Chapters 930 ANM
Squeals and giggles could often be heard in and around the halls and grounds of Meadowbrook Cottage. It was a quaint little thatch, nestled away behind an impenetrably thick wall of forest the likes of which only the bravest normaly pony could pass through. Dark and secluded, the little village which it was part of was unknown to pony kind; it was the ideal hideout for the minority of the population known as the bat ponies. Shunned from society, it was quite the favourable setup for everyone who lived there.
Only set up a few generations before, the village had always been proud of its purebred, bat pony heritage. It was as such that expansion had been limited; the few new villagers were under constant scrutiny to ensure their breeding was of quality. Hence, the community was always incredibly tight knit—and everything revolved around Meadowbrook, as the local farm and source for all of the ponies' food.
With the exception of the occasional griffon or draconequus—though the latter species had all but died out now—the village was completely isolated. No unicorn, pegasus, earth or alicorn could be trusted; the village was, to put it simply, completely self sufficient.
It was at harvest time that the impressive organisational skills of the village really showed. Such was the case that day, with every bat pony who lived there lending a hoof and a wing to get the hay in. It was by no means an easy job, everything being done by manual labour. The pitchfork was the tool of choice that day; ten acres of hay had to be turned over to let it bask and dry out in the warm morning sun. It was hard work for a species who preferred to remain inside in the cool during the hot afternoon hours, with dawn and dusk being the preferred time to go out, but such was life.
Making do was, as such, a highly valued skill for an individual to have; none knew that better than the foals and fillies who skipped about and made merry whilst their parents slaved away to get their food on the table. Too young to be of much use with a pitchfork, their role was simpler; bring out the glasses of water and simply have fun—which could be interpreted as "keep out of the way". But that was not the case for one young stallion, barely sixteen years of age, who drifted about in the sky quietly.
"Hey, lad!"
The young stallion glanced about before he focused his gaze on the ground and fluttered lower. When he came to a halt, his leathery wings flapping rapidly to keep himself airborne, he then focused his piercing yellow eyes on the larger male before him before he spoke.
"What's wrong, Pa?"
The stallion on the ground narrowed his eyes and jerked his head up to the sky. "Just making sure you're getting on well, Pippin. If you aren't going to be a help, you can forget it."
The younger stallion—Pippin—flapped his wings a little harder and nodded resolutely, then struggling to fly up higher as he shouted, "You got it, Pa!"
Left below, the older shook his head and sighed before he picked up the pitchfork in his mouth again and began to get back to work. Before he could even turn over the first forkful of hay, however, he felt the hook of a wing rake down his side. When he turned to find the culprit, though, his expression softened and he said, "Whatever is the matter now?"
The mare before him rolled her eyes and draped a wing over his back. She was sweaty and looked just as exhausted as every other worker out in the field, but her cyan eyes sparkled slightly as she looked into his. "For the love of Luna, Moonstone! He's only a young lad; don't push him too hard. He's kept the sky clear so far."
Moonstone rolled his eyes and turned away, flicking his blue tail with his nose in the air. He then picked up his dropped pitchfork in his hooves and, whilst he began to turn the hay once again to expose the damp strands to the sun, he replied with, "That colt's a mongrel. His wings may as well not be there, they're so small, and then there's his stature... He could pass for an earth pony, of that I'm sure! If I didn't know better, I would be questioning if he was my son at all."
The mare scowled and turned around before she bucked, her hooves striking Moonstone's side so as to send him stumbling. "Watch your tongue, husband of mine," she hissed before she, too, turned away. The sparkle in her eyes had dissipated now. "You may be a hard worker, but I'm still the mare and you do as I say. And you should remember this; that colt up there might be... different . He might not look like a purebred bat pony, too. But he's our son and he's eager to prove himself, so for once in your life just give him a chance."
Moonstone mumbled something under his breath before he moved the pitchfork into his mouth, hence preventing himself from snapping anything back. The mare merely scowled and narrowed her eyes, flicking her tail in indignation. She brushed a few strands of scratchy hay from her moave coat before she then trotted off a little way, retrieving her own fork and getting back to work.
967 ANM
Against the bright blue of a midday sky, the thatch cottage stood out like a sore hoof. It was long abandoned, as was the farm that accompanied it. The lawn itself had been grazed, though the not-so pleasant weeds sill poked up through the shoots, untouched.
The bat-pony mare was quiet as she climbed out from her carriage, her suitcase in her hooves. She had already paid and tipped the stallion pulling it, and quite generously at that; the path to the small village had been wrought with dangers and, though the villagers were just about tolerant of outsiders these days, rumour had it that they had not once been nearly so passive; the thought made her skin crawl and she winced.
But she had a reason to be here. As an artist and an author, the chance for inspiration was plentiful. And so, despite her unease, she was not qoing to waste the opportunity—and at any rate, she felt somewhat as if she belonged here.
"Come on, Dakota," she whispered to herself before she moved the suitcase to her mouth. She then opened her leathery wings in preparation. Something about this place... It was so familiar, so right, and yet so wrong at the same time.
Her hoof trembled when she placed the key in the keyhole and twisted it slowly. Then, with a glance backwards to see if the carriage pony had returned—he hadn't—she tightened her grip on the handle of her bag and pushed the door open.
She wasn't sure what she had expected, to be quite honest. A skeleton? Perhaps. A ghost? Almost certainly. But there was nothing there to meet her except for a mouthful of long-abandoned cobwebs, a pair of dusty old wellington boots and an eerie silence in the small porch.
The mare let out a breath but kept her wings open as she stepped inside, the cool air then wrapping around her. Grateful for the extra fur that her species was granted with, she then transferred the case to her hooves and pressed her ear to the wood of the door to the next room. When she heard nothing moving inside, at least, she then gritted her teeth and nudged the door open with her nose.
The kitchen which she found before her was, in a word, dated. The cupboard doors had mold growing up around the edges and hung somewhat limply on their hinges and the oven, a dirty grey from neglect, looked like it would add bacteria to food rather than kill it. But she was staying and couldn't afford to not eat; reluctantly pulling a pack of matches from her bag, she cautiously lit the stove. The flames roared into life and spat at every wall of the room, kept contained for decades, and she screamed as she leapt backwards. She landed on her side heavily and then gave a muffled yell before she hastened to scamper back, her pupils the size of pinpricks—and then she realised that the flames were quite contentedly crackling away, the same size that they were normally.
