Fallout Equestria: A Raiders Mark

Chapters

Surviving
Some Wear and Tear
Unseen by Those that Watch
A Stealthy Approach
Rings on a Bigtop's Crown
Inside the Beast
Reborn Again
Rip and Tear
Nothing Lies Here
What a Time to Be Alive

Surviving

As the sun rose over a dry and crusted land, tiny grains of grey sand made their westward journey over the cracked and mottled surface of The Qual in wispy lines and ebbs.

The air like it did every other day of the year turned to its grungy shade of brownish-green in the blazing noonday sun, slowly turning the ground beneath to a sickly shade of vomit grey. The ground itself crackling up like flesh under a torch.

Any grit or grime that didn’t find purchase in these etchings of solar punishment found their way up and over the hills to the plains of a once great lake. Each grain seeking its final resting place in the wastelands beyond.

Not a sound was heard from this blasted wasteland. Almost a hundred years of unrecorded punishment had driven all life from the once temperate marshes and lowlands into the mountains beyond. The now hazy horizons merely showed the peaks of mountaintops, as a constant reminder to anything below of the unimaginable distances the landscape entailed.

The only thing one could find out in the dry reaches was the thirst. The calm silence. The pure feeling of isolation. Always under the taunting presence of the clouds surrounding the southeastern crags.

It was in this desolate horror that a small colt trotted. Head down, covered in a ragged shawl made from scavenged wagon linings.

Nothing could be seen under the patchwork brim of leather and vinyl except for the faintest glimmer of amber eyes and the stunted end of a parched muzzle caked in grime. Outsiders would surely have marked the lone figure as a walking corpse, neither dead or alive. But if anyone managed to look closely enough they might see a few drops of sweat manage to escape from the folds of the shawl.

A brown coat of earthy hues hung suspended above the ground on thin weak legs. Tufts of matted greenish grey tail hairs blew in the winds with abandon as one by one they were scorched free by the elements and the sundering heat.

When the wind abated, a small sparkle-cola canteen could be heard sloshing quietly in the air. The caps constant ping against the tin a steady reminder of progress, never straying out of sync with the legs that carried it.

Twin saddlebags ill strapped to the frail haunches of its owner half hid the meandering legs and blurred the fur with sweat. Even with the leathers almost completely empty the fur matted and rubbed free under the grueling march as the hours rolled on and on and the miles disappeared like the beads sweat on the sands.

The two small eyes were locked forwards. Gazing without truly seeing the ground being covered, to the distant cracks and blemishes of the lake bed beyond. Tiny mounds of piled earth and sand dotted the nearly pristine view and like everything else they soon disappeared under his hooves, and were left behind.

After some time the little colt tilted his head up at a lull in the wind, barely taking in the surroundings, and stretched his neck to its fullest extent hoping to snatch a glimpse of his unknown destination. Tiny grains of grit and browned grass speckled his muzzle in warring patches. Much of which stuck to the corners of his eyes and nose. Lifting a hoof, he made to wipe away the caked on grime. Before he could however, a sudden gust of wind lifted even more sand from the ground and aimed it directly into his upturned nose.

Hacking and coughing, he spat out a wad of the grime into the dirt and fervently tried rubbing his nose and face free of the granules that always stuck irritatingly close to the gummy corners of his eyes.

A second later and a mildly cleaner face the better, he looked forlornly at the ground in between his two front hooves and watched the last traces of the wad he had spit, bake from the earth. Even in the cover of his shadow the moisture was soaked up greedily by the wanting sun. He sighed and started forward again wishing that, if anything, he'd have just stallion’ed up and ate the grit… if only to have not lost that grimy glob of moisture.

It was maybe an hour later that the colt risked stopping at what used to be a small hillock and rested under the shade afforded by an old oaken post driven into the dirt by hooves that were far older than he could have possibly imagined.

The the dirty saddlebags he carried were now lying in a heap at his hooves as his muzzle roamed around inside. In a moment a strip of meat looking nearly identical to the bag was pulled free from its holdings and laid next to the canteen. After picking a bramble from his foreleg he managed find the strength to reach down and grab the meat in his hooves.

He sat, chewed, and rested in the silence as the post shaded a hardly a third of his cloaked head from the beating afternoon sun.

Hours later he took the last sip from his canteen. The bitter liquid dribbled down his aching throat and stung the back of his nostrils but he grimaced through the ordeal anyways. After strapped the canteen back into its place he continued on. The once quiet sloshing sound was replaced by the metallic ping of empty metal but died from the air as the wind picked up. The canteen fluttered haphazardly like a limp bit of cloth as more and more sand blew into the colts hooded face and packed itself into the recesses of the garment.

A dry sob could be heard, but it could have easily been the wind.

Much later, the colt sat alone in the middle of a huge stretch of what once was a marsh. Old fossilized cattails stuck up here and there. Each one as sharp as a needle and sometimes just as thin.

The sun was hanging nearly at its lowest point in the sky and bathed the land in a sickly glimmer. It's halo just now beginning to glow with the telltale orange of evening the mountaintops started to outwardly glow like the tips of an unearthly fire. Soon it would dip low enough to not be a hindrance to the cold night air that wound wind its way down from the high peaks and onto the flats. But that would not happen just yet.

For now, the pile of rags and pony sat. Motionless. His eyes hung in a shallow gaze towards a rock about the size of a playing card . The pointed end of a well kept blade held in between a weathered set of fore-hooves was dutifully aimed right towards at the stone that lay just in front of him. The winds had shifted direction letting more grime and dirt built up against his tiny rump and into the folds of his hood but he refused to move from where he sat to shake the accumulation away. Grit achingly wedged itself in every uncomfortable place imaginable but his hooves never moved an inch.

Almost in a state befitting the stone he stayed, willing the seconds onwards with his small, hurried heartbeats. The darkening navy sky seemed to mock his presence by sheer lack of movement and even the last rays of light seemed to stand still as if the world was on pause. The wind died and everything was still for a time.

The specter of evening crept closer to the foal. Breaths quickened in anticipation. A small amount of sand sifted from his hood back to its earthly home as the sun's haze faded from the ground in front of him.

When twilight fell he stuck.

The blade sailed forward in a decisive ark fueled solely by desperation and fear. It struck home with a sickening crunch and an errant spat of blood hit the cooling earth to slowly soak in.

Shrieking sounds burst to life as his thrust skewered the tiny creature to the dirt beyond. An ear rending scream akin to a dozen forks on glass emanated from the end of the knife as the small thing thrashed about in furious anguish. Rearing into the golden rays of sunset the colt lept up and brought his hind hoof onto the creatures skull, crushing it utterly as its magical camouflage dissolved from its wriggling form.

Silence. The creature wriggled no more as the colt deftly lopped off the two pronged stinger at the base of the lizard and flung it from his steel a distance away. Safe from the poisonous danger his fuzzy mouth latched onto the still dying creature and started to suck at the coppery juices before any could manage to dribble towards the ground.

A few minutes of determined slurping and gnawing ensued and only ended when the lizard was merely a shell of its former self. A tough, mangled strip of leather and bone that hardly resembled its former shape he bit at the tough interior eeking out the last of the available sustenance. If he could've eaten the lizard whole he would have, but the tough leather resisted his every attempt to peel into tiny "edible" strips.

He thought about taking the knife that was still at his side to cut the leather into pieces for consumption but thought better of the endeavor and instead was used to work the small embedded bones out of the carcass. His mouth greedily crunched them along with the rest of his meal. Eventually after a few vein moments of search he was forced to give up the hunt for more edible scraps and placed both the carcass and knife back into his saddlebags.

Somewhat refreshed, he wiped his muzzle with a fetlock and licked at the dried fluids that still managed to cling to the dirty fur. Looking up, a contented sigh escaped his chest as he once again started to trot his tired limbs into the distance. This time however with a bit more fervor.

