Fallout: Equestria - Of Shadows

The only private location to change into my uniform was a small closet tucked around the corner from the kitchen. I struggled to wriggle out of my Stable barding and into the skirt, knocking over a couple brooms and tripping on a stepstool. The cherry-red outfit was barely large enough to slip over my wing, which created a suspicious lump on my side. I hoped that no one would pay enough attention to notice it, but the way I was dressed was obviously meant to draw customers’ eyes. At least they would be distracted by other areas.

When I shuffled back into the kitchen, using my teeth to pull on my top and relieve pressure on my stump, Bertha seemed to notice something was off immediately. “You wearin’ your saddlebag beneath that or somethin’?”

I gritted my teeth and shrugged. “No, it’s just a, uh, a kink in the dress. Just got to…” No amount of adjusting the fabric or avoiding the minotaur’s gaze could convince her, though.

“You’re a pegasus, ain’tcha?”

My ears stood up in alert mode as I stared at her fearfully, then averted my gaze as I babbled out an objection. “N-no, I-I-”

“I can tell, I’ve met others before. Had one as a mate in the crow’s nest, too.” She pointed at my side. “That lump’s your wing, though you look like you’re missin’ the other one.” After a stream of stuttered, half-formed denials from me, Bertha signaled for me to stop. I clammed up instantly, and she finished, “I don’t rightly care what ya are, just whether ya can haul your own weight, y’know?”

“Oh. I thought that…”

“That I care what your species is? Nah, why should I?” She leaned over the counter towards me. “Listen, anyone gives ya trouble for that wing, ya let me know and I’ll deal with it, alright?” I nodded at this, and Bertha smiled in response. “Good. Now let’s get to work; we’re already runnin’ behind.”

The minotaur’s sheer culinary skill left my jaw on the floor. Every dish was prepared with the utmost care and consideration, portions were accurately measured, and meats cooked, fried, and boiled with practiced ease. It was all I could do just to keep up, and in the end settled for retrieving tools she needed, cleaning dishes, and assisting with simpler tasks like seasoning. Bertha’s signature gumbo was almost always cooking, filling the kitchen with the smell of simmering peppers, onions, shrimp, and gator meat. There were endless varieties of the soup that she received orders for, and as I took each prepared dish to Toffee, I grew hungrier and hungrier.

Bertha’s abilities extended past cooking; she was also an accomplished conversationalist and storyteller, keeping me inundated with a constant flow of rumors from Divide and the surrounding area. One of the first questions I asked her was about the Rift crossing closure, which she was eager to comment on.

“I heard they’ve been wantin’ to try some Cog preacher for espionage.” She shook her head. “Don’t know that he’s a real spy per se, but we shouldn’tah let any of ‘em in to begin with. When they wanna subjugate a whole buncha people just for havin’ horns, I can’t abide by that. Earth pony way, my ass.”

I frowned as I brought her a fresh selection of vegetables for the next order. “He was having a public trial this morning. It wasn’t really going in his favor.” While Bertha took the onions, I took a pile of celery to dice.

“Figures. The council's gonna look for any reason to string one up, not that it’ll solve anything.” As I had expected, Bertha cut the onions without a single tear.

"The council? Do they govern Divide?"

"Aye, it's a collection of folks from both halves of the city. Getting them to agree on anything is a miracle, but stick em in a crisis and suddenly they work together so much better." She rolled her eyes. "People keep tellin' me to run for a council seat… don't want nothin' to do with politics, I always say."

“Ah. So, I heard the Cogs used to be Steel Rangers… is there any truth to that?” I ventured.

Bertha chewed her lip as she worked. “No one else I’ve ever met ever wore power armor, so it seems like a safe bet, aye.” She wiped her brow. “No one’s heavier’n a pony in one o’ them tin cans, neither. Sun above, that was the toughest suplex I’ve ever pulled off…”

That comment left me at a loss for words as I glanced at her powerful arms, but I recovered as quickly as I could. “Um… do you know when they became like this? Anti-unicorn, I mean?”

“Been this way as long as I’ve known of ‘em. I came to Mulisiana…” she trailed off briefly and tilted her head back and forth in thought. Every movement of her head created light jingling due to the many pieces of jewelry that hung from her horns. “Eight years ago? So at least that long.”

“Oh, so you aren’t from around here?”

“Nah, New Pegas born and bred.”

I felt a rush of excitement at that name. “Oh, a fellow Equestrian! I was born outside of Manehattan, lived close to Filly for a good decade too.”

“An east-coaster!” Bertha grinned. “Yeah, I grew up in the Pegas slums. Fell in with a gang when I was still a calf, and later that gang moved out to sea. We raided ships and villages up an’ down the coastline, explored the islands out west, fought with other crews like Craggy’s. Made it to Neigh Orleans eventually, awakened my culinary passion durin’ my stay at Mirage, and to keep cuttin’ that long story shorter, sailed up the canal to settle here with Craggy.”

“Wait, wait, wait. You were a pirate?” I neighed.

“Aye. I was young, poor, and stupid, just the muscle followin’ my friends wherever they went. Eventually I grew up and grew a spine. See, those friends didn’t turn out to be as friendly as I thought.” She took a nearby carving knife and began working on a slab of gator meat. The action drew me to study her arms again, noting just how decorated even a single bicep was. I saw the tattoos of bovine, pony, and griffon skulls, of ship wheels and the spiraling tentacles of a stylized octopus. “Hmm, we were talkin’ about Cogs, weren’t we?”

“Um…” I mentally backtracked through a minute of our conversation. “Yeah.”

My questions continued to be answered to the best of Bertha’s abilities. To the Chosen of Gaia, the abbreviation “Cog” was seen as an insult. Unicorns who dared to remove an inhibitor ring from their horns and were caught again by the Cogs were subject to severe punishment, up to and including death. The cult’s whole operation was based out of Mareami, a pre-war city close to the eastern mouth of the Rift. This location had long concerned Divide, as the Cogs could attempt to blockade the canal, tax those who passed through, or even launch a naval assault from that position, though none of those scenarios had yet occurred.

Eventually I decided to let Bertha in on the secret that I was a Steel Ranger Scribe. I expected a significant reaction one way or the other, but what I was met with instead surprised me: a simple nod. When I hesitantly asked if she was okay knowing that about me, she replied, “Aye. Why, you think I'd throw ya out?"

"... Maybe? I don't know how you feel about the Steel Rangers. Based on the general opinion I’ve observed of the Cogs, well, I assumed there’d be more than just a nod."

"Well, y'see, you ain't really been actin’ like a Ranger. Need to stick your snout higher in the air." Bertha snarked.

First Willow had criticized me as a poor Steel Ranger, now Bertha. Was I really that unlike my peers? Nonetheless, I allowed the insinuation to slide, and detailed to her what had led myself and the expedition to Mulisiana in the first place. She had winced when she heard how my wing had been lost, and vaguely knew of Stable 56 through its connection to Buckwater, where tarberries were imported to Divide from.