The mare took a few deep breaths before she unsteadily rose to her hooves and wiped her brow with a hoof. She then picked up her dropped case and, whimpering a little, began to make her way towards the stairs. They creaked and grumbled just at the attention and threatened to break when she placed a tentative hoof on the first step. She winced as its groans grew louder and instead stepped back, opening her wings and slowly rising up into the air. Once she had bypassed the stairs she then flew slowly into the first bedroom and collapsed on the bed. For just a moment, she felt at ease—and then a rush of wind blew through the room which chilled the mare to the bone. She shivered and placed her hooves over her head, slipping under the covers and closing her eyes.
But no matter how much she tried to relax, she simply could not ignore the fact that this place was familiar, too familiar—and not in the good way.
930 ANM
The fluffy white cloud drifted alone in the otherwise clear sky. Small puffs broke off every few seconds as the young bat pony stallion who lay atop it shifted about a little, revelling in the cool dampness of his bed. It wasn't long, however, before his gaze fell on a spot far in the distance—to be specific, near to the entrance of the village—and his eyes gained a newfound sparkle. After a stolen peek down at the ground to check that nopony was watching, he then opened his underdeveloped wings and, with a grunt as he lifted his too-strong body from the cloud, he let the wind carry him away from the fields.
It was incredible, Pippin thought to himself, just how secluded the village was. The forest which surrounded the clearing was dense and unending, miles wide at the very least. Nevertheless, a mere speck in the distance, a pony city could be seen at the edge of a towering cliff, its pristine and magnificent white buildings a sight for sore eyes. Pippin couldn't help but grin at the sight of it; a moment later, however, he found himself face first in the dirt.
"Argh!"
The young stallion jumped up hastily and grumbled most audibly as he hastened to brush the dirt from his muzzle and tongue, a frown upon his face. Before he could get far in cleaning himself up, however, he found a rough force tugging through his mane. He spun quickly and snarled, his small fangs bared; upon seeing the griffon who hovered above him, he quickly scarpered backwards and looked to the ground, a blush on his cheeks.
"Oh. Sorry," he muttered before he began to paw at the ground. His ears had fallen to his neck by this point and his wings now fell open, not folded to his side but instead close to—but not quite big enough to drag through—the dirt as he took a step back. "I thought that you were perhaps a pony. A normal pony. I couldn't... I couldn't see all that well from over at the farm."
The griffon chuckled and extend a claw with which to clasp Pippin's wing. She then pulled him closer and ruffled his mane before she poked his broad chest and giggled. "That's alright, kid." She glanced about and brushed her crimson feathers from her face before her attention returned to the village gates where, it turned out, a group of griffons—all dressed up in a semi-formal sort of get-up—stood patiently. They chatted amongst eachother and jostled about, completely carefree. The griffon before him didn't break the mold, either; there was an eager grin pasted on her beak and her eyes, a strong orange, glimmered in audacious cheekiness. "The name's Talon Plight, ambassador for Beakjing. I'm just here on a little business trip; we've heard how your village here hates ponies, and we do too, so we figured we could lend you a claw—or, should I saw, a hoof? That's the phrase, is it not?"
Pippin nodded and straightened up a little as he pulled his wings up to his side. He then grinned turned away from the griffon a little and said, "Everyone is out in the fields right now. We've gotta get the hay in for the winter." He paused for a moment and scratched behind his ear. When he tried to move, however, he found himself stopped by Talon Plight's claws which gripped his off-golden tail.
"Well, you'll have to be the one to show me around then." Talon Plight released his tail and scratched her chin before she then stepped forwards. Her tail coiled itself around Pippin's neck and made him shiver. "That is, unless you're busy. Don't let me get in the way of the harvest."
Pippin shook his head quickly and hardly spared a glance to the hay fields. "They will manage without me."
998 ANM
"Scootaloo, sweetheart! Where are you?"
"I'm out in the garden, Gran!"
The old mare smiled and rolled her eyes as she glanced out of the window of Meadowbrook cottage, her heart warming as she watched her little grandfilly zip about on her scooter. She was a natural for sure, and the filly herself knew it; her grandmare couldn't help but be proud of what she would one day grow up to be. The poor thing had had a tough start to life—as a siblingless orphan, and an underdeveloped kid at that, she had needed to be strong. And that she was; with talent like she had for her scooter, but no cutie mark in speed or stunts—not that the mare was sad about that —then little Scootaloo surely grow up to do something great.
The old mare sighed and walked away from the window, turned in the direction of the kitchen stove. Before she got there, however, she faltered and backed up a little so that she stopped by the mirror; she frowned at the sight of herself, greying blue mane and all. Her tufted ears and leathery wing tips were losing their dark hue to become lighter, a fact which made her wince.
"Iolite!" A stallion's cry interrupted her musing and she spun around but she did not answer immediately. Instead she trod lazily towards the stove and lifted a heavy saucepan onto the hob before she then emptied a can of baked beans into it slowly. Turning the flames down to low, she then stirred the contents slowly before she finally replied.
"What is it?"
"Your mum's here. Says she ain't gonna come in 'til you go and get her, since you were the one who made her come in the first place." A white stallion, an earth pony, trotted into the kitchen at that point, his hooves and coat muddied. Iolite yelped at the sight and shot towards him so as to knock him away from her pristine kitchen floor—just as a screech sounded from the garden and the back door was thrown open. Scootaloo shot inside, her tiny wings buzzing and flicking mud all over the appliances. She then groaned when she fell face first onto the polished wood floor but hardly waited to even stand up, her tiny wings propelling her forwards through the kitchen on her chest before she stumbled up to her hooves and galloped out of the front door.
"Nanna!" she screeched whilst she leapt from the front door, buzzing feebly in the air for a moment before she dropped from the air. Before she could land on the muddy grass below, however, a large leather wing reached out to cushion her fall.