Some Wear and Tear

Darkness was again on the horizon in full.

In the heavy stillness that permeated the night, miles upon untold miles of dry landscape kept itself deathly silent in the gloom. Nothing moved even as the wind picked up from a lull, save for a lone jumble of cloth in the shifting sands of night.

Quietly the colt lifted his muzzle from the dirt where it had lain. As he did so a small grimace flashed across his face following a meek gasp that managed to escaped between his parched lips.

Cracking a grime caked eyelid he stared out into the desert air with a tired gaze. Only a few rays of waning light shone from over the peaks as the moon slouched its way over the peaks and cast a glittering splash of silver on the on the opposite mountains. Minutes crawled by but the small colt never moved. Content to sit and watch the halo of morning creep up from the moonlit mountains to the east.

From behind the folds of his hood he watched as crags of dirt broke free from their entrenched holdings in the fur around his nose to flake off and be carried away by the soft breeze. Small flakes of the caked dirt also managed to peel from the edges of the wrappings and duly followed suit into the great space beyond the rim of his vision.

He shifted his forelegs gingerly out from under his head where they had been resting and moved to slowly arch his back. Little snaps and pops broke the quiet as numerous joints in his back gave way in a delightful little sputter. Suppressing a low groan he bit his lip as the tired muscles in his rear legs refused to obey the order to stand.

The numb limbs still not part of his waking movements, he instead contented himself to at least get his front half off of the ground in a half stretch. Wiry muscles screamed in protest but he managed to liven his body enough to sit upright on his numb lower half. Having won that minor victory his gaze wafted over to the dunes as the wind swayed his tail hairs about in haphazard swirls.

Wavering a bit, he lifted a hoof to his hood and meagerly gave it a soft pap. A cloud of sand and debris too heavy for the breeze to carry rained from the folds and pooled at his hooves. A great deal of what stayed would wear off in time and let himself relax with that little task done. He stared out into the great beyond and marveled as he often did at the suns rays as they raced along to ground to meet him. In a flash they were there and then gone, gliding onwards towards the feet of the yonder mountains. Already the air had gained its early morning red tinge.

Thinking on that, he looked back to his hind legs and grimaced. Copious red stains had streaked from his haunches to the tips of his hooves. Still wet, the blood itself looked parched as it eeked slowly from the wounds. The small bundle groaned outwardly into the morning, annoyance clearly betraying its abundance in the tone.

Tiredly he turned and blinked his eyes as the straps of his harness came into focus. All over the rough leathers and cotton were matted smears of red and brown that mixed together with the grime. Through the break in his stained rags he could see a small spattering of bright crimson red.

As his teeth deftly maneuvered the article aside a strong fume of blood and sweat rose to meet his nostrils. A coppery taste immedietly stuck to the back of his throat as he slightly recoiled from the rank smell.

Holding a breath, his pressed his muzzle forward into the smell and gingerly peeled back the layers of his ratted coverings. What he saw when he managed to pull them back far enough brought up a small sound of dismay.

Long red ropes of skin had been rubbed raw under the nearly empty saddlebags. Most of which were rubbed completely clean of fur. With a grimace of disgust the colt could see bright red slowly seep up from the freshly disturbed wounds. It seemed that him sitting up had agitated them enough to let fresh blood flow into the already matted fuzz on his back and sides.

Whimpering quietly, he bit back a tear and finished removing the offending rags from the red mess on his flank. He couldn't help but wonder if he had done something wrong with the buckles. No one had ever taught him how to properly buckle the brass fittings, so he had attempted to do it himself. The results of which were painfully clear now that he knew he had inevitably secured them wrong.

It was already a steep price to pay and as he turned to look at the other haunch a sense of dread filled his stomach as he spotted similar damage. A image of a book cover flashed into his vision, a red and blistered hide covered in boils and rot, all encapsulated by the bolded words at the bottom. Infection Prevention.

The little colt couldn't help but feel queasy. His brow suddenly feeling hotter than it had a second before, and his sides ached in tandem with the panic that suddenly rose to fight him. Heavy breaths accompanied a squeak that was quickly carried off into the wind. The only thing he could see was the word; almost roiling in his brain.

He could hear a voice, tinkling like a bell, telling him to "always clean up a scrape!" after he got one. His panicked eyes flew to his sides, and flew up and down the seeping ridges in horror. A diddy from a radio rose tohis mind. No soap, no hope it sang.

No water to wash with honey.

With great effort he forced his eyes away from the wounds on his flank, the matted fur and blood implanting itself into his brain as he slowly settled back to the ground on shaking hooves.

He felt sick, but as he stared into the brightening day ahead and the relative calm that pervaded it. Cautiously he let the calm descended over his thoughts. The heat he felt in his stomach slowly abated as he tried to think of nothing. Just him and the blackness behind his eyes. A tiny him, and the big, empty blackness full of nothing. Especially not book covers.

He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly before sitting back up to sullenly go through the task of laboriously removing his trappings one by one.

As the bits of weathered hood and the leather strapping's were shucked from his hide he threw them without much fanfare into a pile at his hooves. Each and every buckle he moved to release sent a sharp bite of pain up his sides as his work went on. Old blood oozed to mix with the new on the tip of his muzzle as he progressively unearthed the damage he had done.

Parched lips and teeth drug each strap from the groove it had weathered into his sides. The grimy metallic taste stung his tongue as each buckle was popped free of its holdings and after what seemed like an eternity he finally stood bare in the oncoming heat of day as the extent of his nights trot was brought into the morning sun with agonized slowness.

A shiver shook his thin frame as he tenderly rubbed the sores and marks on his flank and back. Smoothing back the matted fur into place and giving the raw flesh some air to breath. A number of the joints in the ill fitted saddlebags had been digging right into the spot where his haunch met his stomach and a great swath of fur was rubbed free from where it once was; leaving only a mangy patch of fuzz surrounded by a raw patch of skin that sat on both sides of his body like a hoop. The feeling he got from it wasn't pain however, worse than any pain imaginable he felt something akin to death itself. It itched.

Screwing up his face into one of pert concentration, he refused the urge to rub the already raw skin any further to get at the itch. It was maddening. Like a thousand bugs below the surface with the sole intention to torture until he disturbed it. Shaking a bit he instead chose to work on the open wounds that lay on his back. Pulling out a strip of cloth from his hood, he went to the work of binding the marks as the morning drew on.

It was while he was dumping a bit of sun bleached stone dust he had gathered and ground onto the still seeping wounds that the the stars overhead finally winked out one by one overhead. From the light that crept further and further up into the heavens the glittering sea of diamonds seemed to protest the treatment with a fantastical display of beauty. He stared back at them, eyes reflecting the expanse of the cosmos, letting the waning cool of night sooth his aching muscles one last time.

Picking out a few constellations before they could finally disappear, his eyes wandered until a small easterly breeze softly interrupted his gazing. Sniffing the oncoming air he winced slightly.

The breeze, like every other day, smelt of something foul. As if a rank fire was at that very moment burning beneath the sands and only lacked the tangible signs of smoke or flame to show it. Thankfully, from his experience the full light of day seemed to burn these offending smells away, or at least mute them under the pervasive odor of baking earth. Around midday it was always tolerable again. Tolerable to a point.

His gaze inevitably followed the horizon to the barely lit clouds and then onwards to their distant grey-green tops. Towering masses of fluffed air, they always looked so alien to the small colt. The sky above was always clear, yet the clouds over there always looked so ready to rain.

Thinking back, he could just about remember reading a picture book or two that had those clouds in them. Rainclouds was always stenciled into the book with letters as colorful as the ponies that accompanied them.

His nose scrunched up in the dry desert air. The ones near the mountains never show any white or blue stuff falling from them, only a sheen of fog that waved back and forth once and a while. And on top of that there were no ponies with wings at them either. Watching intently the small colt spent a few minutes searching for the colors before shrugging his shoulders and turning back to his work.

