Bloodwood

No birds sang as the morning sun tried its very hardest to break through the thick canopy above. No insects hummed, or clicked, or chirped. The dense foliage clawed and chewed at the brilliant rays, reducing them to little more than a sliver of their former glory when they finally managed to punch through as little more than a wan, pink glow. What had originally appeared to be black tree trunks in the dark were actually a deep cherry in the natural light of the sun. But even now that the late morning had come, one could mistake the time for evening, or early dawn with how little light actually reached the forest floor. In the light of the sun that made its way down to the camp, a lantern that had been left out overnight could still be seen, its glow traveling a short distance to be lost in the permeating soft light. The embers of the night’s fire had long since died; not even smoke rose from the greyish-pink ashes. They had all turned in quite early.

The fire had not burned well the previous night. Fallen leaves and some cut underbrush was all that had been readily available, along with the occasional fallen limb. Most of what had been gathered had been too moist to burn, and most of the crew had been too tired to bother with anything but setting up their tents. The majority of the supplies had been left at the edge of the gorge beside the lift for the same reason that there had only been one fire, instead of the normal three. The fact that the sun was up, but none of the loggers were, was testament to how tired the crew had been the previous night, and still were.

With a canyon entering the depression, and another one leaving, the flowing water carried within wound its way through the lowest point of the gorge, which was right where camp had been struck. They had set up in the crook of the small river that snaked along through the ravine. Despite the fact that it was almost small enough to be considered a stream, the gentle gurgle of water was a constant interruption to the seemingly-perpetual silence that blanketed the forest. But more importantly, it was a water source for the camp.

The signature whine of a tent flap being unzipped was the first note struck in the waking camp. A brown stallion sniffed, grunted, then coughed and dragged himself out into the cool, moist morning air. The sound stirred another, and a second later, Spark’s cream-colored head poked out from an adjacent tent.

“Awh hell, Brick,” the cream stallion huffed, stepping out of his tent with a slow stretch and a pop from his back. “It’s hardly even morning yet. You up for a piss?”

The bearded brown stallion shook his head. “It can’t be morning...” Turning his chin up, his still-glassy eyes peered up at the tree canopy. “Lookit’ where the light’s falling.” He jabbed a hoof out, then waved it back and forth to cast a pathetic shadow on the forest floor, little more than a slightly-darker blur. “It’s gotta be... almost ten at least.”

Spark sat back and groaned. “Shiiiiiiiiiit, did we sleep in? Rusty’s gonna be bent.”

“Rusty ain’t up yet.” Brick motioned towards the stallion in question’s tent. “Think the light threw him off too.”

The voices of the two had roused the camp, perhaps a dozen or so ponies lying around awake, not wanting to get up and waiting for the sound of movement from another to do so. Now tent flaps were unzipping left and right, ponies crawling their sorry rumps out of each in different states of disarray. “Who’s on breakfast?” a drowsy voice called.

“Wasn’t it Briar?” said another.

“Piss off!” a scratchy-voiced stallion half-shouted from a still-zippered tent. “I did breakfast yesterday!”

Rusty groaned as he dragged himself out into the open air, peering about the camp with a look of mild frustration. “It was Ratchet and Tidal’s day for breakfast!” he boomed. Weaving his way through the tents, the stallion made his way to the smoldering fire pit and sat back to ready his morning cigarette. “Ratchet, Tidal!” he called. “Get on breakfast. And while they’re doin’ that, I want most of ya’ to head back to the lift and haul a load of our shit over here so we can start settin’ up the permanent buildings.” He took a slow drag on his cigarette, eyes narrowing as he peered up at the tree canopy. “...I want one of you to stay back with me. We’ll get a saw goin’ and knock down some of these trees—get some daylight down here and figure out what we’re workin’ with. Hell if I’ll have us all sleepin’ in like that again.”