"You silly filly," an old mare said with a giggle as she pulled Scootaloo closer to nuzzle her affectionately. The filly, in turn, squealed and shot backwards whilst she gagged. The mare laughed even more as she folded her almost pure white wings away, with only a few patches of the original grey fur. "No love for your old Nanna Nightlark?"
Scootaloo laughed a little and rolled her eyes, then trod forwards slowly and bit down on the old mare's fur. Nightlark laughed as she walked forwards stiffly after the filly; when she reached the door to the old but renovated house, however, she frowned and slowed in her walk. A second later she had frozen, staring in some form of disbelief up at the windows. When Scootaloo opened her mouth to snap, however, she was cut off by the claw on Nightlark's wing.
"Don't mind me, little one. I haven't been here for sixty-eight years. It's just a bit of a shock to the system, that's all."
Scootaloo kept quiet for a moment before she nodded slowly. After a gentle tug at her great-grandmother's fur, she then dragged her quickly into the house and squealed, "Nanna, you've just gotta see my scooter!"
930 ANM
The table was quiet that evening as the dinner was served. Neither adult said a word and both wore an expression of displeasure on their faces, their already dark fur shrouded in shadows as they walked with their heads lowered. Only the young mare of seventeen looked remotely happy, though she was disheartened by her parents' gloom. More than once she opened her mouth to ask whatever was wrong; every time she tried, she found herself unable to speak.
The meal was only a little more uplifting than the atmosphere at the table. The young mare nibbled at her bread and knawed at the tough meat that she had been given—yet another unappreciated benefit of being a bat pony. When even her fangs couldn't tear through it, however, she unfurled her wing and carefully sliced through it with her claw. Though no less hard to chew, the smaller portions were at least easier to swallow.
It took a while for her to find the courage to finally speak up, and her voice was quavery when she did. "Mama?" She took a deep breath and fiddled with the grey fur on her chest absentmindedly. "Mama, where's Pippin?"
Both bat ponies at the table snarled at the mention and the young mare sunk into her chair quickly whilst her ears fell and wings clamped to her side. Her eyes darted between the two and she almost yelped when her mother finally spoke.
"Don't worry about that. Just eat your m—"
Whatever the older mare had been about to say was cut off as the door which led into the back porch was slammed open and a stallion of pure black coat and mane—the perfect specimen—burst in. His chest was drenched in sweat and his brown eyes were that of pinpricks, barely visible compared to the white of his sclera. He gasped and heaved before he finally managed to shout, "Fire !" He gasped for breath a few more times and danced on the spot before he then cried, "Fire in the hay barn!"
The reaction was immediate. Everypony at the table leapt to their hooves and shot into the air before they shot through the door, wings pummeling the air as the trio shot towards the easily-visible red glow which illuminated field upon field of a wet harvest. The newcomer followed close behind, half-dead from exhaustion. But that phrase would take new meaning a moment later when the family crashed into the ground outside the ravaged building which had already partially fallen down.
The flames had engulfed the entire building like a pack of vultures on a carrion, tearing the body of the barn to pieces. But, for a few horrific moments, the flames parted slowly—for just long enough to reveal the charred and scorched body of a young bat pony stallion, whose body was stockier than it should have been and whose wings were closer to that of a pegasus than his own species.
A scream rang out above the roars of the fire, followed closely by wails and shouts. When he caught up, the newcomer all but leapt into the danger himself; as a flaming beam crashed down from the roof, he was jerked backwards, kicking and screaming. And then, in a mere fraction of a second, the final remnants of the barn's walls fell down and entombed the fire's prey in tonnes of searing wood and debris.
930 ANM
Without any normal equestrians around to torment them, the bat ponies who lived in the little secluded village tended to lead long and prosperous lives, even if their everyday life was tough and hard work. It came as no surprise, thus, that the cemetry which could be found at the center of the village was mostly devoid of gravestones, only home to a few generations—and, as Pippin's body was lowered down into the hole by his family, it would become the resting place for one member of the new generation, too.
It had been a week now since the accident, but little more was known than that; though it had been painful to do so, the village had all gotten together more than once to search the charred ruins of the hay barn, but to no avail. On that note, though, nopony had been particularly engaged; to put the fire down to a simple accident was much easier.
It didn't make the fact that Pippin was gone any easier, though.
Everypony was at the funeral that evening, at moonrise, each with tear tracks marked down their cheeks. The village was small and every death, every loss of life, was personal for all. And that unity was never felt better than that day; each bat pony sat down and raised their heads into the air and, when Pippin's coffin was covered with dirt and forever concealed from the living world, they opened their mouths to show their fangs. In unison they then let out a scream the likes of which only the gathered could hear; a frequency so high that everyone else was deaf to it. A cry to say goodbye to the dead one last time.
As the call died out, each individual finishing at different times, one young mare stood up slowly. She walked towards the group gathered the closest, a bunch of moonflowers clasped under her wings. When she drew up behind an older, mauve-coloured mare, she then cleared her throat weakly and held the gift out with the claw of her wings, as was customary. It was difficult to hold them that way; it was a sign of respect.
"Excuse me? Heartstroke?" The young mare gave a watery smile as the flowers were accepted. "I... I didn't really know Pippin much, but he was always so eager. I'm... Well, I'm sorry for your loss."
Heartstroke bowed her head and nodded slowly, her eyes and fur and deep blue mane soaked with tears. She did not sniffle or whimper; her pain was silent. To do so was an old tradition for not just the village but the bat pony race as a whole, believed to show the deceased spirit that their family would be strong and make do without them—hence allowing the dead and buried to move on into Luna's enchanted land. But to do so was hard, and many a mourning relative simply hoped that their silent tears would suffice.
"Thank you for the flowers... Myst, is it not?" Heartstoke wiped away her tears with a hoof and smiled a little brighter, her slit-eyes slightly brighter. "You're little Dakota’s s-sister, unless I'm mistaken?"
The younger mare nodded her head slowly and looked around before her pale eyes landed on a little grey filly near to the back of the crowd with the largest wings anypony had ever seen. She did not talk or even listen to any conversation; the filly had always been something of a loner, the sole exception being when she spent time with her big sister. As it was, she kept herself hidden for now with her long black mane and forelock.
