out as a pained grimace as the zebra tightened her grip on the staff, and her eyes started to glare just a little bit harder.

“I’m sorry for disturbing you this late at night,” I started “I had an accident with a Way which dumped me out not too far from here and I staggered into the forest while I was still dealing with the aftermath several hours ago,” I gestured at my beaten, battered, mud-stained, scratched-up everything before continuing. “The forest has since done its level best to make sure I didn’t stagger out in one piece and come close several times,” I shook one of my mud covered boots, the action causing several clumps of dried mud to fall loose and thump against the ground far louder than they had any right to. “I spotted the light coming from your windows and decided to investigate in the hope of finding hospitality rather than risk continuing on in the dark or making camp and getting eaten as I slept,” I finished somewhat weakly, my free hand rubbing at the back of my head as the mare continued to glare at me.

“If the words you speak hold no lies, why do you refuse to meet my eyes?”

I bit my lip and looked away enough to avoid her forcing me into eye contact before I spoke. “I’m a wizard and the eyes are the window to the soul,” images I’d had to suppress over the years from the Soulgazes I’d been forced into, or accepted willingly, flickered across my mind making me stutter for a second. “I’m not sure if it’s the same here, but where I’m from if a wizard and another being with a soul make eye contact for more than a second or two it causes a Soulgaze where each see the other as they truly are, no deceptions, nothing hidden, every single ugly truth laid bare with complete clarity and understanding,” I paused, listening to the zebra mare briefly, waiting for some sign of acknowledgement or understanding before I continued. “And it can never be forgotten, a Soulgaze stays with you forever, no burying it under neuromancy, or having a spirit take it from your head, or any other little trick you can think of. They’ve all been tried. They’ve all failed, some worse than others,” I fought down the memory of Bob cheerfully telling me about the list of wizards who’d gone insane trying to forget Soulgazes that threatened their sanity, and losing it anyway as the methods they used all inevitably rebounded against their psyches.

I turned back to the mare, her expression slightly softer than it had been before “I’ve been told my Soul isn’t a happy place to visit and I truly wish you no harm. If you wish me gone, I’ll go and leave you to your peace.”

“If the words you say indeed ring true, there is only one thing for me to do,” I could see the brief tension as the mare’s free hand tightened on the door handle, preparing to slam it shut in my face.

Which is why when she stepped back from the door, pulling it as far open as it would go, I hesitated from sheer surprise. “Come in, come in, oh welcome guest, to share my bread and your hooves to rest.”

I staggered through the open door muttering my thanks, while I did my best to kick as much of the still not fully dried mud from my boots by thumping them against the ground and stairs before I tracked it inside. It wouldn’t help with the lumps dripping heavily from my jeans or coat, but I was making an attempt, poor as it was.

The inside of the Tree/Hut was, well, witchy would be the best way to describe it. A scorched, cast-iron cauldron hung above the lowly flickering fire pit in the center of the trunk’s main room, more tribal masks hung on the walls staring down at the two of us as I pulled my boots off and put them to the side. Potion bottles, jars full of nameless reagents, and beaten and stained leather bound tomes were almost spilling from the shelves that lined the two windowless walls. The only lone fortress of order was a worktable pushed into a ‘corner’ which had neatly piled stacks of notes, classical alchemy tools, and cleaning gear all arranged in a loose semblance of a mess that was threatening to spill from the wooden surface.

It reminded me, just a little, of the organized chaos of my own lab. All that was missing was Bob and his shelf of cheesy romance novels.

Almost lost in recollection I didn’t resist as the zebra led me to a pair of chairs that were hidden by a nook in the wall, a small ledge jutting out from the tree wall serving as a table, light coming from the fire pit and a group of candles half melted into the walls obviously all the illumination the mare needed as there was yet another stack of loosely bound books, scrolls, and notes in some densely packed script I didn’t recognize. The symbols swirled before my eyes as I tried to stave off falling asleep.

My reverie was broken as a bowl of some unknown liquid full of what looked to be vegetable chunks clattered down in front of me, a wooden spoon landing besides it, the Zebra mare sliding herself into another chair opposite mine.

“Before you eat, should our diets be the same, If you would be so polite as to give me your name?”