“So you were sent to raid a Stable.”

“No, we… we were just ensuring it was being put to good use. If not, well, we’d be able to.”

Bertha sighed. “Quilly, I may have once been a pirate, but I don’t try’n justify what I did nowadays, ‘cause it was wrong. The thing is, I wasn’t born a pirate.” She then tilted her head, jewelry tinkling as her eyes narrowed at me. “You weren’t born a Ranger, were you?” She didn’t speak accusingly, but instead knowingly.

I shook my head, admitting that she was on the right track.

“See, I turned pirate because I was bored of bein’ nothin’ more than a petty thief and a bruiser in those New Pegas back alleys. I followed my mates and thought life on the high seas would give me the purpose I wanted. Instead, I found myself in the same role, still just a pawn and still chasin’ the same higher callin’. I didn’t find it ‘til I met Crag and started a life here, servin’ people and providin’ work to those who need it, even to Steel Rangers.” She gestured at me. “So why did you join ‘em?”

“Well, I…” I knew the answer, the real answer. “I… thought they could help me save my family.” My jaw clenched tight as I explained. “But they couldn’t… wouldn’t. After that, I stayed because… well, I’ve always sought knowledge. They’re the only group in Equestria that really cares about the world before.”

“The way I see it, any group who was founded on helpin’ people has failed when they ain’t done that for more than a century.” Bertha told me, her tone serious. “Listen, I’m not accusin’youof bein’ like the rest. But the Rangers ain’t got the best image in the eyes of us ‘tribals’. Ya know that, even if ya won’t admit it.”

She was right; fear was a common response from civilians who saw us. It was something I hadn’t seen much in recent years due to the decreasing time I spent out in the field. I knew it all the same, however, because I had been in those very horseshoes the first time I’d encountered the Steel Rangers in Manehattan’s public library. For every Aurora Tide, there were two or three Key Limes.

“I’m sorry to be the one tellin’ ya this, but they used ya just like my mates used me. Ya think you’d be left behind like this if they really cared?”

Once again, I saw the moment where things went wrong in Stable 56, only from Orange Kyanite’s point of view. He did care about me, I knew he did. If Aurora Tide had been critically injured, I didn’t blame him for evacuating her. Kyanite had trusted Ardent and Vox greatly, and surely he thought I was in secure hooves with them. Still… after getting Aurora Tide out, why didn’t Kyanite return for us?

And if Stable 56 had still been occupied, I knew that Orange Kyanite wouldn't have approved of us using violence against them, so long as the dwellers weren’t hostile. But then, those ponies would've been expelled, forced out into a deadly, treacherous world that would've torn them to shreds. Wasn't that tantamount to a death sentence?

Bertha had let her question hang between us. I conceded that she had made some good points, and then continued the story.

“Chasin’ after your crew…” Bertha mused. “Sounds like they’re the airship Divide went into a tizzy over. Most of those folks are convinced it was a Cog spy craft or bomber, something like that.”

“I’ve been hoping someone could tell me exactly what happened,” I replied. “I heard that it was shot at?”

“Shot down.”

I inhaled. “Oh, Celestia…”

Realizing I was on the verge of panicking, Bertha quickly added, “Well, safely shot down, if that’s a phrase. I was boilin’ some water when we’d heard folks shouting about some flyin’ boat outside.” She jerked a thumb at the emergency exit door behind her. “We came outside to see what the hell them ponies were screaming about, and saw it alright. Some ship strapped to a balloon, floating way up high. Too high to see who was flying it, but it wasn’t long before Divide lashed out.”

Bertha paused to send her finger through the air like a projectile. “There was a boom, and the artillery they built to shoot through Cog power armor was sendin’ a round way up at the ship.” She used her other hand to represent the Phoebe, and her finger sailed past it. “They missed the first shot, by quite a bit. Second one flew high, so did the third. By this point, your ship had realized it wasn’t welcome here and had turned away, tryin’ to rise.” She sent another finger towards her hand, which hit it near the upper deck.

"Next shot hit. I couldn't tell much from where we were standin’, but a pony with binoculars was in earshot and givin’ the details." The next finger she fired at the Phoebe was high, but stopped just above it. “Then the artillery hit the balloon. Next thing we knew, they were goin’ down, though slowed by magic. Whoever was behind the wheel managed to turn the ship towards the Rift, and it seems they actually managed to land it in the canal, headed east towards Brayton Rouge. The Talons were on ‘em like sharks to a shipwreck, but got driven off by a whole swarm o’ bullets.”

I felt dizzy as I took this all in, dozens of emotions swirling around in my mind. I was filled with relief that the ship had landed safely, no doubt thanks to Cider Vinegar’s talented piloting skills. There was also fear that the first shot from the artillery could’ve been fatal to somepony on board, and foreboding at the idea of my allies also being trapped here in Mulisiana with me. If Aurora Tide had indeed been injured in Stable 56, perhaps Kyanite had been seeking a place to find medical treatment for her. Divide had ruined that chance, and I didn’t even know if the Apothecary was still alive at this point.

On top of that, this meant nopony back in Equestria would know our plight. I felt overwhelmed with uncertainty, not feeling that I knew the best course of action from here. Obviously I still needed to catch up to the Phoebe, and now I had a better idea of where it was headed, but I was still just one mare. Could I hire a Talon to help me follow the Rift to wherever the airship --or, just ship, now-- was headed? That would undoubtedly be an expensive ask, and if the mercenaries had already tussled with the expedition, I didn’t expect them to be very willing to help in any way. In fact, if they connected me to the ship… I didn’t want to end up like Bark Blossom.

The idea of rehiring Willow Wisp crossed into my mind and lingered. We were already well-acquainted, and she knew her way around Mulisiana as well as anypony I’d met so far. I wasn’t sure how much she’d charge for however long it took to chase down a sailing ship now, or if it was even a request that made sense… and she might have been hired by someone else by now.

I chewed on my lip, staring at the burnished steel of the counter in deep consideration as I asked Bertha, “Is the radio on the city’s crane open to the public?” Maybe it was possible to contact the Citadel to request assistance or orders.

“It was. At least, it still is, but it’s highly regulated by the Talons now. Teensy’s kept me up to date on it, they don’t want any Cogs usin’ the radio to leak intel or whatever.”

“Teensy?”

“Y’know, that itty-bitty griffon out there.”

“Oh. That’s an unconventional name for a griffon.”

Bertha smirked. “That’s ‘cause it ain’t his real name. Nobody can pronounce it, not even Toffee, and they’re datin’! Took to callin’ him Teensy instead, and it stuck. He doesn’t seem to mind it.”

“Ah. So he’s a Talon?”