"Yeah, that's me." Myst gave a weak smile and took a step backwards. "She's a sweet foal, but isn't all that confident. I'd better go and... I need to check on her."
Heartstroke's nose scrunched a little and for a moment, her compaion's breath caught in her throat. But when the older mare did not sniffle or wail, only a few tears leaking from her eyes, Myst gave a sigh and began to turn away; before she could, however, she felt a hoof be placed on her flank to stop her. When she looked back, she was surprised to see that Heartsroke, rather than being hurt or distressed, looked almost happy.
"You are a good girl, Myst. I heard about your mother's illness... She's incredibly lucky to have you around." Heartstroke gave a very weak smile and then brushed a lock of Myst's mane, very nearly the same as her sister's in style and the exact same shade, from her muzzle. "You watch out for that little one, okay? Life... It can be so fleeting."
Myst frowned at the words and the hint of despair which crept into them at the end. She nodded slowly and turned away once again before she opened her wings and flew lazily towards her sister. When she landed she nuzzled the little filly behind the ears and wiped away the tears which pooled in the corner of her eyes, though little Dakota surely didn't understand quite everything that was going on. She was only eight, after all.
Or, so she had thought—at least until the little filly said, in a timid little voice, "Have you ever had a really big secret? A bad secret?"
Myst frowned and sat down, then pulling the filly into her embrace. It took her a while to find the correct words. "It helps, you know, to tell other ponies. If you're struggling."
Little Dakota shook her head and wiped her muzzle in Myst's fur, her eyes damp. "I don't think that will help me," she whispered, her voice trembling and her body unsteady. Her wings drooped open as she said so and she was quick to clamber out of her sister's lap; her head fell and her ears drooped immediately. "Don't worry. I... Just pretend I didn't say anything, okay?"
"Dakota..." Myst stood up slowly and scratched her shoulder with the claw of her wing whilst her eyes darted about. After a second of silence, however, she backed up and sighed—just as a distraction in the form of a fiery griffon caught her eye. "It's alright, Dakota. But if you ever want to talk about it, I'll be here, yeah?"
Dakota nodded slowly and gave her sister a weak grin before she lay back down and began to paw at the dusty cemetry dirt. Myst didn't have the time at that moment to stay to keep her company, however, and she instead shot through the air towards the griffon who lurked nearby.
A funeral was a private affair and, especially in bat pony culture, a vital step in the route to the afterlife. A guest of the village or not, the ambassador should not have been nearby.
It was tradition.
A scowl grew on her muzzle as Myst watched the griffon stalking about and she gritted her teeth and bared her fangs. She ruffled her leathery wings before she then looked about to check that nopony was watching and bent down to the ground so that her underbelly brushed through the dirt. She held her breath and closed her eyes as she focused on the coolness of the shadows; after a few seconds, she felt her body become lighter and her outline blurred. It would be hard for her to be detected now; just as unicorns could manipulate magic, pegasi could soar freely in the sky and earth ponies could work the land with such strength that a single buck could surely knock out armies, bat ponies had an innate connection with the shadows and darkness of nighttime Equestria. It was, most probably, a result of the circumstances of their creation; whatever the case, it gave them the ability to—almost—disappear at will.
Indeed, the griffon ambassador herself did not flinch as Myst stalked behind her, still crawling slowly on her underbelly. Her innate magic was far from the strongest—below average at best, in fact—but she had honed what abilities she did have as well as she could. In fact, the griffon ambassador only began to glance about when Myst got a mere few metres away, and even then the aforementioned still could not detect her specifically. It was only when she let her disguise slip away and tugged gently at the griffon's feathers that she was finally seen.
"Ambassador Talon Plight, is it not?"
The griffon stood, stunned, for just a moment before she closed her gawping beak and nodded slowly. "You would be correct in that assumption, filly." She took a few breaths before she then said, "You have caught me at a pretty bad time, annoyingly. My men and I are meeting at the inn, and we—"
Myst raised a hoof and pressed it to the griffon's beak, clamping it shut. She ignored the angered scowl when she then instead said, "What purpose is there for you to be here then?"
The griffon shrugged slightly and plucked a feather from her chest, twirling it inbetween her claws before she blew it closer to the young mare before her. It landed on her muzzle and her light blue eyes snapped inwards to follow it. She remained in that position for a mere second before she removed it with her hoof and tucked it behind her ear, then focusing her attention back on her companion to await an answer. It was a while before the griffon finally gave in and began to speak.
"I knew Pippin. Or, rather, I knew of him. We..." Talon Plight scratched behind her ear before she finished off with, "We talked."
Myst took a step backwards, eyebrows raised, and fiddled with the feather behind her ear with the claw of her wing. "You talked. And yet, you arrived the same day that Pippin died—which can only beg the question, when did you talk?"
Talon Plight was quiet for a moment before her frown grew greater. "You are accusing me, aren't you? I would say, we talked before the... accident. I found him quite a pleasant lad; I was, and I still am, more than a little hurt." The griffon growled quietly and turned away, wrapping her tail around a mouse as it scarpered across her path, almost concealed—but not quite—by the nighttimes's cool veil. She paused for a mere second before she then tossed it into the air and grabbed it in her beak, biting only a few times before she swallowed it whole. She then waved a claw quickly. "But I am not the sort to dwell on the past. So I bid thee farewell, and do so hope you forget these foalish accusations."
998 ANM
"Scootaloo!"
Nightlark, who had been watching quietly from the kitchen door, hobbled forwards at an impressive speed for a mare of her age. A slightly displeasured frown could be seen on her muzzle, the midday sun unpleasant. Before she could reach out a hoof to the filly's side, however, she halted in mid stride at the massive, holey grin which met her gaze.
"Look, Nanna! My tooth came out! My first tooth, Nanna!"
Nightlark was quiet for a few moments and twitched slightly in shock; her lightening grey fur blew in the slight breeze which surrounded her for just a moment. It passed a second later and she smiled, then ruffling little Scootaloo's hair.
"Oh, squirt. You worried me there!"