He had never even seen anything like that in the picture books anyways. The bumpy mountains in the books were always green with white tops, Not the completely brown ones that mocked him daily from afar.

In a burst of activity the stale wind suddenly gusted, whipping around his small frame and rippling his mangy fur. The sudden change in wind shifted, and then managed to fully tip the pile of gear he sat by over. The rags secured inside the bags mercifully stayed with him but the clattering canteen was already almost gone from his reach. He leapt to grab it and just barely caught the chain in the crook of his hoof before it could fully blow away.

His stomach collided against the hard packed earth with a thud as the leap carried him with the wind. Grunting, canteen in an outstretched hoof, he slowly regained his breath. Without word, he stood up looking forlornly at his canteen as the cap's chain rattled emptily against the tin.

He wanted to throw it.

Even after leaping to its rescue it didn't matter, it still was, and would forever be empty. Anger seethed up in himself as he listened to the chain clink over and over into the empty tin.

Sighing, he moved to put the canteen in his mouth and sauntered the short distance back to the overturned pile of rubbish.

Luckily nothing else was light enough to have been carried away with the wind, which had by happenstance now suddenly died again to a trickle. The sand he had piled on top of the bags had thankfully kept them secure against the assault.

Rubbing the grit from his eyes, he dropped his canteen back down into the pile and turned to survey his future path. A small gully only a few lengths taller than he was had carved its way through the land a few miles ahead and broke the seemingly indistinguishable terrain into two sets of distinct landmasses.

The great fissure went east to west for as far as the eyes could see. The young colt assumed that it could go on farther, forever even, with how straight it seemingly looked. He sat and turned his head to the mountains. Perhaps it even ignored the mountains and just kept going.

It wasn’t until his eyes made contact with a glimmering speck of light just barely above the horizon that he stopped his gaze. Right ear twitching as if a rouge sound could be heard from the din he stared out into the wind and continued to rub a few of the lesser sores on his shoulder with a dirty hoof, never taking his eyes off the glinting speck. His head dipped to the ground ahead in contemplation.

Slowly he stood back up and shook a little to shake what dust he could from his fur. Gathering the little pile he had made, he bundled it back onto himself piece by piece.

Soon he was trotting again. This time however he wasn’t pointed towards the unknown distance ahead, but aimed straight towards the blinding speck of light on the horizon.

Hot air from the mountains beyond began to pick up along with the colts heart. Soon a canter formed out of the steady trot. His eyes soon reflecting less and less lights on the horizon as the heat of the day fully dissolved anything ahead into its permanent haze.

He reached the fissure quickly. A twist between a grimace and a grin formed on his small face as he clambered down and then up again past the fissure. A snarl puffed out of his muzzle as he pulled himself up and over the edge and onto the grimy green haze beyond.

Unseen by Those that Watch

It was entirely dark by the time a weary colt trudged his way through the first set of pits that heralded the outer limits of the camp.

A sleepless two days had dragged by while he laboriously made his way from the ravine to the shining speck of light. Hungry, sweaty, and exhausted the colt meandered to and fro through the piles of earth as he tried vainly to keep his mind on the task at hand.

Through the haze of drowsiness that threatened to overcome him he moved steadily onwards past more and more earthen mounds. Each one nearly identical to the last. They forced him to look overhead at the moon to keep his bearing and every time he did so a bit of the weariness abated as he gazed into the many pits and craters on its surface.

It wasn't long before this minute exertion was too much to bear and his head would inevitably fall back to limply hang near his chest. And every time he did the small curved shadows that lay beneath the piles of earth swam and swayed in his vision until he was nearly overcome with the lack of sleep. He knew that he needed to rest, but now was not the time.

Small miracles that at least he had a good way of staying awake even if the gathering fog threatened to overtake his mind. It was painfully obvious the raw flesh he had cared for again earlier that day had gone back to weeping against the leather straps at his side. Each and every movement he made lent a dull ache that spread uncomfortably to his inner thighs. It was a small wonder that only a brisk trot would anger the red furrows into sharp jolts of pain.

Each step he took threatened to overtake his will to move onward, yet the small figure pressed on into the deep gloom regardless.

The only thing that distract his tired mind from the pain was a deep sense of unease that pooled coldly in his chest. It had only arrived when he had seen the sparse beginnings of the earthen mounds from afar. He had peered into one expecting a pony, either dead or military, but the first ones he had looked down into with the aid of the suns dimming rays had been completely empty. Not a scrap of anything that maybe once resided in the depths remained, so he had just kept on moving past. Not thinking much of them.

The pits that were around him now were just as silent as the last few hundred he had passed along the way. Cold, empty, hollow holes dug for presumably no purpose. They had gotten more numerous and closer together as he had marched on, but the mounds of earth always never strayed in height. Nearly three heads taller than his own, no matter which one he managed to examine it was always uniform in size. By now it was hard to even see the looming hills of dirt unless he was right next to them.

The bases of each nearly touched their neighbors and gradually there was less and less of a path around the holes as the mounds drew in closer to their cousin. It didn't help that each mound cast a deep shadow over the pit it guarded making it very dangerous if he were to loose focus in the dark. He didn't think there was anything in any of these pits either, but he didn't want to find out one way or the other.

Earthy smells hung low in the midnight air as he moved past a pair of freshly dug pits. The freshest he had by far seen he immediately stopped dead in his tracks and squinted into the depths. Nothing. Curious, he reached a out and mushed a small hoof into one of the still damp mounds; intending to leave an imprint.

Looking from hoof to hoofprint the small colt turned his head inwards towards the lights that he had been following since darkness had fallen. Blinking away the fog, he peered towards camp and gave a long stare. Nothing moved in the darkness past the pinpricks of light.

Our art is made in the earth

Tired and without fully thinking he haphazardly slogged his way up the pile of dirt. Each little step sending cascades of moist dirt to the bottom of the pile. The ascent dislodged a good deal and truncated his achievement a bit but when he finally stood at the low peak of the mound he sucked in a quick breath. It was beautiful.

Spiraling mounds of earth reached for as far as his eyes could see in the dim light of the moon. Hundreds. Thousands. They crowded closer and closer together in random little bunches; each one an island unto themselves but unmistakably part of a greater whole.

He could see the small glints of errant scrap metal in some of the piles further in. The moon causing a few of them to shimmer with a wind polished sheen. A fair few of them also had tiny bits of white intermixed with the dull colored earth making the piles to inexorably stand out in the gloom.

Quietly off in the distance he heard a beam of metal creak back and forth as the pile it rested on slowly devolved into nothing more than a scrap heap lined with earth.

He leaned down to sniff at his own pile. It smelled recent, but far from clean. When he pulled his nose away it left the telltale odor of heated rank lingering in his nostrils. There was something else in the smell as well, but he couldn't place it just then.

It was then that a nearby glint of wood and metal caught his eye. A rotted handle sprouting from a half unearthed mound jutted towards the stars a few paces beyond his perch.

He turned back to look at the sight for a few more moments before turning and skidding down the pile. With a few labored trots he made his way over to the handle, mulling over what he had just seen.

Slightly stumbling as he dismounted the incline, he turned his heading towards where he had spotted the handle. Rounding a pile about twice the normal size of the surrounding ones, he quietly entered a pool of moonlight that had managed to envelop the area ahead. The surrounding mounds of earth had been dug around the clearing almost in a perfect circle. It almost looked like they were meant to hem in the moonlight as mound and void alike swallowed the moonlight that tried to escape.

Even with the clearing throwing off the adjustment his eyes had gone through in the gloom he managed to find the wooden handle stuck into a pile a few mounds over from where he entered.