“He is. Came from a local village; you may’ve noticed he looks a bit different compared to his mates up in your neck of the woods.” I certainly had noticed, and Bertha continued, “Anyway, he does shifts on radio duty, which, yes, includes coordinatin’ with the main Talon company back in Equestria.”

Back in Equestria! Now that phrase had me hopeful. With signal range like that, I could certainly get back in contact with the Citadel. Hell, I might even be able to reach Manehattan or Bucklyn Cross! I asked Bertha if that meant I could use the radio, and she replied, “Don’t worry, we’ll talk to him about it tonight.”

Sometime later, I became aware that Toffee had inched her way inside, only indicated when she cleared her throat behind me, her eyes nervously darting between mine and Bertha’s gazes. She held a notebook in her mouth, which was covered in orders. How long the tiny mare had been waiting to get our attention, I wasn’t sure.

“Ah, Toffee’s gonna take her lunch now,” Bertha remarked, indicating my fellow coworker. “You mind waitressing for a while, Quillwright?”

To my surprise, I found that I made for quite the adept waitress. Orders were easy enough to jot down, and my memory was resilient enough to allow me to recall a dozen names and table statuses as I moved about. While the job was certainly a departure from Scribe work, I didn’t feel too out of place recording and recalling information in a different environment. The skirt did its job, too; the tips began rolling quickly.

After half an hour of waiting on tables, managing refills and bringing orders in and out of the kitchen, I had already fallen into rote procedure. This was broken when I found myself taking an order from a table that included a familiar grey-horned, black-clad and hooded unicorn. She sat across from a pair of ponies, who looked to be a mother and son. The two had been speaking quietly when I approached, and ceased abruptly once I was in earshot.

“Uh, hi, Quill! Fancy seeing you here…” Willow Wisp’s voice carried an awkward hint, but she had the luxury of hiding beneath her cloak. On the other hoof, here I was dressed in a silly petite dress, any discomfort of my own clearly visible to all.

“Small world,” I agreed. “Would you like to order anything?”

Willow cleared her throat. “Yeah! Yeah. Um, I’ll have de gator gumbo wid extra onions. And also some tarberry punch.”

The pair opposite her ordered two small spicy salads with fried carrots. The mother seemed very antsy, with nervous eyes that darted between me, Willow, and behind me to the other patrons. Just as soon as I had turned away to bring the orders to Bertha, I heard the mother hiss at Willow, “You know I can’t agree to that.” When I brought their order back, the mother was shooting eye-daggers at Willow, who sat and uncomfortably rubbed her hooves together. While I found myself wanting to strike up a conversation with Willow, I knew that I had more customers to attend to and she still seemed busy with her own clients.

Ten minutes later, I noticed Willow Wisp was now alone in the booth, idly stirring the remains of her gumbo with a telekinetically-held spoon. Before I could come to collect her dishes and ask how business was going, the unicorn slipped out of the Castaway. When I came to clean her table, I found she had left me a generous tip.

Eventually Toffee relieved me, which I was grateful for. I’d developed a ravenous hunger being so close to the numerous meals I couldn’t try, and accepted a bowl of Bertha’s signature gumbo once I returned to the kitchen. While Crag’s home-brewed mead was very tempting, I didn’t think it wise to risk intoxication while on the job. Taking a seat at a card table squeezed into the kitchen’s corner, I found that Bertha and Crag were sitting down to take a short lunch break as well. Their bulks barely fit, but somehow they managed.

I swirled the soup’s contents. Bertha had used a type of seafood in this dish called “shrimp”, which I had read about once or twice but never tasted. Before I took a spoonful of the gumbo, Bertha warned me, “You can handle hot food, right?”

“Sure!” I scoffed. “I’ve had curry.”

Bertha guffawed, “Oh, right, Equestrian heat. Sun above, Quilly, you’re in for a surprise!”

Sure that she was simply exaggerating, I delivered the gumbo payload to my tastebuds. At first the taste was manageable; delicious, even! But true to Bertha’s word, it didn’t take long for the heat to dial up, and my eyes went wide. Once I was able to swallow the soup, my mouth opened wide to allow rapid breaths, a vain attempt to cool my tongue. The minotaur got a particular kick out of my reaction.

Over time I acclimated to the flavor, and in fact came to enjoy the burn. It was far beyond the dull warmth of the curry our Steel Ranger chef had once attempted to cook for us. From what I remembered, they had been wartime MREs we had scavenged from a military compound, accented with any spices the chef could sprinkle in afterwards. It had been a fun, different taste back then, but now I realized just how much it paled in comparison to cooking like Bertha’s.

When we were close to being finished with our food, I thought it the opportune time to ask Bertha another question which had been gestating since our first meeting. "Say, Bertha. You mention the sun a lot; are you referring to Celestia?"

"What? Pfft, of course not. Why would I be? The Sun’s the Sun, it does what it wants."

"But Celestia guides it...?"

"Advises, maybe. Guiding it? Quilly, if Celestia was the one controllin’ the Sun and she died, why do we still have days and nights?"

This point had come up when questioning my own faith in the Goddesses, and I had come to what I felt was the obvious answer many years ago. “Well, her spirit controls it now. She and Luna both ascended to divinity, and from the heavens continue to fulfill their duties.”

“And how did they ascend?”

“They… well, they died?”

“And then?”

A little frustrated, I answered, “They were alicorns. They were born with the powers to control celestial bodies, and that part of their souls transcended even the megaspells.” I shook my head. "So what, do you think the sun just… thinks for itself instead?" I tried not to scoff.

"I dunno what the Sun thinks. Honestly, it'd be rude of me to speak for it."

This whole idea was silly. "You think the moon and stars are alive too?"

Bertha nodded sagely. "In a matter of speaking, aye."

I sighed. "So, Bertha believes in the sun." Turning to her husband, I asked, "What do you believe in, Crag? The same as her?"

"Valhorsia, the warrior’s afterlife," the unicorn answered briefly. "Why?"

"I'm just, I don’t know... trying to comprehend how you two ended up together, I think."

"Should've asked." Bertha got up to grab herself another bowl of rice. "Not like we're hiding."

"What Bertha means to say is that we were the sole survivors of our respective crews." Crag explained as he poured more mead into his tankard. "While we were foes once, here, in this strange new world, we have no reason to be. Strangers in a stranger land, you could say."

"Alright, Valhorsia. But what happens to, you know, non-warriors?"

"They rot forever in the coldest depths of the afterlife, unable to feel the warmth of another being for all eternity," Crag answered.

I gulped. I'd heard the notion of hell before, but there was nothing comparable when believing in the Goddesses. Furthermore, if Crag didn’t fight anymore, wouldn’t he end up there too? Noticing the shift in my mood, Crag smiled.

"I have a question for you. What is a warrior, Quillwright?"