Scootaloo pouted a little and her tiny wings opened to droop at her side. "Nanna! Don't call me squirt! I'm getting big, see?" As she spoke she stretched up higher, standing on the tips of her hooves. The old bat mare giggled a little and nodded before she slowly picked the filly up higher with her wing.
"Of course you are, my big girl. Now come on, we need to get that under your pillow for tonight!"
"Huh?" Scootaloo hopped down from her grandmother's leathery wing and ruffled her own small feathers, a frown on her face. She then dug at the dirt slowly before she continued, "What's tonight?"
Nightlark rolled her eyes and bent down slowly with a wince when her old limbs clicked and creaked a little. "Did that daughter of mine never tell you about the tooth fairy?"
Scootaloo was only silent for a moment before her eyes lit up and her wings began to buzz. She then shot upwards a foot off of the ground and sped inside, but not before she lost her ability to defy gravity and crashed down to the dirt. Her muzzle coated in mud, she then leapt up the steps and zipped inside the house, ignoring Iolite's protests as she traipsed through the kitchen and up to her bedroom.
967 ANM
Dakota lay still, her chest heaving and her ears flicking as she cowered beneath the covers of her bed. The room was cold and dark, in an eerie manner as opposed to the beauty of the nighttime; she had tried to light a fire in the fireplace more than once but it had gone out every time in a rush of wind—even though the windows were closed. But that was the least of her worries right now; currently, she couldn't get rid of the feeling that something was wrong, very wrong. Her fur stood on end and her eyes darted about at each little shadow whilst her wing opened slowly to grasp the long-broken lamp from the beside table. Her mind swum at each little thing and her imagination morphed into anxiety in a rush of terror. And all the while, she couldn't get that voice out of her head; a young colt's gentle humming, interrupted only now and then by a quiet intake of breath.
"One."
Dakota yelped and pulled the covers up higher as she clenched the lamp in her wing. But nothing came to eat her; the room was just as it had been before.
A creak sounded from outside the bedroom, the sound of a pony walking across old floorboards. Something loud screamed in her mind; it was a struggle to assure herself that it was just the kettle whistling. And, all the while, the hardly audible humming continued.
"Two."
Oh, Luna. Dakota whimpered when the voice sounded again and dragged herself from the bed, both wings open and fangs bared as she slowly trod closer to the door. The handle gave a piercing scream as she placed her hoof on it—no, no, that was her imagination—but she very nearly did so herself when she opened the door to find—absolutely nothing out of the ordinary.
Her hooves still trembled as she walked and the lamp in her quivering wing would probably be of little use if somepony were to jump out. But, as she unwillingly poked her head into each room—with each that she explored, the humming grew louder—she found yet again that everything was alright. Nothing was knocked or dropped or damaged; everything was just as dusty as it had been before.
"Three."
The door roared as the knocker was smashed into the wood, the sound reverberating around the entire house. Dakota did scream as it did so then; a moment later, she covered her mouth with her wing and leapt back against the wall, at least ensuring that side of her was safe as she then inched her way downstairs. The humming had stopped and everything was completely silent—or, at least, it was that way until the hammering sounded again.
The hallway seemed so tiny now; there was no where to run, no where to hide. But whoever—whatever—was outside was not going to settle for being ignored. And so, with a heartbeat that could have been some sort of drumroll, she rose up onto her rear hooves and took a glance through the peephole, her body trembling. But it had been boarded over long ago; there was to be no seeing through it now.
There was nothing else for it. Dakota held the lamp tighter as she slowly placed the key into the hole and turned it. There was a slight click when the lock was released and, with eyes as wide as dinner plates, she threw the door open and prepared to attack.
"Mum."
Dakota froze in her actions and stared down at her son in shock as she dropped the lamp with a loud smash. She then took an unsteady step backwards and raised a hoof as she folded away her twitching wings.
"Ink Splash! I... What are you doing here?"
The young unicorn stallion before her raised an eyebrow and pushed past so that he was inside the house. He wasted no time in switching on the lights, much to Dakota's relief.
"I'm checking on you. Doctor's orders. Doesn't want you to be alone so soon after... everything." The stallion shrugged a little and progressed through the hallway, taking a glance into the lounge before he flopped down at the table. "Eh, not bad. This place really takes "old fashioned feel" to the next level, mind you." The stallion's eyes moved down to the now-broken lamp on the floor and he frowned before he levitated the pieces into the bin. "On which note, what exactly where you doing with that?"
Dakota gave a nervous smile as she followed her son into the kitchen where she promptly washed her hooves. She sighed as the water washed over them, but it didn't remove the eerie force that now coated her fur as she had hoped. "I... I thought there was an intruder, Ink. That's all."
Ink Splash raised an eyebrow and slouched back in his chair before he folded his hooves. "And you didn't think to look out the window... Why?"
Dakota opened her mouth to reply before she closed it again, a frown now on her muzzle. "That would probably have been a better idea," she whispered, her ears flicking slightly. She then shook her head and pasted a grin there instead before she trotted to her son's side and said in as chirpy a voice as she could muster, "C'mon, I'll make breakfast."
Ink Splash was quiet for a moment before he relaxed a little and grunted, "Eggs'd be great. Without the bacon this time, Mum; I haven't got your fangs."
Dakota laughed a little and nodded before she turned away and began to search through her bags, finding the box of eggs that she knew she had packed—but not un packed—the day before. Then rummaging around for a frying pan, she banged it down onto the stove with a generous splash of oil and quietly began to fry, a smile now on her face.
And yet, she couldn't shake the feeling that something was still not right.
998 ANM
Iolite hummed to herself quietly as she busied herself in the kitchen, frying a few pieces of bacon with little fuss. It was, of course, only being made for herself and her mother; Scootaloo and her husband Snapshot were both incapable of eating it. But she was not, and had never been, the sort of pony who would deny herself of something so delectable just because half of her family were not partial to it.
"Gran!" A shrill yell broke Iolite out of her musings and she turned around lazily after she transferred a spoon to her claw so as to stir the beans which heated in the pan. At the back of the stove a seperate frying pan contained some peculiar sort of hay sausages, the likes of which Iolite and Nightlark would never touch—but Scootaloo and Snapshot swore by the stuff.