Maneuvering past the limited real estate that was afforded by a slouching mound of dirt, he jumped up towards the handle and gave it a swift tug with his forehooves. With a clatter, a litter of sacks and bags were pried from the pile and heaped themselves on the side of a mound. The burlap made it almost impossible to spot them in the ever present gloom but he managed grab one nonetheless. Hefting the unwieldy sack of clanking implements he cradling the bag close to his chest and backed up into the pool of moonlight once more; raising them into the moonlight for a better view as he took stock of his prize.

From how bad the ruffled burlap looked it was obvious they'd been left out in the sun for a couple of weeks. Some old teeth marks worn into the handle here and a few small chips of the steel there. They were entirely serviceable if a bit beaten down all in all. Undoing the crumbling wire that held the sack to the wooden shafts, he then laid them all out on the ground in a neat row. By the looks of it he had found some mining tools.

A small pick about the size of his foreleg was easily the largest and heaviest of the bunch, only slightly bigger than the ruined shovel that sported ragged bits of steel at its edge. He looked forlornly at the large tools. There was no way he could lug around the heavy metal and wood for more than an hour before an inevitable collapse. Just pulling the bag itself from the dirt had twinged his back a little. He couldn't imagine managing them at this point so he dismissed them and instead turned his attention to the last item that had fallen from the bag. A small trowel, just his size.

He licked his cracked lips and moved to pick it up. It wasn't a pick, but it would do. After all, he guessed that whomever it rightly belonged to wouldn't mind him borrowing it for a while. In all fairness, he had unearthed the tools himself, and thinking back he could have sworn once reading a book that had said "the lonely explorer always got a share of the booty." Fair was fair was right.

Cautiously, he reached down with his muzzle, eyes and ears never leaving the surrounding piles, and nipped the trowel from the ground without so much as a clink. If its owner was around, he didn't want to get surprised. Hoisting it up and digging the tip into toe ground he got a good look at it in the wavering moonlight.

The trowel nearly came up to his shoulders, the blade taking up at least a third of its length, and was weighty even for its size, but with a few short hefts of his torso he managed to wield it quite effectively from between his teeth. The wooden handle now comfortably wedged in between his molars he happily carried it off into a spot where the moonlight shone just a bit brighter before going about weaving a few of the dangling leather straps to-and-fro into a slapdash holster for the tool to be slung on. Sliding it over his side until the comfortable weight properly straddled the crook of his back.

The old weeping wounds still stung dreadfully but he grimaced through the pain as the lashings held snugly just next to the raw hide. Only once he gave it a few tugs and deemed finally it fairly secured did he turn back towards the grimy darkness and move onwards with a small smile etched on his lips. His new prize comfortably in tow he skirted the rim of a pit and left the little island of moonlight behind.

It was a while yet before the small colt noticed something strange was beginning to happen to his haunches. Having removed them a while ago to ease the strain on his marred backside his saddlebags hung limply from his mouth and wavered in the wind.

He had loosened the hind straps that had previously held the bags in an effort to ease the throbbing pain from the constant rubbing. Having come undone just enough to let a few errant gusts of wind get below the tacky strops the fresh feeling he had been feeling was beginning to abate. A bit to quickly. The hot skin had for the longest time remained bereft of feeling with the lack of contact but now with a fresh headwind spiraling through the dirt still claustrophobic mound of earth, he didn't feel much of anything anymore. Not even the cool relief of the breeze.

He stopped in his stride and stared backwards at the red and raw lacerations. A small amount of confusion etched into his brow as he watched a few drops of clear blood get whisked away into the air.

Small bits of dirt and long dead scrag had evidently managed to mat into the his fur around the wounds and was causing what should have been pain as the leather rubbed over the uneven surface. Instead, the only thing he felt was the extra pull on the harness as the extra friction impeded his gait. A hoof raised in trepidation as he nudged the shovel out of his way for a better look. Red and weeping the gashes that had begun to heal near his rump had instead broken open once again.

A whimper escaped through his clenched teeth still holding the bags. His hoof wavered forward and reached to brush away the bits of debris that were already starting to mat into the uncovered wound. When his hoof made contact with the skin he stopped. It was completely numb to the touch. Small prods and pokes induced nothing but the deep seated heat that surrounded the ache in his hinds.

Small bits of dead grass blew off into the wind as he massaged the area in gentile strokes, hoping to gain some feeling back from the nerve dead skin but even after five minutes of some concentrated ministrations, the strap sores remained frighteningly bereft of any feeling. All he could do was feel the ghost of his hoovers from deep within the muscle of his legs and back. All other feeling had since left the affected area around where the bad had once ridden. All pain seemed to have faded away with the wind and while sitting there, he couldn't decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

Gingerly resting the shovel back in its original place he smoothed the fur surrounding the raw spots and ignored the gnawing feeling that had silently settled on his stomach. He picked back up the saddlebags in teeth taking some extra care not to get his tongue too close to the acrid tasting leathers. A moment to re-arranged his hood so it guarded better against the oncoming wind was all he needed to force the rising feelings in his stomach back down to where they needed to be although he did stand and ponder for a bit. Chewing absently on the leather bags his eyes darted from the lights ahead which were just now barely visible over miniature hills, to the dark pits surrounding him on all directions. He held his breath and closed his eyes as as a gust of wind intruded before any dark things could creep up to meet him.

He grunted into the leather and moved off. Numbness was better than the alternative. All he could do was hopefully wait for the resurgence of pain to nix the feelings that were coldly pooling in his gut. It would re-surface after a while like it always did. And if not... he would deal with it when the time came.

But before he could ruminate on those thoughts his hooves scraped again to a stop in the dust. This time, in shock.

Having rounded the next mound of dirt he suddenly found himself staring across at the first few tents of an encampment. Still at least a half hours trot from where he stood, it was unmistakable the heaps of rags and leather were there... and occupied.

Little bursts of orange and yellow color flickered idly from a ramshackle wall that even from this distance couldn't be seen around in totality. The darkness swallowed the outer rim in a deadened haze as the braziers perched atop the makeshift ramparts plumed an obscene amount of grey smoke into the air. The stars and moon above leaked just enough light onto the scene so he could see a few black shadows moving to and fro in the malaise beyond. The walls weren't very high, maybe even as low as his chest in some places, but what it lacked in height it more than made up for in breadth.

The little hairs on his nose twitched in the breeze and with it, caught a few whiffs of the acrid smoke that trialed from the city ahead. There were plenty of scrap heaps and more than enough dirt piles between here and there to keep his profile low. Looking into the expanse ahead, he figured the only way would be straight ahead, all the way to the the open expanse before the walls. What was left after that, he couldn't tell.

Comforting as it was, not even the cold blanket of night could keep his niggling mind at bay. He felt exposed. Every nerve ending was bristling against the slightest gust of wind. His tail hairs on perpetual end. His ears constantly on a swivel making little radar motions under the hood.

The passing of the last few rings of dirt and steel had been nerve wracking to put it mildly. A deep seated lump of bile had long since lodged itself in his throat as the terror of what he was doing had finally caught up with him. Wind howling, he had been forced to start nearly crawling across the ground in a vein effort that he might not be seen even as the dust blew around him. A dust devil a few paces off relentlessly swirled in between a few piles of scrap. Angrily whipping the grains against the polished metal to accompany the noisy din with its own unkempt music.

His hooves shuffled forwards sending little plumes of dust into the air as he tried to peer around him. From behind the hood his eyes peered into the darkness trying to make out the path ahead through the billowing sand. Licking a cracked lip he concentrated on the dim shadows around his feet and the dark voids that lay beneath the piles of earth nearby. As it was, he would be totally invisible if he were to cross the open land before the camps wall. Not that he knew where that was exactly. And that was all dependent on him not falling into a pit before then.

The driving sand had almost completely blotted out the moonlight. Gusts of wind billowed about his fetlocks, causing a nearby pile to partially slump into its adjoining cavity. Tightening his harness straps again he made sure the trowel was cinched tight.