I blinked. Wasn't it obvious? "A fighter, a soldier. Someone who engages in battle and warfare."

"That’s it?"

I noticed Bertha was biting back a grin, but I paid her no mind.

"Well, yes? I mean, if you want the proper definition-"

"So, do you think that anyone who is unwilling or unable to even raise a weapon or a spell would end up in Helheim?” Crag interjected. “I thought so too, for the longest time, before Bertha and I ended up here. It's... not that simple." He took a swig of mead, his voice now replaced by Bertha's.

"A warrior is defined by their spirit, their willingness to prove themselves and their beliefs, even those of pacifists. To prove to the world that the pegasi, or zebras, or minotaurs, or whoever else aren't evil. Or that knowledge should be saved and multiplied, or that the Steel Rangers aren't all bad." Finishing that, Bertha gave me a toothy grin.

Crag simply added, "Valhorsia doesn't seem that distant now, does it?"

Later, once the amount of orders had eased up, Toffee and I once again traded duties. I was eager to earn more tips, and the work proved easy enough.

“Waitress!” My ears directed me to the speaker, a donkey who I’d served previously, shaking an empty glass at me. This was the first time he’d asked for a refill; he’d ordered water, unlike the other jacks at his table, most of whom had chosen mead. I retrieved the water pitcher and brought it over to his table, giving the group another look. Each jack was on the older side, many with grizzled and unkempt faces, their beady eyes all watching as I approached.

Though I couldn’t speak with the handle in my mouth, I tried to give the donkey a polite smile as I tipped the pitcher, filling his foggy glass. The donkey didn’t return the pleasantries; in fact, his eyes were focused intently on my side, where my wing was conspicuously hidden. Speeding up the pour just a little, I topped him off and gave the briefest curtsy that I could manage as I turned to leave him be. Before I could make my exit, however, he stopped me with a firm hoof.

“Tell me,” he began, his voice low and accusatory. “That some sorta deformity?” His focus made no mistake as to what he was referring to. “I just love to tip the radiation-disabled.” That last adjective’s inflection was injected with boiling venom.

Shaking my head, I once again attempted to disengage.

“Oh? It ain’t?” His hoof was stubbornly firm on my withers. “So it’s a wing?”

I tensed at that, and blinked quickly, trying to look away as I continued shaking no. Even avoiding his gaze, his friends instead fixed me with hate and disgust.

“Cloud-fucker.” The jack’s voice was a lot louder now. “Where’ve you and your kind been all these years, huh?” His words were drawing the attention of other patrons, and I felt my face flush, my ears and tail tucking in.

“I don’t know…” I tried to say around the pitcher handle, but it came out as a mumble. Though my words failed, I did manage to squirm out of his grasp, hurriedly retreating to the kitchen.

He called after me, “Come back here!” and I heard him slam the table in fury, which caused me to jump in fright. Crag opened his mouth to say something, but I just rushed past him.

Bertha knew that something was wrong the moment she saw me; whether she’d been able to hear the donkey’s shouts, I wasn’t sure. My face and body language had told her everything she needed to know.

“You okay, hon?” the minotaur asked me as I shakily placed the pitcher in the sink to refill it. “Someone givin’ you shit?”

Before I could reply, her answer entered the kitchen. The furious donkey was glaring at me darkly, breathing through flared nostrils, then looked at Bertha. “You know you’re working with a pegasus?” he asked her accusingly.

The minotaur returned his expression twofold, her knuckles going white around her cleaver. “Aye, what of it?”

It was then that I also took note of Crag, who was standing in the threshold behind the jack. His typically chill demeanor was rapidly thawing, and a dangerous look in his eyes told me that he was ready to strike at a moment's notice should his wife be put in any danger.

"Just unbelievable…" the donkey fumed. "As if Divide didn't have enough ponies, now we got ourselves one of the feathered fuckers."

"Ain't nothin' wrong with ponies."

"Easy for you to say, cow, when you're getting rutted by one."

Though Crag looked almost murderous, Bertha took the insult in stride with stern features. "The donkeys ain't in any position to throw stones."

"Where was her kind when the super radstorm eight seasons ago hit us?" The jack's voice nearly cracked with contained pain and rage. "I lost my wife and daughter to that storm! Whole damned town was washed away. Our homes, family, friends…"

"Ya can't blame one pegasus for what her ancestors did."

"I can and I will." He stabbed a worn hoof at me, and I felt my hackles rise as his eyes narrowed coldly. "We let you ponies into Mulisiana because you promised to control the storms. You promised to keep us safe from the zebras. You said we'd be smarter thanks to your Institute, and more cultured with your Ministries. Nothing but fucking lies."

The room was silent.

“All of Divide’s gonna hear about her,” the jack threatened, pointing at me. “Nobody’ll stand for this.”

“Go ahead. If that’d stop ‘em from comin’, I didn’t want their patronage anyway,” Bertha shot back.

The donkey turned to leave, starting and uttering a gasped curse as he finally saw the hulking Crag behind him. While Bertha’s husband escorted the jack out of their restaurant, I tried to return to work, placing the water pitcher into the sink. There was only a dull ringing in my ears until Bertha snapped me out of it by patting me on the withers. I stumbled, and she tried to lighten her touch.

“Quillwright. You okay?”

I bit my lip, swallowed, and answered, “Y-yeah.”

Bertha blinked and tilted her head a little, studying me. “Don’t look like it.”

“I’m… I’m sorry. For causing a scene.”

“Ah-ah.” The minotaur cut me off with a frown. “That wasn’t your fault, it was his. He can’t blame ya for what’s happened in the past.”

Having wings had once made me proud. They had set me apart in the Steel Rangers, given me something unique to prove I could keep up with the unicorns I worked with. There were those among the ranks who disliked pegasi, of course, but they had never objected when I was able to contribute so much. Over time, they focused less on my wings and more on who I was as a pony.

Now… my appendage felt somehow wrong. Perhaps it was the uselessness of having only a single wing, or the ire that it drew from others. I stared at the floor as I considered it.

“He blamed me for losing his family and his home...”

“He blamed all pegasi for that.” Bertha resumed cooking as she spoke. “An’ a lot of miserable creatures in Mulisiana do. They wanna return to the pre-war way of livin’, when they didn’t have to worry about hurricanes. I think they've just forgotten how to live with mother nature."

So the donkey considered pegasi to be negligent. "I've… never really seen untamed weather like this before. It's nothing but clouds and rain in Equestria."

Bertha snorted. “And he’s complainin’ about a tropical storm that we get maybe once a decade. What, does he expect a single pegasus could clear the sky all by her lonesome? Gimme a break."

As we neared closing time, we prepared our own dinner. Toffee and Teensy joined myself, Bertha, and Crag as we ate out in the main room, filling a booth. Crag had pulled over a chair so he could sit at the end, while I found myself wedged into the vinyl seat alongside Bertha. We made small talk over our meals until I finally asked Bertha, “How did you and Crag meet?”