I poked at the floating chunks in the thick brown broth, “Harry Dresden, Ma’am.” I pulled a chunk of what looked like potato from the bowl, sludgy liquid dripping from the bowl of the spoon. “May I ask what exactly is in this? I may be an omnivore, but there are several things that I can’t handle.”

“Potatoes, grain, water, and beans, simple fare for simple means.” came the melodic response as my unoccupied hand started searching through my pocket trying to find the one item that would set my last doubts to rest as the mare continued talking. “I had intended it to be tomorrow's day olds, and I fear it is not palatable while cold.”

“Considering my day, I’m just glad to not have to forage in the spooky forest for my food” I chuckled slightly as I pulled my closed hand out of a pocket as nonchalantly as I could. “Do you mind taking a look at this for a second?” I asked before I held my hand out, an iron nail perched between my fingers.

An iron nail that she proceeded to scoop up with her bare hands.

There was no flash of light, no burst of flame, no unearthly howl of agony at cold iron’s touch. She just twisted her hand around to look more closely at it, while I shoveled the first spoonful of food into my mouth.

“An iron nail, to what end does this prevail?” The now decidedly not-fae Zebra mare looked at me, one eyebrow quirked upwards as if I was dancing around naked and screaming to the skies.

“If I said justified paranoia it would be rude, so I’ll just say it’s a very nice nail, expert craftsmanship, it aids me in my wizardly secrets, it was given to me by a friend, and it can be used to nail things to other things.” Her eyebrow continued to rise while I shoveled more food into my mouth. The lukewarm vegetable gloop somehow far more delicious than it had any right to be. Although I’m not sure if that was my empty stomach talking.

“The truth if you please, or from my home find your release” I could hear the quiet anger in her voice easily enough and I prepared myself for another watered-down lecture.

“Back where I’m from there’s a type of creature, they can look human enough if they want to, they can act human enough if you don’t know what you’re looking for, but they are not human” I picked up another chunk of vegetable in the bowl of my spoon. “The only surefire way to tell is that cold iron burns them with its touch.”

“These creatures that reject iron’s touch, you thought I was such?”

“Yeah, spooky magical forest, witches hut built into a giant tree, you don’t look human, and you asked me my name without offering yours,” I shrugged before swallowing the next mouthful. “The last time I made a deal with one of them she spent the best part of a decade trying to turn me into one of her hunting hounds for my own safety. Apparently, because if I was a dog in her kennel, then I would never have to fear the hunger, pain, or cold that I was walking headfirst into at the time,” I don’t know if the mare looked mortified the idea or scared at just how simply I said the words.

“In her own mind, twisted as it is, she was doing the morally right thing, but she would have torn my mind apart and ripped me from my life to do so.” I lightly picked the nail back up from her unresisting palm and quietly pocketed it. “And something as simple as sharing a meal is an agreed upon bargain to them, if you had been one of the fae, you could’ve bound me to your service for the rest of my life simply because I had eaten this food without offering something in return. Justified paranoia sound better now, Ma’am?”

The zebra mare was quiet as she glared at me, trying to tell if I was lying or not. Apparently for all her witchy wisdom she’d never heard of the fae, or their rules, and I was just too tired to be fully terrified by what that implied.

“And if I had been left burned, what lesson would have you then have learned?” I don’t think she really noticed as she rubbed at the palm where the nail had been sitting, but she continued to glare at me.

“If you had been one of the fae, you’d have never picked it up,” I let the spoon fall into the empty bowl, and fought down the rumbling of my stomach, its terrible hunger awakened by the first sacrifice. “I cannot state this enough, the fae, they aren’t mortal despite how close to it they can appear.” I looked away from the zebra, “If I’ve offended you I apologize fully, but I’ve seen the result of people who should have watched their words more carefully making and breaking bargains with the fae, it has never been pretty.”

Picking up the wooden bowl I looked around the room “Is there a sink where I can wash this, Ma’am?”

“Do not worry yourself, I shall deal with it, now remove your coat and once again sit.” Her staff thumped into my chest, stopping me from walking away before she pulled the bowl from my hand.