The bags he had been carrying were once again in their place on his haunches; finally tired of tasting the sweaty rot in his mouth he had placed them over the still numb skin. For the first time in days he pulled out a thin matchbox from the grungy leather and proceeded to tuck it deep into the folds of his hood near his ear. If he did end up at the bottom of a hole he would surely need them to make it out.

His belly laying close to the ground he scraped ahead in a low scuffle. The only sound in the night air was a light creaking from the leather straps which was wholly taken away by wind.

His breath came in short, even strokes as he wormed his way up, over, and around the a few more pits and earthen mounds that impeded his crawl forwards. He stalked and crept with varying degrees of success, all the while trying to keep his hooves as quiet as he could. Hoping the minor cacophony of the gusty evening would blur the detection of anypony nearby to nothing.

Even still, each and every time he made a noise he would stop dead and wait. Beads of sweat from the exertion forming under the brow of his wrappings to drip into his eyes. A few of these drops would escape the hood and gather on the bridge of his muzzle letting dirt gather in the small amount of moisture.

His breaths sharpened as he moved past more and more of the detritus and ever closer to the barren stretch of land that heralded the camp. Onward he slunk into the dark, and nearly tripped and fell into a half buried pit.

He caught himself but winced as the ensuing swish of falling earth reverberated against his ears in the relative din. A large rock teetered precariously from side to side on top of the disturbed pile as most of its support washed away down into the hole.

In near horror, he watched as the stone cantered, then toppled from the height. His eyes watched it tumbling decent all the way until it disappeared beneath the pits rim. The heavy stone hit the bottom of the pit with a sickening crunch, sending a shower of dirt skywards as it hit an uneven target. He nearly choked as an unholy stench plumed from the disturbed abyss; forcing him to stop cease any breathing to save his stomach the hurl it instantly demanded.

Skating back on his rear end, he fought against the wind to gain distance from the lip. Nostrils burning, nearly collapsed under the weight of the stench that soon permeated the surrounding air even as the wind vainly tried to carry it off. Pleading his lungs not to cough he retreated as far away from the pit as he could.

Taking short breaths and leaning heavily into the wrappings helped lessen the stench but it was at least a few hundred paces before the he got the chance to regain his bearings. Free of the odor, he tried to breath normally but faltered as a glob of phlegm stuck to the back of his throat.

Gagging one last time he scrunched his tiny muzzle and grimaced into the night air. The stench had left an unwelcome slime at the back of his throat and nearly forced the loss of what remained in his stomach to the sand below. Resisting the urge to vomit he closed his eyes and tried to swallow.

He wanted so badly to hack out the slime but the image of the evaporating spit from days past kept his better judgement in check. Instead he choked down the gall with a dedicated swallow and creaked open his eyes once the nausea had passed.

The wind was billowing even faster than before as the storm reached a new crescendo. Plumes of dirt blasted from the baked mounds and whipped to and fro in from of his eyes. Little swirls of plastic intermixed themselves with the sand and grit and flew past in little white blurs.

Reaching a hoof up he shifted a few rags closer to his mouth to cover it from the pelting grains of dirt. Gusts darted into the gaps of his ragged mask, tickling what little amount of bare cheek was left to the open air as he moved onwards into the assault. It was only five or six more rows till the pits met the barren no-mans land ahead.

Bottles, cans, broken glass and bits of metal lay everywhere on the surrounding ground. Those that survived the onslaught stayed put and gathered sand as the wind buried them. It was nearly impossible to move without tippy-hoofing over every square inch of open surface.

A wrong move leading to a cut hoof was the last thing he needed so he silently crept around the pits and mounds of earth with extra care. Soon he was only making it a few paces a minute with the wind driving him to ground.

The crooked rays of moonlight streamed through the gaps in the storm from time to time. Dirt from the earthen mounds around him flung itself in small blasts stinging his eyes. Even with his head basically pressed straight to the ground it steadily got bad enough that he was forced to close his eyes.

Halting his advance, blind beyond mere loss of sight he cradled his head in defeat. His only companion now was the howling wind. And it didn't want to be forgotten.

Small granules about the size of seeds pelted his huddled figure making the little ticking sounds against his canteen grow into a furious roar of percussion. The endless droning of the rocks against his shovel sending small vibrations up and down his spine.

It seems almost a miracle that he had been between two high mounds when he was forced to stop. Huddled as he was, his sides and flanks were protected from the worst of the wind driven punishment. That was until a rock the size of a bouncy ball hit him squarely on top of his head.

Screaming in pain he covered his head with his hooves. A wet spot started to form under the mangy hood as he grappled to stay conscious amidst the chromatic stars that swarmed his vision. He decided then and there, even a lethal pit was better than this.

He started to inch forwards, reaching a hoof out to find the next pits lip, and instead made jarring contact with a broken piece of glass and an audible *snap* could be heard as he jerked his hoof backwards from its search.

"Fuck!"

He froze. With teeth clenched he bit back the urge to scream. Blood oozed from fresh cut in his hoof as he brought it up to his lips. A shard of glass jutted out from the cleft of his hoof at an unseemly angle. He would need to pull it out with his teeth, but he was still frozen. It wasn't his biggest problem. He hadn't said a thing.

With only small cracks of vision remaining possible it was just barely enough to make out the shadows around his hooves. The light from the camp seemed to almost dance in front of his eyes as the amber light grew in the wake of the moons disappearance.

It was getting harder and harder not to run as the light grew closer and closer.

Crunch*

His heart stopped.

A few meters closer towards the camp came a series of heavy hoof-falls echoing through the wind. Little snaps of dry tinder and small cracks of pummeled glass heralded the clangs of kicked metal cans and reverberating metal plates.

Almost out of thin air a pair of heavily shadowed figures appeared from the sand swept darkness.

In the radiant glow of a burning lantern they stepped carefully in a practiced gait around a wrecked chariot, than a pile of discarded sinks, always keeping their sides pointed in towards the direction of the camp. Carefully, they avoiding the sharp jaggs of metal that reached out at them from the piles of rubble and scrap.

He flattened his already scrunched form even lower to the ground and quietly made himself as small as possible against the hard desert floor. An unbidden whimper escaped his lips. Oh Celestia he wanted to bury himself. His mind flicked backwards; thinking of the shovel just within reach.

Railing against the images that swam through his minds eye, he stayed deathly quiet and shuddered as the two moved not even a dozen lengths from where he lay hidden.

One of them stopped moving.

Turning, the larger of the two coughed into an outstretched hoof. The figure was facing the small colt through the storm now and it was all he could to to keep his hind legs from jittering together with abandon. Every sinew in his body was threatening to jolt him into a run. A blood soaked bead of sweat rolled down his brown and softly entered the crook of his nose and cheek. In a fit of desperation he bit his into his hood.

Either by force of will or paralyzed fear, he didn't really care, his knees locked into place as the two ponies gradually moved closer. They moved perpendicular to him, the lead pony always keeping its amorphous head pointed out towards the obscured dunes. A bottle clattered off it's hoof and bounced across the distance between them and landed right next to his nose before falling noisily into a pit next to his scrunched form.

His eyes locked on the lead pony as its hooves wandered by close enough to spit on. Than closer.

He was sure he was in the light now, The hazy glow from the lantern bobbed and sputtered as the container was buffeted by the wind. His eyes squinted under the figures bellies towards the distant lights of the camp.

The lead pony and the lantern moved on past without a pause.

Bulbs of sweat formed under his rags as the lagging pony coughed again, this time stopping to hack a large glop of something into the wind. The laggard's silhouette was haloed against the camps fires perfectly for the colt. It, was a he apparently...

The stallion hacked again gathering what to the colt had to be the mother of all loogies and spat it again into the wind. A wet splat hit the bottom of a pit near to the colt’s crouched form. The colts little body began twitching uncontrollably as the stallion sauntered closer, and ended his advance nearly on top of him. The smell was unbearable.