Bertha answered with a question of her own. “You know the Dead Sea?”

“Uh… it doesn’t ring a bell,” I admitted.

“I’m the one who killed it.”

I paused for a moment. If it were any other creature, I would’ve promptly laughed at the joke. From a minotaur like her, however… I was almost inclined to believe it.

A couple heartbeats passed before the minotaur guffawed. “Just pullin’ your reins. It’s got a lot of other names, though: the Glowin’ Sea? The Lunar Ocean? The Expanse? Heard of any of those?”

I had indeed heard of the Lunar Ocean, because that was the name recorded on most Equestrian maps. Now aware of the body of water Bertha was referring to, I informed her as such and let her continue.

“Those waters were where I cut my teeth. Strangest, deadliest, yet most beautiful part of the world you could lay eyes on,” she said, almost wistfully. “Sun only knows how many megaspells fell into that sea, from both sides. Did some mighty weird things; on the darkest of nights, the sea lights up with a greenish glow. Some creatures I’ve sailed with even say they can hear ghostly singin’ when them lights appear.”

The line between fact and exaggeration or embellishment was always a bit fuzzy when it came to Bertha and her many tales, she effortlessly enraptured the rest of us with her storytelling.

“Anyway, the Dead Sea stretches all the way from Mulisiana to the griffon lands up north. It’s vast, and mine was far from the only pirate crew prowlin’ its waters. I think the first time I ran into Craggy was when one of my ship’s cannons split his ship’s topsail.” At my look of surprise, Bertha gave a devilish grin. “Aye, we were enemies once... rivals, even! My ship, the Kira, had fought with his, the Snowegg, a couple times, either just for the sake of shootin’ each other or over a vessel we were both tryin’ to raid. One fateful day, we engaged for the last time.”

“‘Snowegg’? What kind of name is that?” I giggled.

Crag leaned over in his seat to stretch his neck. “I was the sole pony among a crew of griffons.”

“Buncha crazy gulls,” Bertha teased. “We went at each other for hours. Then, when both ships were so full o’ holes they looked like floatin’ colanders, the beast arrived.” Her eyes narrowed. “A kraken.”

The minotaur was clearly enjoying my expressions of disbelief. “A… a giant squid attacked you?”

“Aye. It pulled the Snowegg underwater in minutes. The Kira was quite a bit larger, so it latched onto the side of the hull and started reachin’ for those of us on deck, pullin’ creatures from both crews into the water even while we were still fightin’. Soon, it was just myself and Crag remainin’, neither able to best the other, so we joined against our common foe.”

Crag nodded his head in confirmation.

“After we severed half its tentacles..." Bertha began gesturing dramatically with her hands. "The kraken let go of the Kira and went mad, thrashin' around like a hurricane! Took out our sails, nearly smashed the ship in two. But then..." She made a show of raising one muscular arm like she was hefting something heavy. "I picked up the anchor," she described as squinted one eye, looking past me as if she could see her foe once again, "And I threw it deep into that oversized squid's back." She made the appropriate motion, and then slapped the table with a triumphant laugh, which sent several of our meals flying. Toffee's face was the picture of shell-shock, even after a quick apology from the minotaur.

"I wrapped the chain around my arm," Bertha resumed after we'd cleaned up most of the mess, "And steered the kraken back to shore. It beached itself and pulled us onto shore with it." She grinned more triumphantly than I thought was possible to express. “Crag here froze as much meat as we could cut from it, and we found our way to Neigh Orleans from there." She sat back and nodded at her husband. "Probably could'a opened a calamari restaurant with all that squid."

Crag smiled and inclined his head leisurely. “It was all very exciting.”

“You know, I outran a giant radigator a few days ago,” I couldn’t help but boast. As Bertha regaled us with more of her stories and told of the creatures she’d both seen and battled, I wanted to add in some of my own accomplishments. “It had to have been fifty feet long, at least.”

This lit up Bertha’s eyes. “Ah, you’re met Gnashy! He’s the stuff of legends down south. You should be proud you outran him!”

“I escaped it using a radio tower. Which, uh… it managed to bring down.”

It was Teensy’s turn to speak up. “Wait. You’re saying a radigator destroyed a radio tower? Where was that?”

“About six miles southwest of Buckwater, I think?”

The griffon frowned. At least, it looked like such an expression to me, as much as a creature with a beak could mimic. “That would explain a lot of issues we’ve been having lately. The broadcasts from towns on the southern coast are really fuzzy now.”

Bertha and I met eyes briefly, and the minotaur beat me to the question. “Say, Teensy. Quilly’s got some mates she needs to get in touch with up in Equestria. Could you be so kind as to help facilitate that?”

“Like…?” Teensy scrunched his brows and his headfeathers ruffled a little. “She wants to use the Talon radio?”

“I do,” I answered. “Just for a few minutes. I’m not a Cog, I promise. I just need… three minutes?”

Teensy clicked his beak in a conflicted gesture. He gave Toffee a look, his marefriend simply replying with a timid shrug. After that, he noticed the expectant look that Bertha was giving him. “I, uh… well, maybe I could let you in for a couple minutes.” The small griffon took a very deep breath for his size. “But I’d say we need to go in really late. The fewer Talons there to question it, the easier it’ll be for both of us.”

An hour later, we had finished our dinner and cleaned up most of the restaurant, preparing to fully close it down. I returned my red skirt to the closet, then got back into my Stable suit. Taking my saddlebags, I felt a surge of accomplishment as I tossed in the caps I’d earned as tips, totaling a whopping forty-eight. Back in the kitchen, I found Bertha wiping away the last of the day’s mess on the main counter. As she threw the rag into the garbage, she regarded me with a smile. “Hoy, Quilly. On your way out?”

“I am. It’s… it’s been great working here, honestly,” I told her. “I never imagined I’d ever work with a minotaur.”

“Not so bad, was it?” Bertha handed me my salary for the day, a hundred and fifty caps. “Hopefully we gave you some ideas to think about.”

“You did.” Truthfully, she’d given me more than just caps; she’d provided a trove of stories and several new considerations about my role and my future.

“And Quilly, ‘fore ya go.” She nodded at me. “You’re strong for a pony, not just in body but in heart. Don’t worry, because if anyone can save your crew, it’s you.”

My spirit swelled at the compliment. “Thanks, Bertha. That really, seriously means a lot.” Admittedly, I didn’t share the same level of confidence that she did, but it still felt good to hear.

“And if by chance you ever find yourself back in Divide… say, after you save your friends,” Bertha winked. “Be sure to stop by the Castaway again. Come Cogs or synths or storms, we’ll still be cookin’, even for Steel Rangers.”