"Well, good morning, little Scoots!" Iolite chirped, laughing a little as the filly jumped into her chair. She didn't flinch as the legs wobbled; Scootaloo had done it every day since she had learned to walk, and was something of a natural—but not without a few tumbles on the way to getting so good. Nevertheless, she had a few bruises from recent mistakes; after the tenth bump, it was not quite so concerning. "What's got you in such a chirpy mood then?"
Scootaloo kept quiet and glanced out to the hallway. When she saw two ponies, her grandfather and nanna, both of whom were beginning to grey, she then squealed and beckoned for them to come over, her eyes alight. Before they could even step hoof in the kitchen, however, she raised her hoof high into the air to display her pride and joy.
"Look, everypony! Look! The tooth fairy came and everything, just like you said!" Scootaloo giggled and waved the bit in her hoof about. "I even saw the tooth fairy and everything!"
Nightlark beamed at the filly and bent down slowly so that her greying ear tufts brushed against the pegasus' orange fur. "Is that so, little one? What was she like?"
Scootaloo deflated a little and hung her head before she sighed. "I don't really know, Nanna. See, I heard her first and that's what woke me up; she was humming to herself. It was odd, because she sounded kinda like a colt." Nightlark froze and raised a hoof sharply; before she could question anything, however, the filly continued to speak. "Then there was this... Whoosh, like air through the room or something. And then she was gone, but I saw her coltfriend afterwards. I think he was looking after her."
"He..." Nightlark rose back up to her hooves, her brow suddenly drenched in sweat. She trembled when she then whispered, "What did he look like?"
Scootaloo slouched in her chair and rubbed her chin with the tip of her hoof. She then scratched behind her ears with her rearleg and said, "Well, he was a bat pony, but he wasn't like you or Gran 'cos his wings were tiny, kinda like mine!"
"And he was... he was a broad stallion, was he not? But still young."
Scootaloo nodded enthusiastically, her grin not wavering once. "You got it Nanna! Did you see him as well?"
Nightlark took a sharp inhale of breath and stepped backwards, her mouth gaping open and her ears pinned back. Her wings were drooped open and her tail was clamped to her rump. "I have seen him before, yes," she whispered, her entire body trembling. "A long, long time ago."
998 ANM
"You know, Iolite," the old bat pony began, her hooves idly fitting together the thousand-piece puzzle which lay on the table before her, "Scootaloo's doing well. After everything that happened, what with her father... You've done a good job."
Iolite laughed and nuzzled her mother's cheek. She then took a piece of puzzle from Nightlark's hoof and placing it down with a smug grin. "I do my best. I don't think she'll ever get over the accident, though; those wings of hers seem too weak."
"I'm not surprised, to be honest," Nightlark said, sipping a little ice-cold water from a cup at her side. She then returned her attention to the puzzle and let her hoof trail across the pieces; when it landed on a particular piece, bright orange in colour and presumably picturing gently crackling flames, her breath caught in her throat and she frowned a little. "The fall was bad and broke all the bones, did it not? That's quite a serious injury, and I can't help but feel that, when you consider her... lack of pedigree, shall we say, she was doomed from the start."
Iolite was quiet before she stood up sharply and scowled, fiddling with the claws on her wings. "Mother! We've been through this before. Just because Snapshot is not a bat pony and, as such, our daughter is as such an earth pony, that does not make her some sort of... mongrel. And your great-granddaughter is not a crossbreed either."
Nightlark grumbled a little and slouched in her chair. "You have your opinion, and I have mine. You know how I was raised; acceptance of bat pony hybrids does not not come naturally, even after all of these years, for me. And I—"
"Iolite!"
Nightlark quietened herself immediately and stood up, her wings flared out and her fangs slightly bared, her slitlike eyes glinting. Snapshot, who had galloped into the room, cowered slightly at the sight and shot to his wife's side instead; the old bat pony's glare only made his nerves worse. But, at his wife's forceful nudge, he elaborated.
"It's Scootaloo! I can't find her!" he cried, trotting on the spot nervously. His heavy earth-pony hooves and brand new horseshoes were loud as they crashed against the wooden floor; they would surely leave a mark.
"What? Why were you not watching her?"
Snapshot moaned and hung his head, though his fidgeting did not stop. "We were playing hide-and-seek! But I've looked for at least half an hour, and no filly can hide that well—especially not Scoots!"
Iolite gritted her teeth slowly so that her fangs were also bared, her claws raking slightly across Snapshot's white fur. He cowered slightly as she did so and recoiled slowly; she then took a break a deep breath in and pulled herself away, trying to force a smile onto her muzzle as she said, "She's a cheeky foal, but there's only so far that she can go before she ends up in the... in the forest. And she wouldn't go in there, would she?" Everypony shared a glance and frowned. "She would, wouldn't she?"
967 ANM
"You know, Mum, it wouldn't hurt so much to just talk about things."
Birds chirped overhead happily as they danced about on the breeze, flittering around eachother in perfect circles. Some would consider it a mating ritual, and others simply saw it as Faust's way to inspire her little ponies to get up in the morning. Whatever the case, they didn't judge eachother based on anything more than appearance and strength; the valuability of their genetic code was all that mattered. All that they took into account.
"I am fine, Ink," Dakota snapped, her wings ruffling. In the breeze of the morning she could feel her tufted ears being slightly blown about. She was grateful, truth be told, for the gentle wind; as it was, with the shade of the trees as well, the day was just about pleasant for a batpony to be outside in. "Why do you find it so necessary to question every little thing? I am not ill, but you seem intent on forcing my past back on me."
Ink snorted quietly and trotted in front of Dakota, his eyes narrowed and his ears pinned. When his mother attempted to overtake him, he then grabbed her tail with his magic and scowled, keeping her behind him so that he could focus his eyes directly on hers when he walked backwards. "Because I worry about you, Mum. I knocked on the door this morning and you were about to attack me when you opened it!"
"You didn't need to come in the first place, though."