He suppressed a gag as the stallion stopped and made a turn slightly to the left. He was so close now the colt could see the peeling nail of his mangy left hoof. Even in the darkness that enveloped the two he could see the mites; hundreds of them all crawling in between the hairs and grime.

He squeezed his eyes shut against the sight but shortly re-opened them when hooves hadn't closed themselves around his neck. Breathlessly he lifted his eyes and gazed upwards.

Above, the stallion squinted miles over his head into the oncoming gusts of sand. Grumbling the stallion grabbed the stock of his rifle, leaned on it, and stared out into the blackness ahead of him with half lidded eyes. He made small smacking noises with his teeth as his gaze wafted above the colt’s form, mercifully never lingering or dropping low.

He kept squinting, never taking his eyes off the dense nothingness of the storm. He mumbled something under his breath…

…

"Hey flanktard, got your meat on the move! We've got at least 3 more rounds left and I'm getting bucking tired of this storm, so leg it before I shoot yah' worthless hide!"

The small colt almost let loose a breath of relief when the barked command rang out from the direction the other pony had gone. Her voice was distant, and swept up with the wind but he could tell the stallion had heard her. The big ratty ears swiveled towards the shout but the stallions form didn't move otherwise, before he opened his mouth.

"I smell somethin' !"

The deep bellow shook the air all around the small form at his hooves, under which a small spot of wetness began to form.

The stallion didn't reach down though. Without getting a reply he waited another few seconds before making to grab at his rifle before stopping.

In a sudden jerk his head swung and the stallion let out a mighty sneeze.

Eyes still closed, the stallions head mere inches from the colts, the stallion rode out the thunderous expulsion with a shake of his head before lifting it back to the sky without opening his eyes.

Spittle dribbled down the colts face as he watched the watery eyes of the stallion open again to the storm overhead. Wiping a grimy hoof across his muzzle he gave a grunt and snorted lethargically before hoisting up his weapon. Grains of sand rained on the colt as the stallion slowly spun away and after a few tense moments walked his bulk quietly off into the night. Once again weaving in and around the mounds of dirt as he made for the path to his partner.

It was only a moment before he too had vanished from view into the swirling sands beyond...

It took nearly five minutes for the colt to move again. The ponies were more than out of range of his huddled figure but his breathing didn't reach normality again until he was sure no one else was going to materialize from the storm.

Wiping away the nearly dried spittle from his face he got shakily up from his hunched position and turned to stare at the slowly evaporating patch of earth under where he had lain. Blushing hotly under his rags he limply moved off, his muscles screaming at him in protest from remaining still for so long. The pain dogged his trot, but it was much better than not having it at all.

He moved off at a snails pace, delicately not disturbing the litter around him.

From where he was the camp was almost completely invisible against the grimy darkness that enveloped it. Lights ringing the encampment stood out against the sand blasted waste in defiance to the desolate surroundings. Almost daring the darkness to try and reach to take those within.

Glowing, ember laden torches could easily be seen against the cracked dust they rested on. Most were driven end first into the hard ground but some seemed to rest in small cones that were themselves driven in.

The ones that weren't crackling with flame buzzed with mana and emitted a sun like glow to the surrounding few feet that entertained their effect. Most of what he saw seemed to flicker in and out of brightness as the billowing sand fought to keep the radiance contained. Heartier glows from beyond the tents hinted at fires that were likely much larger than the one visible.

His eyes reflected a number of nomadic tents that could be seen on the outer ring in this grim illumination. He counted from where he crouched and could just about get to twenty before the sand and darkness swallowed the rest. He guessed that at least two of the larger nets used to be separate but over the years they had been stitched together. For what purpose, he couldn't tell.

Most of the canvas was covered from tip to stake in all manners of grit, grime, and oils. Even through the mild storm he could see the many little spots glistening in the darkened firelight as if something alive were crawling about just beneath the surface. Like, somehow, they were more than just mere heaps of cloth, leather, and bone. The constant wind kicked up the cloud of dust and drove it into every crack and crevice of the structures. They almost looked surreal. A painted on canvas taking place of the real thing.

He rubbed his eyes and took some time to listen instead.

A few of the tents seemed to be open to the air and guttural laughs and cackles could be heard even from the distance he was at. Most of it he gathered seemed to be in merriment.

His fuzzy ears twitched this way and that. Hearing something other than wind was sending his senses into a flurry of effort to keep up with the fresh stimulation. They continued twitching and his eyes wandered hungrily from the low roofs of the small tents to a higher bit of terrain on which sat a great leather and cloth monument. The tent he guessed was at least a dozen hoofball fields in diameter and boldly resisted the wind and cold night air as its heights broke the skyline of surrounding tents with impunity.

Spokes of bone and wood dotted the exterior almost like the spines of a drake. Torches covered its spines marking the supports and struts that kept the building standing. An almost ethereal muted light shone from within the tent as if a candle had been lit under a massive paper bag.

Really, it looked nearly identical to a few MOM posters he'd seen long ago. Big happy faces painted on laughing ponies who attended to laughing foals. He'd always liked those happy pictures. He had even kept one of them for a while before it had gotten ruined from use.

Taking his eyes from the sight he shivered and tucked the hood's folds a bit further in as he moved off from his hiding spot to the next pile. Wind had gusted a good deal of sand into the holes this far in, most of which seemed to be incredibly old. An old mishmash of iron and earthworks were scattered around as well but as he walked past another unique structure he idly realized how much older they were than the mounds they butted up against.

Taking a second to rest his hooves, he squatted down next to one of the steel barricades and poked a bit at the rusted metal. It was old, probably scavenged from an old wagon or building debris. Sharp metal prongs stuck out here and there giving the whole thing a menacing look, almost as if metal teeth had been drilled into the frame at haphazard angles to make a stupid grin.

His wide eyes stared at the thing. It's lopsided grin began to morph in the darkness the more he looked. Steadily it appeared to be reaching from its mountings with gnarled metal scrap ready to gobble him up. Subconsciously he moved his right hoof away from the thing, suddenly feeling like it would nip it off if he didn't.

His eyes wandered over the deep shadows surrounding him and he realized with a sudden clarity that he was very, very tense. A tightening in his chest began to grow as his tail hairs prickled.

Raising a hoof abruptly he batted at the flat steel in between the "teeth". His hoof thunked duly against the metal and only served to generate a quiet creak. Nothing more came from the crazy, grinning heap of steel.

Huffing, he turned back to the camp and glowered longingly, no longer wanting give any attention to the dead metal face.

Nearly a quarter hour of tense creeping had gotten him to the end if the mounds of earth. The wind having died to a trickle of its former fury he was able to see much better now that the moon could once again reach the ground.

From where he crouched he looked across the distance. It was a mad dash across fifty meters of bald, desolate terrain. No cover from here to there at all. Just hard earth and wind separated the piles and pits from the gloomy leather haven.

His nose was inches away from what looked like a landmine. Shovel in mouth, he poked the metal disk and managed to bite in the tip right where it met the dirt. Prying carefully he flipped over the mine and cradled it in his hooves. It was almost impossible to see in the dark, but he could finally tell with it now out of the ground. A wagon wheel cap.

Disgruntled, he glowered at the useless junk and absentmindedly threw it into a nearby pit. A weak thud sounded as the steel came to a rest feet below the surface.

Suddenly, right from where he had thrown the cap came a shuffling noise. Then a scratching sound tittered into his ears, catching him off guard.

Whipping his head around he stared at the pile of unearthed soil and held his breath, waiting for a pony to saunter from the shadows and smile at him. He felt his already racing heart nearly start to beat out of his chest when the sounds didn't stop.

A pang of dread flew into his mouth as an inequestrian cackling promptly accompanied the horrendous scratching. Hairs prickled up the nape of his neck as he held his hooves to his ears. Eyes dancing wildly from the pile to the surrounding area, sure somepony was hearing the in-equestrian racket over the wind. It would be seconds before somepony found him.