I met up with Teensy and Toffee outside of Castaway. The two were chatting, and as I approached, I heard the griffon tell his partner that he’d see her at home. The mare pecked him on his cheek, then gave me one last shy smile before she departed. I informed Teensy of the repaired robes I needed to retrieve, and he followed me as I returned to the seamstress's shop. The mall was significantly quieter at this hour, with only a few shoppers still milling about, looking for last-minute purchases. Many shops had closed already.

Thankfully, the seamstress was not among them. The elderly griffon presented me with a gloriously-restored set of Scribe robes, with the patched area almost indistinguishable from the original fabric. I thanked her profusely and hugged the valued garments tight. As much as I wanted to put them on now, I was still wary of how they might look to Divide’s people in light of the Cogs’ fashion sense, at least when it came to their preachers. This thought also prevented me from offering to sell her the Stable barding then and there, even though I wanted to. The caps it could earn me wouldn’t be worth the risk of a visible wing or suspicious robes.

Leaving the mall, Teensy led me toward the center of the town’s halves. He didn’t speak much, at least not until we neared the base of the crane. “So, uh, listen. I’m not exactly supposed to let you use the radio, not without the right paperwork. It’s a recent thing, with the way everything’s been, you know…” He looked up at the top of the tower. “So just let me do the talking, alright?”

“I appreciate you doing this for me.”

“It’s fine. Bertha asked, and I owe her enough to help out whenever she’d like me to.”

“You two have a history?”

Teensy used a wing to adjust his head feathers as he informed me, “When I left my village and came to Divide looking for work, I got turned away from the Talons because of my size. Bertha and Crag hired me as a server, and from there they helped me hook up with Toff. Bertha knew I had an interest in the Talons and electronics, and she was able to get me a radio operator position.”

“That’s kind of her,” I commented. “She’s got connections with the Talons?”

“She’s got influence all over Divide. I’m sure you noticed, but she’s a big personality. Lots of connections, lots of friends, and yeah, that extends to even the Talons.”

The lower frame of the crane had been enclosed and constructed into an armory, illuminated by dim windows and sporadic gem lights. Along the back of the structure was a series of stairs. They were the narrow and flimsy kind that reminded me of fire escapes, and similarly, the stairs terminated in a platform fifteen feet above the ground. An attached collapsible ladder was the only visible way to reach the stairs without wings. There was also a barbed-wire fence that encircled the crane’s base; it was clear that this was all viewed as adequate security, since the Cogs had neither magic nor flight. Unfortunately, I no longer had the latter ability, and Teensy reminded me as such.

“I don’t have the key to unlock the gate, so we’ll have to get you over the fence somehow. After that, I can drop the ladder for you.”

“You Talons never use the stairs, do you?”

The griffon scratched his beak. “Can’t say we do. Used to have proper stairs up before the Cogs started breathing down our necks.”

We had a brief debate on the best way to cross the fence. We settled on trying tandem flight; Teensy was too small to carry me over all by himself, but with the help of my single wing, it was possible. When I spread my appendage, I realized just how weak it felt now that I was no longer flying. I made a mental note to start exercising my wing in the future.

I tightened my saddlebags as tight as I could manage, and then Teensy took hold of the left side. I backed up for a running start, and then galloped at the fence while we pumped our wings in sync. Kicking off the ground, we were able to lift into the air on a shaky, upwards trajectory. Teensy groaned as I tucked in my legs, and we rose just high enough to clear the fence, though I painfully brushed the top of the barbed wire coils. Once we were over, our strength gave out and we tumbled to the concrete in a heap.

Out of breath, sore, but past the fence, I waited as Teensy flew up to the ladder and quietly dropped it down to me. Laboriously, I hooked my fetlocks around the rungs and pulled myself up slowly. Life was so much easier when I could fly on my own.

Once we had climbed the stairs to the upper balcony, our efforts were rewarded with a bird's-eye view of Divide. It was truly sprawling, and I could see much of the city's northern half from here as well, which looked to be very close in size. We kept moving, passing a windsock which fluttered lazily in the breeze. Protruding past the base of the railing were a number of makeshift perches where griffons could drop from to begin an easy glide. On the far corner stood a flagpole with a fluttering black flag emblazoned with the Talon emblem. Seeing it now, I realized that this was likely the symbol carved into my dagger.

Close to the edge, I felt my heart thump enthusiastically at the reminder of true flight. However, my short thrill of excitement was replaced by one of fear as I felt my wing stump wiggle. At this height, a fall would render me little more than a pulverized pegasus pancake on the pavement below.

The main communications room was very dark at this hour, only lit by a few candles, terminals, and the blinking lights of radio equipment. As soon as we entered, my nose was assaulted by the concentrated scent of griffon dander, interspersed with metal and chemical smells. I spied only one avian present at the moment, who was dozing behind a desk, a headset crookedly clinging to her head. Teensy led me over and prodded the other griffon into consciousness.

“Hey, uh, Gail?”

“Mmm-huh?” She awoke with a squawk.

Teensy looked at me briefly, then back to the other Talon. “Got a... civvie here that needs the radio for a minute.”

Gail blinked hard, then rubbed the sleep from her eyes as she sat up. “Oh. She’s been cleared for it?”

“It’s a request from Bertha,” Teensy answered pointedly.

At this, Gail stared at Teensy for a few seconds, then turned her eyes to me for the first time. “Oh, Bertha…?” She rubbed her beak, then stood. “Well, uh, alright then.” She looked over her shoulder at the rest of the room, still mostly shrouded in darkness. “Gerhard’s still got a stick up his tailfeathers about Bertha and her ‘special privileges’.”

“We’ll try to be quick,” Teensy said, addressing both Gail and myself. He leaned over the desk to check the radio equipment briefly. There were charts filled with numbers covering the desktop, though it was too dark to make out anything specific. “Go ahead, Quillwright.”

I sat down hesitantly, now also peering around apprehensively. When Teensy had finished making a couple adjustments, he handed me a headset and a microphone. This was followed by a quick tutorial on how to adjust the signal and fine-tune the connection should I encounter any interference. When I was certain I understood all the basics, I fit the headset over my ears and began searching for the frequency that the Steel Ranger Citadel could be reached on.

Scanning the radio waves took me longer than was comfortable. I hadn’t operated a radio like this one in quite some time, as any communications the Steel Rangers needed to make were handled by a different branch of Scribes in the Citadel, those more inclined to the engineering side of preservation. There were times when I had needed to ask other chapters for information regarding a subject I was researching or for intel that might help an upcoming expedition, but those had been few and often far between, especially since moving into the Citadel.

“... -know that all of Equestria appreciates the work you are doing. As our great city rebuilds, we will push on towards a brighter future for our children, our grandchildren, and generations far removed. Their lives will be enriched by this incred- ...” My jaw clenched tight at the words; hearing Red Eye’s propaganda was a surefire method to ruin my day. My mind flickered back to the image of Fillydelphia’s imposing walls, which towered over the Citadel, close enough that we could make out the patrolling slavers.

