Upon a Pale Mare

"WHO DA FUCK AR YOU," he screamed again.

His salmon fur stood on end, the tip of his arrow aligned with my third eye.

His flank was blank.

He's just a foal...

My rear was cold and throbbing from the collision with the floor.

I raised my hooves in a surrendering gesture, as my friends did the same.

Gently, I said, "Hey, hey, we arn't looking for any trouble,"

"A LIKELAY FUCKING STORY!"

The mare's face could have been made of stone.

Replacing fire, snot and spittle streamed from the dragons nose.

"We arn't here to hurt anypony, honest," my voice shivered like a wet lamb left in a draft.

"We were just in a bad way, and we came in here for shelter,"

"HOW CAN AH TRUST Y'ALL?"

She held her breath. So did I, when I met his grey eyes.

I swallowed before saying, my voice still like mountains,

"You can't."

His eyes narrowed.

He stared.

He lowered his bow. He slung it upon his back, and his forehooves once again contacted the ground. One friend immediately stopped crying, and the other breathed a sigh of relief.

His voice was stern, like mountains, as he asked, "Wat ar y'all doin here anywho?"

We explained what had transpired.

Briefly.

I spoke of many miles crossed, the unspeakable evils that were constantly almost upon us. Of what we sought, I gave only a vague description.

"A Truth," I called it.

I told him of the whispers, rumors, and signs, that had brought us to his doorstep.

Briefly.

He asked us our names.

"Myrrh," she said.

"--------------" the dragon answered, but only when it was his turn.

Then my friends both looked at me, concern swaying behind their eyes. The salmon colt stared at me questioningly.

I stopped. I almost said that I did not remember, but indeed that may be too truthful.

I gave the name that I will wear as raiment,

"Sage,"

But that is not really my name.

It was just a dark carpet hastily draped upon a scarred wooden floor with its dapples of water stains.

Occasionally a smell, or a sound, or a word would bring about a surge of disconnected images, faces, and feelings. I could not contextualize these sensations. The more I thought about it, the more the fear and frustration grew.

Even words could play no role, for they always fell short; The most important thing would always remain unsaid, held in the back of the mind, until the time came to try again, and again, and again.

Certain doorways slammed in my face with familiarity, as I passed through them.

The Foal looked at my flank. He could not see my mark for the dirt and grime caked over it. None of us had seen my mark. Even I had no memories of my seal, or the one of my friend. Ever since I could remember, we had been caked in filth.

Our true selves are always unknown to us, for something as simple as the clothes of the earth...

"Well, we'd bedder git y'all in the bath, and maybay git some grub in yer bellies," he said. Myrrh and I followed the salmon colt out of the bedroom. The other Child rushed after us, the flickering flame in his palm cast long shadows on the walls.

An equine who did not pay attention, might have quivered in fear, for the tall dark shapes indeed appeared to be insidious and frightful.

But I could only smile, for I knew that such terrible visions were only the shadows of children's fingers.

We entered a large round room. The table at the center mirrored the space in form, and was piled high with crates and barrels bearing the words 'Sweet Apple Acres', along with piles of assorted junk. Most of the crates were empty, I paid little attention to the rest of the items. The salmon colt stopped at a barrel filled to the brim with murky water. The light from a single lantern reflected off the still surface.

"Well, here be ma bathin wahter," he said, as the other child wrinkled his nose in disgust, and closed his claw, snuffing out the flame.

"Ah know it ain't da cleanest, but it be somthin, and its plenty safer than washin’ in da river," he finished with a nod. In the end, none of us really cared too much, about the cleanliness anyway. It was not dirtier than anything we had seen already.

However, nopony thought to ask about the river.

I would later come to regret that.

The salmon colt threw us each a sponge.

I swirled the sponge about in the grey water. Liquid streamed from it as I rubbed myself vigorously. The water pooled on the crystal stone below, brown from the dirt, blood, and other things, as the three of us heartily washed ourselves. Myrrh was having trouble reaching around to clean her cutie mark region, no doubt due to her terrible wounds which still had yet to heal.

"I can lend a hoof with that," I said.

I pressed the sponge to her flank.

The child was almost sparkling, as scales proved easier to wash than fur. He offered me a claw with my bathing, and I accepted.

I finally scrubbed her flank clean, and I stared in awe at the incredible image of a-

"W-w-woah, you might w-wanna look at this," he said, his sponge halting on my flank, his voice vibrated in perfect symmetry with its matter of composition.

I ripped my gaze away from Myrrh, and turned my head to look at my flank.

I dropped the sponge.

It caused a splash it landed in the puddle, as do all things, when they land in puddles.

Ripples blossomed out from the center of the pool like a lotus flower.

I screamed.