His legs kicked up plumes of sand as he backed up rapidly from the noise, and mis-stepped, bumping against the next pile over.

His small sunburnt ears flicked madly around and aimed themselves over towards a pile of used razor wire. His eyes scanned again and again over the cluster of twisted metal but never caught a figures shadow.

An unexpected tug abruptly pulled on his matted tail as he tried to scamper around his current hide. The scraping noises grew even louder as the mound he had bumped erupted into life. He tried to run, but was quickly ground to a halt as whatever had him in its grasp intensified its grip on the fringes of his tail.

Abandoning all stealth, a small cry of pain escaped his lips as he lunged forwards, managing to make it a few inches further as a few hairs pulled free.

His head whipped around, heat thundering now. He could hardly see what was gripping his tail but managed to turn around and yank his tail free with his teeth. Hairs still stinging from the vicious pull he rushed away into the night.

The crackling and scraping sounds could still be heard as he ran headlong to the tented walls; silently hissing tearful curses into the empty no-pony’s land.

A Stealthy Approach

From the numerous braziers a dense smog rolled ceaselessly into the air just above his head. He coughed a bit as it stung his lungs.

Pile upon pile of sheet metal quietly stood in the midnight air as he moved past the first tent. Only the tinkling of sand against the corrugated sheets could be heard as the canvas muffled the sounds of far away hoofalls.

He ducked low out of the smog to catch his breath. His little cheeks puffed out holding what little clean air he could gather before wriggling his tiny rear into a half buried pipe. Inch by inch he ground his way forwards against the rust and grime until his snout was a few meters on and just shy of the exit.

The frenzied run across no-ponies land had been easy, almost too easy. No shouts, no gunfire, no telltale beep of a hoofmine. It all seemed.. quiet. At peace even, inside the camp. Well, maybe "quiet" and "peaceful" in a fuzzy sense...

A stallions body thudded heavily into the sand right in front of his nose. A few of his rotted teeth rolled loose from the booze slackened lips. A drunken hiccup was shortly followed by small gout of vomit that was mostly caught by the remainder of his teeth. His eyes lolled about in their sockets until by some miracle, managed to stop their whirling on an smudged canvas wall a few hooffalls away. He stared en-rapt, gleaning some incalculable meaning from the grime.

Grimacing, the colt waited quietly until the stallion was well and truly engrossed before popping himself from the pipe. A meaty *SCHLOOP* resounding in the air as he slid free. Not a word or a gesture from the stallion belied any notice. With deft movement the colt slunk up and over the drunk's ratted tail before creeping onwards and out of sight into the icebox of an overturned SparkelTec fridge.

He gagged as he pushed a lump of mush out of the freezer to where its reek couldn't reach him before turning to the opening. Deftly he flipped some thin strands of a tattered sack over the entrance, obscuring the view inside before he made to rest, and to watch.

Through the ever present haze he silently gazed towards the outside world. Gray air clung to the tips of the surrounding tents in a swirling maelstrom of stink. Like a bank of gunky clouds it whooshed through the stakes to cover everything and anything with its grimy sheen. It wafted close enough to the ground to make the colts throat itch with tickling agitation but thankfully far enough overhead that a few labored breaths could be taken without too much trouble. He shuddered a little.

The stink had hit him almost immedietly once he'd broken through the sheet metal wall that surrounded the camp. Rank smelling smoke had wafted out into his face and filled his lungs unbidden, regardless of his efforts to use the ratted hood as a filter. He'd pressed onwards, though with some difficulty.

Even the worn fibers couldn't help his head as it spun with nausea.

*Thri -ti-ti-ti-it-cle*

His ear caught the noise as it echoed inside the fridge.

*Thri -ti-ti-ti-it-cle*

He slowly turned to face the back of the icebox with eyes glazed in unbidden fear. Glittering scales by the thousands sparkled mere inches in front of his nose.

*Thri -ti-ti-ti-it-cle*

A throaty, tittering snore radiated from a particularly obese looking lizard as is cradled itself amongst the freezer coils. Twenty others silently did the same.

...

He left the relative comfort of the icebox's shadow to find a new position among the debris. Shakily he bumbled away from the slumbering nest, barely taking the time to see if the drunk was still nearby. He was gone, thankfully, and after a moment of jittery wariness heaved a shallow breath. Better that the stallion was gone, the colt surmised as he moved off into the gloom.

He scrunched up his muzzle and crooked a disconcerting grin, that guy smelled even worse than the fridge did.

But as is the norm, progress is never so easy. Moving forwards out of the rim was a bit more of a challenge than it previously had seemed. Keeping to the depths of the shadows stymied nearly all of his progress, yet necessary to keep the prying eyes of passerby's shielded from his movements.

Only a hundred yards on and the tented alleys started to peter to dead ends on a consistent basis. Endless miniature alleyways branched from these paths, filled to the brim with trash. Veritable walls of scrap and waste blocked so many that It became a regular occurrence to backtrack. When it was passable, oftentimes the spaces in between the canvas walls were so tiny that even his front hoof couldn't make it past the narrow opening.

All of this, and not even the ground where the air was the cleanest could be leveraged effectively. Thousands upon millions of spent needles, blades, and casings littered every patch of dirt that he could see. Each one a shard of silver or gold glittering in the moonlight. So much so that he craned his neck upwards to the stars above to compare.

Just the same.

Pretty as they were, the beauty did have the niggling consequence of slowing his progress to a crawl. Every diversion, every backtrack he had to make to skirt the growing nuisance burned precious minutes he did not have as the moon high above plodded its way along the sky.

He broke out in a sweat. Thin streaks of salty grime raced down his brow to mingle near his eyes as he regularly slowed his momentum to tippy-hoof across a carpet of bloodied needles.

He stopped himself from putting his hoof down on a half buried needle for the tenth time. His frog hovering mere hairs from the glittering point.

Somewhere, somepony laughed; and he whimpered.

His hackles raised along his shoulders as he felt the telltale bubbling build in the back of his skull. A familiar whispering tickle ran down his spine, morphing into a coiled beast as it sank deep into his gut. Short breaths were hitching in his throat as his thoughts began to seize. Tears pooled at the corners of his eyes.

He wanted to scream. Needed to scream.

But in the end, he didn't.

Taking a few slow outwards breaths, he eased the serpent of panic that was rising from his stomach. large globs of sweat dripped from the fine hairs under his chin to mingle with the razor sharp points below. He watched as a syringe flecked with old blood was revealed through the grime by an errant gust of wind.

Stepping backwards he retraced his steps back the way he had come. Hoof over hoof, he made it back to a wreaked wagon bed. His eyes fell on the back window. The corner of a box
had smashed through the glass littering the seat with gleaming shards.

Meticulously he picked his way up and over the broken back window to the stack of crates beyond. His haunches mere inches from the razor sharp glass he wiggled through without incident.

Hopping up onto a stack of mattresses he clambered his way to the peak of the mountain of steel and moldy fluff to a point where he could slide to the roof of a tent nearby.

Marooned by the trash, it sat alone amidst row after row of the haphazardly stacked wire frames and stretched onwards for a good thirty big pony paces in every direction expect for the one he had come.

Reaching out with a hoof he tested the give. It barely slouched even as he pressed with all his might into the leathers. Emboldened he moved all four hooves onto the roof and was soon standing all the way on the canvas. He wobbled back and forth a bit as the wind jostled his purchase on the oily leathers.

Inch by agonizing inch he crept his way across the tent. Careful to test each tentative step he eased his weight forwards as the smog threatened to overtake him.

He was about to reach the halfway point in his journey across the roof when a mighty creek sounded from the beam ahead. A low groaning, straining sound repeated in kind from the support just behind his back hoof! Immediately he stopped dead in his tracks as the groaning subsided.

Mesmerizingly close to the long fall that awaited him over the edge he shakily looked over his shoulder as a puff of wind ruffled his hood.