Early on in my career among the Steel Rangers, I had entertained violent fantasies about what our organization could do to those monsters. Power armor was an impenetrable, unstoppable force, and surely we would soon storm into the hellhole and deliver justice to the slavers. When I had proposed the idea to fellow Rangers, however, they expressed little to no interest in such an endeavor. Sure, most didn’t approve of Red Eye or of slavery, but eventually I had to accept a harsh realization.

For all our technology, of all our bravado and our carefully crafted image of power and authority, the Steel Rangers were no match for an army the size of Red Eye’s, nor for a city as vast, entrenched, and defended as Fillydelphia. And so for years, those soaring walls had taunted me. There was nothing I could do against them, no way to topple them and no way to save my family...

My mental tangent was disrupted by the honk of a tuba and the trill of harmonicas as music filled the headphones. The Red Eye propaganda had concluded while I was lost in thoughts, and now that unbearable marching music was playing. Now in a foul mood, my hoof sent the dial back out into the radio waves to continue searching. Eventually I found myself in the middle of a transmission that included some familiar phrases.

“-...To clean, and if possible, restore. They should prove useful, over.”

“I look forward to reviewing them, over.”

I recognized that second voice: Scribe Pine, who had been one of my first transcription partners in the Citadel! Quickly, I activated my microphone and interrupted their conversation.

"Break, break, break! This is Nimbus Tango Five, I’ve got an emergency message for Sierra Delta Four, repeat, an emergency message for Sierra Delta Four! Do you copy, over?"

“Roger. Sierra Delta Four is away, over.”

Pluck my feathers. “Copy... um, is Hotel Bronco Two around? Over.” Thankfully, I still remembered the callsign for Head Scribe Citrus, since Elder Melonseed was reportedly indisposed.

“Affirmative. Stand by, over.”

Whoever had been on the other side of Scribe Pine’s casual conversation before I cut in awkwardly said, “I’ll call back later, out.” The silence that followed lasted a few minutes, during which I heard the pair of griffons behind me chatting idly.

“Have you heard there’s supposed to be a pegasus in Divide?” Gail mentioned. I felt my wing pull in a little closer beneath my barding.

Teensy cleared his throat, which sounded like a short and throaty whistle through his beak. “Yep, pretty crazy.”

When Head Scribe Citrus’s voice crackled into the headset, I nearly jumped out of my hide. “Come in, Nimbus Tango Five.” I acknowledged her, and she followed with, “Go ahead, over.”

I swallowed, trying to relay the disaster that had been the past week while on an unsecured frequency, possibly monitored or recorded by the Talons. “The -- I don’t have much time -- the mission’s gone south. Target was empty but caused two KIAs. The bird departed without me, then grounded somewhere. Over.”

The news took Citrus aback; at least, I assumed so judging by the long pause between my 'over' and her reply. "Acknowledged. Is the target still salvageable, over?”

“Affirmative, over.”

"Is the jewelry still in your possession? Over."

My eyes flicked down to the PipBuck on my foreleg. "Affirmative. I have it, over."

“Return home with the jewelry immediately. Over.”

But what about the rest of the expedition? "Negative. My…" I took a steadying breath. "I’m grounded too. Over."

I heard the faintest hint of a groan on the other end. "Acknowledged. Can you return another way? Over."

Behind me, I felt Teensy tap me on the withers with a talon and whisper, “Try and hurry it up, Quillwright.” He sounded tense.

“Negative. I’ve been traveling on hoof since I left the target.” Gnawing my lip anxiously, I followed up with, “And what about the others? Over.”

“Tracking them alone and in your condition is far too high a risk for you to take,” Head Scribe Citrus answered. “I believe Sierra Delta Four and Whiskey Foxtrot Six would come to the same assessment.” I doubted Elder Melonseed would be so quick to dismiss the rest of the expedition. On the other hoof, Star Paladin Blueberry Sabre, to whom the second callsign belonged, would’ve agreed with Citrus’ harsh command wholeheartedly. “Your discretion is trusted, Nimbus. As the acting Head Scribe, you will assume leadership if Jubilee Zulu One is unable to. Over.”

If Orange Kyanite is unable to. “A-affirmative. Um, and one more thing…” I was about to try and ask whether the Head Scribe had any knowledge of the Mareami contingent of Steel Rangers when Teensy interrupted me.

“We have to go now, Quillwright.” There was a fearful urgency in his voice, which jolted me into action.

With one more press of the microphone, I ended the transmission with, “Out.” I then stood and tore off the headset, which Gail was already taking from me and returning to her seat. I began towards the door, but Teensy shook his head and directed me to take cover beneath a nearby desk instead. I swiftly did as he asked, squeezing my body into the uncomfortably cramped but sufficiently dark space.

Seconds later, I heard the door to the outside open, then a gruff voice. “Hey, Pip, what’re you doing up here at this hour? You’re not on duty.” How many different synonyms for small is Teensy referred to by?

The griffon in question replied, “Just came to say bonjour to Gail.” As if he’d already decided that that was a poor excuse, Teensy added, “Say, we were just talking about how there’s supposed to be a pegasus in town.”

“Fascinating. You know the rules.” The speaker sounded familiar, and I had a creeping feeling that it belonged to Gerhard, the first Talon to accost Willow and I before we’d arrived in Divide.

“Yeah. I’ll, uh, just go, then.”

When Teensy had exited the room, Gerhard told Gail, “I need you to get ahold of Bluebeak in Prancecola for me, we have another contract for him before he comes back.”

While the griffonness began the call, I dared a quick peek above the edge of the desk, my ears kept flat. Sure enough, the imposing Gerhard stood just behind Gail. I needed to escape; not only would Gerhard recognize me, but I had potentially incriminating robes in my bags.

I waited until Gail had surrendered her seat and headset to Gerhard, then scuttled across the floor to the exit. By some stroke of luck, I was able to escape, noting that Gail had watched me leave with an unreadable expression. Teensy was waiting for me on the balcony outside, leaning against the railing. His feathers fluffed in relief when he saw me.

"Oh, good, you're out," he addressed me. "That could've gone south really fast. You get everything you needed done?"

To be honest, the call hadn't changed anything. We certainly weren't getting any backup from Equestria; without another airship, sending a force by ground would take too long and be too dangerous. Head Scribe Citrus thought it best that I should save myself and not risk my life to save the rest of the expedition, but there was no way I could abandon my allies like that. I had sworn an oath to the Steel Rangers, and that oath called me to protect, not to flee. I had to find them, to find Kyanite; he would know what to do.

"It was enough."