Rusty stepped back as Blazer gave the starter cord a hearty tug. The small engine rumbled, but didn’t turn over. Blazer sniffed, then reached up and moved his earmuffs from his neck to his head. “Been awhile since we busted out the thirty-six incher!” he half yelled, despite the fact that the motor wasn’t running yet. Adjusting the chainsaw in the shoulder harness it was fixed to, Blazer worked a greasy switch on the side, pulled the choke, then gave the cord another good pull. Another rumble and a small puff of smoke, but nothing.

Blazer glanced back at Rusty and grinned. The blade hanging off to the side of the brown stallion was about as long as he was. The saw itself was an unsightly, heavy thing meant for throttling through thick trees. Even the strongest of ponies would be hard-pressed to lift it without a support rig. The rigs were standard enough—a harness went over the shoulders and buckled tight around the chest and haunches. A geared contraption with a sway-arm also supported itself from the shoulders, and braced against the chest, and the ungainly saw’s steel casing was fitted with an anchor point for the arm to latch onto. The arm itself could then be locked in place for the sake of providing rigid support. The idea was simple enough, and quite effective—support the weight of the machine on the user’s body, and free up their forelegs for manipulating the saw while still providing a free range of movement.

“They really do remind me of redwoods,” Rusty muttered as he peered up the length of the trunk. “Just shorter... an’ darker.”

“What!?” Blazer yelled. He gave the cord one last yank, and the engine rumbled to life with a puff of gray-blue smoke from the exhaust. He gave the trigger a good goose, then turned and gave Rusty a pleased sort of grin. “Let’s cut some wood!”

Snickering, Rusty nodded his head, then waved his hoof towards the dark trunk. “Have at it!”

Blazer revved the engine again, then hit the clutch and sent the chain spinning around the guide bar. He grasped the handle firmly in his teeth, then took the other one with a hoof, and stepped forward to plant the whirring chain against the trunk. Immediately, the engine’s pitch lowered under the sudden strain placed on it, and a thick spray of red-black bark spilled onto the leafy ground as the blade dug in.

Rusty turned away and looked back towards the camp, tilting his nose upwards. The wafting scent of eggs and potatoes on the grill was unmistakable in the air, and the stallion drew in a long, slow breath of it.

“Hey Rusty!” Ratchet shouted, his voice barely heard over the bray of the chainsaw in the background. “Come get one of these eggs! We didn’t bring enough to last, you know!”

There was a sudden commotion from Blazer’s direction as the stallion gave a surprisingly high-pitched yelp. The saw had jerked in his grasp, slamming his shoulder up against the trunk of the tree. The engine lurched, then sputtered, a thick, pulpy red mist of sawdust spewing from the trunk onto the motor housing, accompanied with a cloud of gray smoke from the blade and the scent of burning oil. With a whip-like crack, the chain broke away and snapped back, lashing across the stallion’s foreleg to produce a second, sharp cry from him. The clutch disengaged, and the motor lugged for a second, then died.

Blazer unclipped his harness supports and staggered away with a sharp gasp as Rusty spun to face him. The stallion held his left leg a few inches off the ground, then gave it a shake as it started to bleed. “Fucking shit!” He threw a glare at the saw, now quiet, hanging from the trunk of the tree; a gentle trail of white smoke wafted from the exhaust, the broken chain curled back like a claw from where it had snapped. “It bit me!” He sat back on his haunches and gestured his good foreleg flagrantly towards the offending trunk. “It’s not even notched yet!”

“What the hell did ya’ do, Blaze?” Rusty started towards the trunk, lowering his head to peer at the chainsaw wedged into it. “There ain’t no hospitals out here.”

“Oh wow, keen observation. You don’t think I know that!?” The stallion sat back with a wince, raising his forehoof to glare at the wound as more blood formed, quickly enveloping the lower part of his hoof. “No way it pinched the blade less than a foot in.” He bit his lip and shook a heavy spatter of blood onto the leaves below. “Fuck, this is gonna need stitches.”