Apparently my confusion at her previous statement was obvious enough that she felt she had to explain to me while I stood there, my mouth half open at her command. “The Everfree is out there and not in here, yet you track it across my floor everywhere.”

I tried to puzzle my way through her words as my brain restarted until I heard a wet splat come from around my feet. The still damp mud quietly falling from my jeans and coat, enough of the stuff having fallen from me to create small puddles of quagmire mud everywhere I had walked in the Zebra’s hut..

“Oh, uh, I’m sorry, ma’am,” I stammered out an apology as the realization of what I’d done settled in. “Do you have a broom, or a mop, or just a wet rag, or…”

“Peace, if of my vengeance you are wary, then a morning's chores are all I’ll levy,” the zebra chuckled as she walked away. “Now hang your coat by the door, and cease its spreading defilement of my floor.”

I dithered for a second balancing my options, beyond any sort of doubt the coat was probably the best piece of protection I had at the moment and I didn’t want to give it up if I didn’t have to. She wasn’t Fae so the laws of hospitality were only as good as her word, if I fell asleep and she wanted to do things to me there was nothing but her own conscience stopping her. Hell if she wanted to do anything nobody here would miss me at all, just a bunch of Bounty posters slowly gaining dust. On the other hand, even explaining things as much as possible as I could, I had hardly been the best guest and living out here could only start at being difficult. If I kept the coat on she would be well justified to kick me out for ignoring her wishes.

It only took a second of deliberation for manners to win out before I shrugged the reassuring weight of my leather duster off my shoulders and hung it on the hooks she’d been pointing to, the act of shucking my mud coated coat apparently draining me of the last of my jittering nerves that had been powering me for the last few hours. I couldn’t even summon up the energy to be tense. I just slumped back into the seat, closed my eyes, and waited for my host to return.

“And now that dinner has been done, it is time for something much less fun,” the zebra sing-songed directly into my ear.

Hell’s bells. For something with hooves walking on a wooden floor, she sure could sneak. I hadn’t even sensed her get close enough to speak directly into my ear, making me jolt up into an actual sitting position as I forced down the magic I was about to pump through my shield bracelet.

“Though the Everfree has put you through the wringer, I cannot say you are free of its danger,” she continued while putting several potion bottles down, next to a roll of bandages, and a clump of cotton wool. “If left alone for too long a time, infection springs from dirt and grime,” the Zebra poured a some of the first bottle onto the cotton wool, the clear liquid matting down the white fluff. “First we must make sure your wounds are clean, then we’ll make use of the iodine.”

I didn’t whimper, and I will set anyone who says otherwise on fire.

My torture at her hands didn’t last all that long. Just long enough to clean out the scratches criss-crossing my face and exposed skin, before she dabbed each tear in my skin with the purple ointment of pointless pain, making sure that each small wound had a thorough coating of the vile stuff.

Charity would be proud.

After what felt like an hour of her ministrations, the Zebra mare finally leant back into her own chair. Thank god she hadn’t actually tried to bandage up the road map of scratches on top of everything else. The small field of matted and stained cotton balls was enough zebra witchdoctor hoodoo medicine for me, even the stinging sensation of the iodine was barely keeping me awake at this point.

It was enough for her as well as she yawned heavily before putting the stopper back in the, incorrectly pronounced, iodine bottle and sweeping the soiled cotton into a bag which was casually tossed into the now cold fire pit beneath the cauldron.

“And now that my task is done, I feel like resting until the moon is gone, your presence has kept me from my bed long enough, let us go and rest our heads on softer stuff.”

Blearily I followed her through a curtained doorway into a small bedroom that was surprisingly modern given the rest of what I’d seen so far, it even had an oil burning lantern rather than the dribbly candles that had been almost omnipresent in the main room. A single bed sandwiched between a writing desk and the gently sloping tree wall, its covers neatly pressed and clean as if it was on a display room floor and kept safe from the ravages of children bouncing on every available surface. Another bookshelf dominated the wall that wasn’t occupied by a closet and a curtained window..

Looked lovely and soft though.

Lovely and soft, and sized just for one.

Either the walking had woken me up a little, or the stinging iodine kept my brain working more than normal because I didn’t stop and stare before the question came to my lips.

“You don’t have a sofa or anything else I could sleep on?”