Ink rolled his eyes. "It was the doctor's orders, Mum. If he's concerned about you then I am not just going to look over that." The stallion was quiet before he turned back around and gave a short laugh. "And, y'know, maybe I wanted to get away from Manehattan for a while."
Dakota scowled and stuck her nose up in the air, determinedly walking with her tail flagged high. After a few moments and a glance to her son's cheeky grin, she then sighed and smiled a little herself. "Okay, I admit it. Maybe I overreacted earlier. But I... I thought I heard someone in the house."
Ink stiffened slightly and had to trot a few paces to catch up once again. "You... heard someone?" he prompted, eyebrows raised. Upon realising her mistake, Dakota was quick to shake her head and utter a reply.
"Oh! Don't worry, it was just... Just creaking. You know how old wooden houses can be." She gave a somewhat uncertain laugh before she outstretched her leathery wing to pull her son closer to her side, the hook of her wing entwined in his fur. "Sometimes you would swear they are haunted!"
Ink gave a slow and uncertain chuckle as he ducked out from under his mother's wing, then skipping away before she could pull him back. After a few attempts at catching him—it transpired that years of dodging his mother's embraces had trained him well in the art of agility—she then gave in. With her wings dragging across the floor, her hooks leaving tracks in the dirt, she then took a moment to glance about herself. The trees were still young, the trespassing offspring of the Everfree Forest's specimens. It was a rather peculiar scene; somehow, it managed to be both unnerving and awe-inspiring all at the same time.
But there was something else. Something about this place... It seemed magical, almost, and not just in the sense that Equestria was a land fuelled on it.
"Hello?"
Dakota yelped and spun around, her larger-than-usual wings outstretched and fangs bared as she looked about wildly, her eyes as bold as those of a predator. Ink did not leave her waiting, either, and he reacted only a fraction of a second slower, his horn lit and a rock now clasped in his aura. But there was no danger to meet them; only a middleaged bat pony stallion, whose coat was a rare shade of brown and whose night-sky mane fell in messy but maintained waves around his face, exaggerating his strong jaw.
"Oh, Luna!" he cried, stepping backwards quickly with his head held slightly lower in a submissive gesture. When no attack came—though Ink had calmed and lowered his defences, the mare still kept up hers—the new stallion began to speak slowly. "I'm sorry, but we don't get many new visitors here." He scowled at Ink Splash and gritted his teeth, his wings opening slightly so that the sunlight bounced off of his polished hooks. "Well, we get a few Equestrian tourists, but we don't get many other bat ponies."
Ink Splash raised an eyebrow and picked up the rock again, stepping closer. "You could say that with less disgust, you know," he hissed, his horn sparking. "And I am half a bat, anyway, so I would assume that makes me acceptable for you?"
The new stallion scowled. "Hardly. Tradition has always dictated the impurity of mongrels ."
Dakota stepped forwards and growled, her ears pinned back. "My son is no mongrel, you pompous featherwing ," she snarled, her wings twitching dangerously. Ink Splash frowned and took a step away from her, well aware of the damage her claws could do. The other bat pony seemed to recognise this too and yelped, falling to his stomach and whining, his tail tucked.
"Point taken, Ma'am!" the stallion grunted whilst he scooted backwards, his wings now protecting his face. After a few seconds, however, he stopped dead in his tracks and looked up to the mare with a curious, terrified frown. "Where did you learn that insult?"
The mare stopped in her tracked, taken aback, and thought about it for a few moments. She then shrugged and said, in a grating tone of voice, "I don't know. I've always used it, since I was a foal."
There was silence between the three before the stallion rose to his hooves slowly, stepping away from the slightly growling mare, and looked at her slowly. When his eyes rested on hers he then whispered, "It couldn't be... Dakota? Is that you?"
Dakota paused and folded away her wings. As she gave a short nod she then began to stalk around the stallion, tugging at his fur and mane with her hooks and sniffing the scent which he gave off. She flicked her ears as she did so and took in the exact sound, the pitch and volume, of his breathing; she then drew back and shrugged, a curious frown on her face. "I presume you know me from my foalhood? From when I lived here?"
The stallion nodded slowly. "Sure do. Don't you... Don't you remember me?" At Dakota's head shake, he sighed and began to look Ink Splash over again, his expression now one of disappointment. "My name's Pop... You sure you don't remember me? The village was pretty small."
"My mind's blank."
Pop dug at the earth slowly and murmured, "I was here for about a year before you moved away. Uh, 930 ANM, was it? Ring any bells?"
"Oh." Dakota hung her head and let out a sigh, at which point Ink Splash trotted to her side and nuzzled her cheek slowly. He then raised his head and glared at Pop, watching him with sharp attention the likes of which only the descendent of a bat pony could achieve. Before he could say anything, though, the mare raised her hoof and shook her head. "No, Ink. You don't need to protect me." She then turned to Pop as said, with a sorrowful smile, "I'm sorry. My mind is blank—especially that year. I don't know why, I don't know what happened, but I can't remember anything."
Pop stiffened. "Nothing?"
"Nothing."
"Well, maybe I can help with that," Pop said, a confident grin on his face as he took a timid step closer. When he was not attacked, he then slowly, slowly opened his wing and stepped away from Dakota and Ink Splash, beckoning for them to follow him deeper into the Everfree Forest. After a silent debate, the mare then flew up into the air slowly and began to catch up to her kin; the unicorn could only sigh and oblige, following on hoof at a trot.
998 ANM
"Scootaloo! Come on out, Squirt!"
Nightlark snarled slightly, her wings furling and unfurling as she frantically limped about. Her chest burned with each step and her body was in agony; searching for her great granddaughter in the midday heat and light was not a natural thing for a batpony to do, to say the least. It was something of a relief, hence, to have stepped into the cool darkness of the Everfree, although the realisation that searching here meant Scootaloo had not been found elsewhere was a painful one.
No filly—and an Equestrian, rather than a bat pony, to boot—would be able to survive in there for long. Not alone, at least.
Nightlark sighed and then threw her head back as she released a high pitched cry, her ears flicking for a response. When Iolite's equally pained reply came, a sound which could be translated as signifying a lack of success, the old mare then moaned and hung her heavy head—and then it struck her.