Rusty gave him a firm pat on the back, then nodded towards the camp. “Go get into the first aid supplies an’ get yourself some breakfast. I’ll grab an extra and finish the cut.” He shot the smaller stallion that crooked smirk of his. “Operator error.”

Blazer turned away with a snort. “Fuck off, Rusty.”

The auburn stallion chuckled as he made his way up to the resilient tree, stopping only long enough to light a cigarette before he grasped the handle of the stuck saw and gave it a good yank.

It didn't move an inch.

“Shit...” Turning, the stallion ran a hoof through his already-ruffled mane, then turned away and started back for the camp. “You really managed to fuck it up, Blaze! Good thing we got a spare here—the rest are still over at the lift! Somepony bring some wedges and help me out with this!”

While Blazer busied himself with tending to the gash on his foreleg, Rusty slipped into one of the assist harnesses, buckling the straps across his chest, then attaching the support arm to the proper anchors. Over to the small pile of necessities he went and snatched the other chainsaw, then it was back to the scene of the crime for round two.

Rusty paused halfway there, the cigarette in his mouth drooping a little bit as his eyes fell on the patch of spindly saplings that had formed just below where the saw protruded from the trunk. From that spot, a thin trail of new growth, hardly more than four inches high, trailed back towards camp in a somewhat-straight line, only changing direction to tactfully weave around standing trees.

Rusty froze. One hoof tightened his grip on the saw, and he slowly turned his head to look back towards the camp. “...Blaze!”

“Yeah!?” the stallion shouted from somewhere out of sight.

Rusty rubbed his eyes, then took a long, shaky drag on his cigarette. “You still bleedin!?’” He took a few shambling steps to the side, craning his neck off in the direction of Blaze’s voice.

“What the hell do you think!? Of course I'm still bleeding! Why do you care?”

Rusty shook his head, eyes traveling all the way back back down the odd sapling trail, back to the cluster of growth at the base of the scarred tree. “Yeah, well... stop it.” The stallion shook his head a second time, then kicked and stomped at a few of the leafy-green stems that were protruding from the ground.

The chainsaw started on the first pull, and Rusty made short work of moving to the other side of the trunk to start the cut. It went as well as one could imagine, the sharpened blade cutting through the moist wood at a smooth, if not slow pace. The notch went quickly, and with the help of some wedges and blocks, a little past three quarters of the way through, a deafening crack sounded and a shudder traveled through the ground as the trunk began to lean. Rusty killed the motor and stepped back, giving a loud, sharp whistle through his teeth in warning.

It started slow as the trunk split and the moist wood snapped away from the base. All eyes in the camp turned to the leaning giant as Rusty put even more distance between himself and the splintering tree trunk. Blazer’s saw fell from the notch it had been wedged in as the weight was taken off the blade, and somewhere in the camp, a pony whooped. A vicious snapping and crackling filled the air above as the branches of the tree, entwined with hundreds others and tore free, leaves and twigs and buds falling like rain. Then, the trunk fell, almost graciously, to strike the ground with a mighty thud that shook the surrounding forest.

A ten foot shaft of brilliant, late morning sunlight cast itself down through the break in the foliage, lighting the forest floor a brilliant yellow that was blinding to the gloom-adjusted eye. Comparatively, the surrounding forest might as well have been shrouded by night.

“Hey!” sounded Tidal’s voice from camp. “You found the light switch! Where was it!?”

Shielding his eyes from the sunlight with a hoof, Rusty squinted at the base of the fallen tree, then stepped forward and placed one forehoof on the stump, peering down at the deep red wood. It was a light-crimson sort of color, and beautiful to look at; every ring was distinguished by sharp lines of a much darker red, almost black in comparison.

“Gonna make some nice cabinets with that?” Shayne seemed to blend right out of the trees as she stepped into the ragged circle of light. Rusty, having tensed at her words, narrowed his brows and shot her a sideways glare. Shayne just smirked back as she padded up, then sat herself down beside the stump, leaning over to idly trace one forehoof over the rings of the tree.