“I do not often have guests to entertain, such comforts are beyond my domain,” The zebra mare turned back to me as she spoke. The, now that I was actually looking, very definitely female zebra mare.

“Just a spare blanket and the floor then, that’ll be fine” I assured her in my most level and patient voice as I backed away slightly. “That’ll be more than fine, I wouldn’t want to impose more than I already have.”

“You are not only my guest but my patient too, to sleep on my floor would not be best for you,” she smiled sweetly even as she hefted her staff again, the bottles clattering with the slight movement. “Now off with your clothes and into the bed, lest I have to thump you upside the head.”

“Whatever happened to ‘first do no harm’?”

My only answer was an unamused glare as I did my best to avoid meeting her narrowed eyes.

“Can I at least have some privacy please?

“I doubt you have anything I have not seen before, but if you cease your backtalk I’ll do as you implore,” the mare rolled her eyes as she walked past me and back through the curtains, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like ‘stallions’ under her breath.

I waited until the curtains had stopped rustling before I stripped down, and slipped into the slightly too short bed. The cloud-soft mattress starting to lull me to sleep almost immediately.

A sleep that was disturbed as I felt the zebra slide into the now cramped bed, her back pressing against mine as I almost instinctively squirmed towards the tree wall.

“Good night traveler Dresden, when you awake your chores will begin.”

Snores followed her murmured rhyme as she fell immediately into her dreams.

I didn’t have such an easy time.

Author's Note

Main 6 Age Riddle

Rarity is the oldest by 2 years, Fluttershy is 1 year older than Pinkie, Twilight is 1 year Younger than Rainbow, and Fluttershy was held back for 3 years in flight school, and AJ is 1 year older than rainbow.

Oh yeah, and Spike is 14, Twilight hatched him when she was 5, and he's spent one year in Ponyville.

Answers are in the spoilers below.

Spike is the youngest at 14, and Twilight is 5 years older than him at 19, Rainbow is 1 year older than Twilight at 20, AJ is 1 year older than RD at 21, Fluttershy is 3 years older than RD having been held back in class for 3 years and passing at the same time so she's 23, Pinkie is 1 year younger than Flutters at 22, and Rarity is the oldest by 2 years so she is 25.

Rarity = 25
Fluttershy = 23
Pinkie = 22
Applejack = 21
Rainbow = 20
Twilight = 19
Spike = 14

Zecora’s Book Collection

Is mostly alchemical in nature. There’s a lot of redundancy in those tomes that are scattered around her public workroom, because most of them deal with a single specific plant or reagent. It’s in the back workroom, kitchen, and bathroom where she keeps her actual collection, which is mostly philosophical, hidden away.

If Twilight didn’t think that Zecora’s entire personal library was just based on plants, and the usage of plants, and the specific usage of plants in reference to each species unique and sometimes conflicting anatomies, which is why the front room is the way it is, she’d probably try to pilfer borrow, copy, or outright steal some of the rarer things there.

Zecora and Twilight get along, but not enough to trust the book-crazy mare with priceless one-of-a-kind treatises, and giving it back without copying it.

Zecora’s Tree

Is a Baobaba Yaga Tree. Also known as a “Wandering Witch Tree”. They can be found in any type of environment so long as there is a decent saturation of Wild magic, and are considered to be distantly related to the Library Oak, Mourner’s Willow, (the almost extinct) Nullwood Rowan, and (the endangered) Sanctuary Elm.

What sets it apart from the other “Living Trees” is that the Baobaba Yaga Tree can move, and the old witches who used to use them (such as the ancient Bibidi Baddity) would often travel in them spreading misery and misfortune, before swiftly travelling away under the cover of night.

Zecora’s tree was home to a young, and fairly arrogant witch who tried to spread her ‘art’ to the central region of Equestria roughly 100 years after Luna’s fall. It did not go well for her. However the Ponies didn’t destroy her tree due to the fact that trying to do so in the middle of the Everfree would have been a monumentally stupid decision.

On Chapter Length & Self Editing

So in my original plan of this story Chapter 1 & 2, where supposed to be one singular chapter at about 4,000 to 5,000 words long.

Where the fuck did I go wrong.