It was something of an unpleasant scent to a bat pony, that of the pegasi race. They were so similar, yet the differences were subtle and enough to make a mare scrunch up her nose in disgust—not for the smell itself, but for the race that it belonged to. Of all the Equestrians the pegasi were the most loathed by the bats, and vice versa; each side saw the other as something of a cheap rip off of their species, for lack of a better word, and both had something of a stubborn streak so as not to back down. But right now, despite Nightlark's ingrained distaste for the ponies of Equestria, this particular scent held the soft hint of scooter oil.
"Scootaloo!" Nightlark gasped, her eyes suddenly alight as she shot forwards. With her nose close to the ground she sniffed about wildly, just about able to pick up the subtle traces of the filly's scent until, at long last she found her—and promptly gasped at the sight.
"Nanna!" Scootaloo cried as the elderly mare all but fell into the clearing in which she now sat, a big grin on her face. She was a filly who had stolen a cookie from the cookie jar, but equally a filly who was proud of getting the prize in the first place. "Nanna, look what I found! Isn't it cool!"
Nightlark's mouth fell open in a small 'o' as she stepped closer, her wings now folded to her side as she looked up at the tree before her. It towered over everything else that grew here and was easily the healthiest specimen for miles around, but it was not that which earned her awe. Rather, it was the faintly glowing yellow runes which were scratched onto the tree's trunk that had stolen her focus. When she approached, she held out a hoof and touched them gently, marvelling in the coolness of them under her hoof—until her eyes landed on one particular rune, carved into the middle of the batch, and she drew backwards slowly. It did not glow as the others did, nor did it give off any heat.
"What are they, Nanna?"
Nightlark was quiet and took a step backwards before she looked down at the filly, her face a frown. "I... This never happened before," she whispered, rubbing behind her ears. Her gaze darted between the filly and the runes unstoppably, and each time that she did so her discomfort only heightened. At the filly's impatient cough, however, she forced herself to continue. "This... This is the Memoire Tree, Scootaloo," she began, her words hesitant. "It is a sacred place where the village used to come, back when I was a filly, to say goodbye to their dead. Some of these runes are new; I assume that a few bat ponies, who still know the art of runic carving and value tradition, still do."
Scootaloo frowned. "Did they not have a funeral, then?"
Nightlark shook her head. "Let me explain, sweetheart. The funeral, in our old tradition, was only the first stage in sending off a loved one. Though usually the ceremony would be enough to send a spirit to the next life, some would still linger. And that is where this tree comes in... You see the runes carved into its trunk, yes?" Scootaloo nodded and shuffled closer, touching them lightly with a hoof. "Well, those runes are special. Each rune is for a specific pony, and each rune is different. Each rune tells of the deceased's greatest talent or most admirable quality; it is personal. And then, over the top of it a second symbol is carved; the rune for life, which takes away any life left over from the lingering soul and, in turn, rejuvinates the Memoire Tree. The tree is made healthier, and the confused spirit is pushed from the land of the living to continue its journey."
Scootaloo nodded slowly, trying to take it all in. After a few moments of being quiet, she then asked, "So why are the runes glowing?"
Nightlark stepped closer and frowned, tracing the unlit rune with her hoof. "I do not know, little filly. Maybe it has something to do with you; you must be special, somehow." As she reached the bottom of the rune, Nightlark pulled away and stared at it closely before she gasped quietly. "But this rune here... it has been tampered with. That is why it is not glowing like the others."
"How do you know, Nanna?"
Nightlark looked down at Scootaloo quietly and smiled. "I was there when it was carved, squirt. I have thought of the rune each day of my whole life."
"Woah," Scootaloo said, her eyes wide. "That's a lot of days!"
Nightlark laughed quietly and pulled the pegasus filly to her side with a hoof. If it had been anyone but her family, she would not have even considered doing so. "Yes, it is." She held her tongue for a moment before she then said, "We'd better get you home, Scootaloo. Everypony is worried; you should not have run off as you did."
Scootaloo hung her head, a small blush on her cheeks. "Sorry, Nanna." She then hopped to her hooves and began to canter on the spot, but before she could run off Nightlark grabbed her tail with her teeth.
"That's alright, little filly, but I want you to promise me something. Okay?" At Scootaloo's nod, she finished with, "Please, don't mention this tree to anyone else. Not yet. It... It can be our little secret, yeah?"
Scootaloo grinned and nodded eagerly, at which Nightlark laughed as well and then began to push the filly onwards, giving a shrill cry so as to alert Iolite to Scootaloo's being found. Once she had done so, and had heard the relief-filled reply, she stepped out of the clearing herself and felt the magic dissipate.
"That was weird, huh, Nanna?" Scootaloo chirped as she skipped along, buzzing her little wings feebly every few steps. Nightlark couldn't help but nod.
"Very much so, little one. Very much so."
967 ANM
"This," Pop began as he waved his hoof in the air infront of himself, "is the Memoir Tree. When I was a kid it was a pretty big deal, and... Well, I figured that it might trigger some memories or something."
"Wow," Dakota whispered, her eyes wide and ears pricked forwards at the sight. As she brushed through the foliage and into the clearing, however, she couldn't help but yelp when the carved symbols on the tree's trunk began to glow ever so faintly yellow. Pop and Ink reacted with just as much surprise, but the former was the most affected.
"What the! Luna's feathers, something's wrong here! This isn't meant to happen, the— wait." Pop stepped closer ever so cautiously and touched his claw to the sole unlit rune. "Why is this not lit up?"
Dakota whimpered quietly and stepped backwards, then frowning when the lights died as she did so. She pressed a hoof experimentally back inside the clearing and watched with perplexed fear as the lights came on once again—and then turned her gaze to Pop, who looked, in a word, agitated.
"You always were a special one, weren't you, Dakota?" Pop murmured, his eyes slightly narrowed. He then smiled and walked past her, but not before he shook the claw of her wing with his own, puny in comparison. "Well... Enjoy yourself, but don't... Don't touch too much. I'll see you 'round, and it's good to see you again after so many years." Pop winked as he unhooked his claw. "I just hope you can remember me at some point, okay?"