Rusty watched that hoof for a second or two, then dragged his gaze up to meet the mare’s yellow-green eyes. “Hey, I just cut it. I don’t decide what to do with it.”

“Story of my life, big guy.” The mare pushed back to her hooves, then hopped up on the trunk and gave it a good firm tap with a hind leg. “Sturdy.”

Sucking at the butt of his spent cigarette for a second, Rusty lifted a brow, then spit it to the side. “You seem better today.”

“Since when do you care?” She snorted, then sat back and shot him a forced grin. “No. No not really. I hate this place. I am very glad that I can hear you guys, and the river.” The grin remained, though it faltered for a second. “I’m fine. Drop the subject.”

He quirked a brow. “Drop the subject?”

“Yes.”

Tidal joined the party with a carefree laugh as he approached, motioning to the wide stump in which Shayne was currently standing on. “And down goes the first oak! Wait, these are oaks, right?” He blinked, then shrugged. “Anyways, hey Rusty.” His eyes snapped to Shayne. “Hey, hot stuff. What’s up?”

“Certainly not your life expectancy if you call me that again.” She didn’t even bother to turn her eyes towards him.

Rusty restrained a snicker. “I thought you were on breakfast, Tidal.”

The gray stallion nodded. “I am. I came over here to tell ya’ to come eat. The others should be showing up soon, and you’re gonna want to get those scrambled eggs before the others do.” His eyes fell on the downed tree, and he gave a low whistle. “That’s some nice wood. How many rings do you think that stump has?”

Rusty hefted the chainsaw, then nodded back towards the camp. “Don’t wanna know. Come on—let’s eat.”

Crunch checked off on another line scrawled into the notebook he held in his left wing, trotting along beside Rusty as the larger stallion circled the camp. “So, we’ve set up the dinner tent, and storage... oh, and also cleared an area for the mil saw, but they’re still trying to figure out how to get that into the gorge so we probably won’t have that until tomorrow.”

Rusty nodded his head absentmindedly as Crunch rattled off his list, eyes on the massive trunk that he’d felled earlier that day. Ponies were gathered around it now, cutting off limbs and trimming up some of the larger branches, that were, in their own right, small trees as well.

“Might I ask why we’re cutting on-site?” Crunch asked, pausing for a second to peer up at Rusty. “I mean, in most cases, aren’t the logs hauled away to a separate location to be cut?” The stallion threw a timid glance over at Rusty, who shrugged, before Crunch continued. “I mean, not to imply I know this industry. I just mean like... from what I read.”

“Usually.” Rusty leaned himself up against a smaller tree, then looked over at Crunch. “These logs are too big to haul out individually with anything short of... hell, iunno,’ a damn airship? Our deal is that we cut ‘em, mill ‘em, stack ‘em up all nice, and cover ‘em, then we provide coordinates so that a second party can come in and pick them up.” He paused to drag on his cigarette. “It’s an... unconventional approach.”

Crunch nodded slowly, then squinted a bit and glanced off through the trees. “How are they going to get them out of the gorge?”

“Pegasus teams? Maybe an airship?” Rusty shrugged. “Hell if I know. They’re not payin’ me for that part, so it ain’t my problem.” He sat back on his rump, then pulled out a crushed pack of cigarettes and shook one out. He lit the end of the fresh one with the smoldering end of the old one, then spit the old one aside and immediately replaced it.

Crunch looked mildly concerned as he nodded towards the nearly-empty package. “I’ve seen you go through at least three of those since we started. How many did you bring out here?”

The large stallion let out a cackle that turned into a phlegmy cough. “Plenty. Trust me, kid, you do not wanna see me without my nicotine.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” a new voice chimed in. Rusty and Crunch both turned to the mud-brown earth pony hobbling towards them. “A year or so ago,” Blazer continued with a chuckle, “someone in camp thought it would be a good idea to prank ol’ Rusty here by hiding his cigarettes.”