We descended the tower, and once we had reached the end of the stairs, we used our tandem flight technique to clumsily soar over the fence. I managed to stick the landing this time, my wing hanging languidly at my side with exhaustion.

I repeatedly thanked Teensy for his help, and he waved them all away with a, “Don’t mention it.”

The Beehive was my next destination. Willow Wisp’s apartment wasn’t difficult to locate, thanks to how brightly its orange paint stood out from its neighbors. As I arrived, I raised a hoof to knock on Willow’s door, but hesitated.

I had already taken advantage of her and her hospitality before. To do it again, to wake her up and intrude on her own home… it didn’t feel right. I did, however, need to catch her as soon as she left her apartment tomorrow, since I didn’t know if she was leaving town or still looking for a customer. I sat down at her doorstep, using my saddlebags as a lumpy pillow and keeping the hellhound dagger within reach.

To stay awake as long as possible, I turned to the Pipbuck, inserting an earbloom. There were still a number of logs from Stable 56 that I hadn’t listened to yet, so I resumed listening to Overmare Sprocket as she detailed the early days of the shelter’s operation. To keep my eyes open and busy, I scanned over some of the magazines I’d bought in the mall.

“... Tenacity and the other engineers have concluded that the teleportation chambers cannot connect to the original destination. The first reports we received, the ones from Equestria that sent us onto the Stable to begin with, were of Canterlot being attacked. As much as it pains me to think, the capitol is probably nothing more than dust now, and that means the receivers in the Ministry of Peace are a no-go.

“It’s a shame. Those kids are bright, EIT alumni all. Most of them even helped with the original teleporters, so if anyone could fix ours, they'd be the ponies for the job. Tenacity had some funny stories about how the prototypes could go wrong, but also some terrifying ones. Early tests showed that the teleporters would sometimes only move half of an object; thankfully, they hadn't graduated to living test subjects yet.

"But also, sometimes an item would vanish in the chamber and simply never reappear. She... implied that the Institute did eventually figure this one out, but she kindly refused to elaborate when I pressed her on it. On one hoof, I understand that it's classified wartime information, but… the war is over now, so what's the harm?

"Still, Tenacity and the other engineers are trying to rework the connection so that we can get these products out into Mulisiana via the receivers in EIT's science hall, so they can save those on the surface. I… I hope we still have a country left to save. My folks in Mareami should be safe, since I earned them both tickets into the Stable there. Still... Celestia, I just hope we can leave soon."

The shriek of scraping metal roused me from my slumber as I heard Willow calling to Wick. Groggily, I raised my head, blinking up at the unicorn guide who was stopped and staring at me, curled up on her doorstep. From this angle, I could see her confused and surprised face beneath her hood.

“Uh.... Quill?”

I struggled up and straightened my clothes, then my mane. “Yeah, um, hi, Willow!” I said as I pulled out my earbloom and stuffed my magazines into my bags.

“What’re…?”

Deciding to cut right to the chase, I blurted, “I’d like to hire you again.”

Willow paused, then asked, “Y-you would?”

I nodded. “I would. Are you, uh…?”

Looking down at Wick, Willow finished for me, “Leaving? Yeah. I found a new customer yesterday, see.” She turned her attention up to me. “I wouldn’t mind helping you again, but de t’ing is dat de customer needs a guide in de Sunken Valley."

“Well, I need to go to Brayton Rouge now. That’s through the Valley, isn’t it?”

“It is…” Willow confirmed apprehensively. “... But it’s not like what we’ve been going t’rough up ‘til now, no. Really treacherous.” She gave Wick a pat on the head. “I’m about to leave Wick wid a pet sitter here in Divide; I’m not gonna bring him into a place like de Valley.”

I reached into my saddlebags and produced a green VimVam cap. “Here’s a hundred. I can pay you this now, and provide an extra gun while you’re traveling.”

Willow stared at the cap briefly, then looked up at me. “I’ll have to ask my customer if dat’s okay. If it were just me, I’d gladly have you along, yeah.”

The ‘pet sitter’ that Willow had referred to turned out to be Divide’s local veterinarian. A few ponies ran the business, including a unicorn mare who greeted Willow warmly and by name. “Oh, hiya Willow! Here to give Wicky a check-up?” She crouched down to greet my guide’s dog, who was wagging his tail feverishly, clearly happy to meet this pony.

“Hey, River Lily. I’m afraid not, no. I’m taking a client into de Sunken Valley, so I need to leave him here for de time being.”

The interior of their shop was lined by cages filled with all manner of pets, from cats and dogs to birds and even small de-fanged gators. Outside, there had also been a larger pen where I spotted a tortoise ambling about. One of the veterinarians was placing a kitten back into its cage, having been holding the feline by the scruff of its neck. The tired pony’s face was covered in tiny battle scars.

“Oh, we’d be happy to have him! Who’s a good boy~?” River Lily cooed as she stroked Wick’s head, the dog having fallen into a pleasurable trance. When she’d finished, it was Willow’s turn to give her pet some love. She wrapped Wick in a tight hug and kissed his head.

“Be good, cher,” she soothed. “I’ll be back for you.” Wick eagerly licked her face in reply.

Once the visit to the veterinarian had concluded, we headed to Divide’s main gate. There were a few caravans and milling creatures gathered on both sides of the wall, and as we exited the city, Willow led me past a small crowd and to an individual who stood apart from the rest. My unicorn friend addressed the creature before I had a chance to see who it was.

“Hey, uh, I have anot’er customer dat’s gonna tag along, if dat’s alright?” The pony she addressed turned to appraise us, and I froze. He wasn’t a pony at all!

An aged zebra stood before us, the stripes of his fur faded from the passage of time. Despite his age, he still looked powerfully built. His silvering mohawk parted lazily at his bangs, falling over piercing turquoise eyes. He wore a patched jean jacket, with a pair of wire-frame spectacles hanging from the collar. Around his withers were two necklaces, one with a dark, ward-like jewel in the center, the other with a pinkish-purple feather. He also wore a battle saddle, with bags strapped to the left side and a long weapon on the right, hidden underneath a tattered plaid blanket.

“She’s a good shot,” Willow added, as if she felt she needed to justify my presence. “It’s good to have backup in de Valley, yeah?”

“Agreed,” the zebra responded. His dulcet voice carried the distinct, clear accent of Equestrian. I felt his eyes as he quickly assessed me, then locked with my own gaze. Though he sounded hesitant, he followed with, “... I suppose it would be alright.”

Willow gave the dirt a short stomp of approval. “Dat’s a relief.”

Still watching me, the zebra’s lips pulled into a small smile. He extended a hoof to me. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, miss. My name’s Zero.”

Footnote: Level Up.

New Perk: Down South Cookin’, Rank 1 - Your experiences working in Bertha’s kitchen have imbued you with new culinary knowledge. You now have access to regional recipes when cooking.