Rusty shifted his weight from one side to the other as he glanced away. He huffed a cloud of smoke, then shot Blazer a sharp sort of look. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“He was a damned raggedy mess that morning. Ears folded, bags under his eyes, hackles all ruffled as he poked around the camp looking for them. You see, he knew someone had hid them, and he was trying not to give them the satisfaction of asking. That lasted ‘till about lunchtime.” He bubbled over into a chuckle while Rusty angrily sucked on his cigarette. “We gave the things back the next day ‘cause he threatened to cut everyone’s pay.” Crunch started to laugh as well, but one look from Rusty silenced the orange pegasus.

“How’s your leg doing, Blaze?” Rusty gruffed.

Blaze reached the two of them, then gingerly sat back on his haunches and lifted the bandaged appendage off the ground to wave it casually back and forth. “Hurts like a bitch. Ma stitched it up.” He shuddered. “Told me to keep off it for a while.” He set his hoof carefully back down on the forest floor, then flicked his eyes downwards and examined the undergrowth with a certain sort of unease. “Finally stopped bleeding.” He bit his lip, glanced around, then cleared his throat. “Rusty... could I talk to you alone for a moment?”

Crunch blinked, then adjusted his glasses with the tip of a wing and frowned at Rusty. Rusty looked over at Crunch, then shrugged his shoulders and nodded off towards a temporary structure that was being erected on the other side of the camp. “Go make sure those idiots are settin’ it up right.”

“But I don’t know how it’s supposed to—” Crunch locked eyes with Rusty, then cleared his throat and nodded. “Right, yeah I’ll just...” he motioned off to the side with his head, turning in that direction to leave.

Blazer waited until Crunch was out of earshot, then scooted himself a bit closer to Rusty and leaned in. “Rusty, this is gonna sound fuckin’ stupid, but I think these trees have it out for me.”

Rusty snorted and almost fumbled his cigarette. His lips caught it by the very tip, and he played an awkward game of lip-gymnastics trying to get it back to a safe position in the corner of his mouth before he spoke. “Don’t fuck with me, Blaze. What’s going on?”

Blazer glanced around a second time, then added in a low, urgent-sounding voice, “I’m serious. There isn’t a single damn breath of wind down in this gorge, but every time I walk by a tree branch, I swear I can see the fucking things move! Like... just in the corner of my eye. If I watch for it then it doesn’t happen, but I swear, any time I let my guard down I can see that shit in my peripherals. It’s scaring the shit out of me.”

Rusty sucked in a cloud of smoke, then let it spill casually out through his nostrils as he fixed Blazer with a long, pondering look. “...How much blood did you lose?”

“Oh come on, Rusty!”

“I’m serious! How much blood did you lose?”

The brown stallion huffed, then glanced away and gave his shoulders a hesitant shrug. “I don’t know... enough to fill a cup, enough to feel woozy. Shit, I don’t know, Rusty, I was bleeding like a stuck pig.”

Nodding, Rusty raised a massive hoof and set it on Blazer’s shoulder to give the stallion a few rough pats. “You already know what I’m gonna say, then. Blood loss makes your head swim.” He pointed his hoof towards camp. “Go get yourself a good drink of water from the creek and ask Ma for the leftovers from lunch, then lie down. Rest up a bit.”

Blazer opened his mouth like he wanted to argue, but closed it once he met Rusty’s eyes and turned his gaze out to the forest. “Will do.”

The mud-colored pony hesitated for another moment, then stood with a slow carefulness and started towards the center of camp.

Rusty watched him go. A distant look crept into his eyes, and soon enough, he wasn’t watching Blaze, but rather, gazing blankly at a spot where he’d once been. The ash that clung to the tip of his cigarette was slowly swallowing up the white paper, growing longer and heavier.