Two glowing eyes stared back at him from the darkness.

Outlined in the silvery glow of moonlight a mangy looking cat perched upon the last pole before the corner. His little cat paw was stretching down to the last threads of canvas keeping the splintering wood intact.

The colt mouthed a prayer as another groan came from the wood. He could almost see the faint whisper of a smile as the beast severed the last of the strands.

*KA- KRAAAAAAAAASH*

And then everything was stars and clouds of dust.

He stared spread eagle'd at the night sky from where lay on the bed. He had landed smack dab in the middle of the soiled mattress which now cradled his body as he looked up in a glazed stupor. The cat sat above and watched with a tempered glee as the colt slowly came to terms with the fact that he was not, in fact, dead.

The mouser chuckled to itself and briefly gloated in its victory before turning and hopping onto the nearby pile of springs. Tail swishing high and pleased as a peach it wandered off into the night leaving the colt to wallow in the half deflated tent.

He nickered into the stale tent air. Relief and anger were warring for supremacy of the moment but in the end he just lay simmering. Content with the rest at least, even if it was just for a little while as he listened to the receding feline titter amongst the trash.

From that point on the little colt had decidedly kept to the ground, or at least near enough to it. The patience required to worm between the wreckage strained him to the extreme, but after a while it grew into routine.

Sticking his nose into a rare bit of unmolested clearing he slowly breathed inwards a great lungful of air. The quality this far into the camp was tolerable, more-so than than the smoky outer rim, but it still managed to have a unique grossness to it.

Without the aid of his mattress stuffed hood, the air would stick to the insides of his mouth. Slick like oil every un-aided breath that labored from his lungs felt like he was taking a drink from a moist leather smoothie. It was already enough that running his tongue over the insides of his cheeks could pallet a glob of grease as thick as his saddlebags. He tried not to think about it.

In an effort not to vomit he re-doubled the wrappings of his hood over his muzzle to hopefully drown out the stench. His own stale sweat was far and above a better alternative to the... that. He shuddered, lifted his mask and spat another wad into the dirt before dipping into the mouth of a concrete pipe.

Weaving in and out of the dark tunnels he quietly snuck his way to the street he had seen through the gloom a hundred yards back. Difficult to miss since all of the tents in the area knifed towards the point he was at. End of the line! For the time being at least.

The colt was afforded brief glimpses of the crowd as he made his way through the pipes to the next row of tents further in. Through the holes busted into the cement he watched as the cacophony continued, heedless of his spying.

Hundreds of rowdy ponies milled this way and that. Some were yelling at others and some were yelling at nothing at all. It was truly chaos.

Stallions and mares alike wandered in and out of every available tent within trotting's distance. Each one carrying bags full of jangling caps from one place to the other. A drink already in hoof for some, a cigarette in many a mouth or wingtip, each lazily adding itself to the general smog. Some carried saddlebags in addition to their plain looking dress, all filled to the brim with some sort of food as they all slogged about each other in hurried hoofsteps towards their goal.

Some of those who had gathered around a table near a tents entrance hooted and hollered at each other over their brown cups of swill. Each one more drunk than the last and singing the praises of the other in a tag-a-long chant that didn't keep any words.

He stopped to watch as a group of rowdy stallions roped a mare from the crowd and smothered her with affections. They all laughed gaily as she pulled away and continued on. A tug in his chest wanted him to stay watching as he was, but he didn't have the time to stop. Gathering himself he schooched onwards leaving the scene behind.

His haunches were just about free from an especially small tube when his saddlebags wedged themselves painfully to his sides. Mere feet from the road, yet mercifully hidden by a humongous crate of garbage, he wiggled and struggled until the movements managed to dislodge the bags from the grip of the concrete. Jolting forwards he flew from the mouth of the pipe and tumbled head over haunches into a dark crevice between two upturned benches.

Upside down and dizzy, his eyes rolled in their sockets as they attempted to right the world beyond. They had only just gotten used to the orientation before a stallion covered in tattoo's nonchalantly sauntered up to where he had just freed himself.

A moment later and the luggish oaf of a pony began to relieve himself. The colts wispy tail hung limply into his face as his tongue lolled out unbidden in a wave of disgust that washed over his face.

His growing horror about where he had just been crawling was however abruptly halted as a loud *bang* resounded from the nearby road.

The colts upturned ears swiveled away from the stallion as a second ticked by. The din hadn't ceased and neither had the stallion. It wasn't more than a second later before he heard another loud *bang* from the street which finally caught the stallions attention. With a muffled utterance the pony finished and turned towards the commotion.

Seeing him turn, the little colt froze as the stallions eyes wafted directly over him. His breath tightened as the stallions head lazily swung past the colts upturned form and onward towards the apparent commotion before stepping out onto the road in an apparent effort to see what was going on. The last thing the colt saw was a loose hoof-shoe as he disappeared from view.

Wobbling a bit, he reluctantly rolled himself free of the shadows before checking his impromptu hiding spot. It was perfectly shaded by the nearby brazier, completely swallowing anything within from vision. He looked to the pipes. The shadows there deepened with the same uncanny rapidness, same as the crook he had been hiding in. The pipe he had emerged from held a thick dark stain around its grey concrete rim adding to the illusion.

Letting out a shaky breath from between his parched lips he grimaced and errantly wiped his fetlocks on a nearby scrap of canvas.

*thuwmp*, *thuwmp*, *thuwmp*

Hearing a heavy set of hoof-falls approaching he quickly darted between the two adjoining tents nearby. It was the last pair of tents before the road so he could see the hazy cacophony of life beyond and between the layers of junk. What he was going to do when he got there, well...

As the pony back at the pipes got down to business the small colt slipped forwards under a veritable mountain of grey tarpaulins. Poking forwards he nosed his way under a small tertiary pile on the edge of the mound and poked his head into a pocket of air that had a view of the avenue ahead.

Lines of ponies garbed in mangled barding moved past in raucous laughter as he watched quietly from his new vantage. His small face hidden deep in shadow afforded complete solace as he looked out from the gloom and gazed at throng as they meandered about in staggered droves.

The cross-way must have been at least ten or eleven ponies long and just nearly as wide before it split into a Y at both ends. Filled to the bursting point many of those who were were crammed into the fray barged past one another only to end up just colliding with those who seemed to be interested in entering the various tents along the boulevard. A few griffons in black garb floated past with hissing laughter as they chatted with one another.

He watched them fly by in rapt wonderment and craned his head as far as it could go to follow them before they fell out of sight.

In the crowd a few scuffles broke out and then subsided as those who had brawn on their side wedged themselves through he melee. Others took the moment to follow in suit, forming weird ad-hock trains of followers as they snaked their way through the crowd.

The cold sighed. A moment to rest inside the relative safety of his hide wouldn't wasted. It was nice and warm under the leathers, and he took the opportunity to snuggle up in the midst of them while he waited.

A partially gnawed on lump of mushed up grain rolled out from somewhere and stopped within reaching distance. Eyes Taking the first opportunity he swiped the morsel and gnawed on it himself. Greedily he devoured it until he made to lick the crumbs from his hooves before thinking better of it.

For once in countless days the little colt sat in relative comfort and watched as the world marched by. It was all he could do to stay awake.

In an effort to stay mildly alert he peered at the multitudes of ponies poking their heads into the rows of tents. From where he lay the interiors were out of view but each time a stallion or mare wandered into one a different pony would get unceremoniously pushed from the tent to the street beyond like a discarded bag. Dopey grins on most of them, but anger on others.

He sniffed as one such pony passed in front of him. A grungy smell assailed his nostrils.

The scuffles mainly seemed to stem from this in a way. Right after a tent flap would open and an irate mare or buck would be pushed from its depths by the newcomer to the street beyond. The pony would turn around and shout into the unseen void beyond.

In some cases swinging a hoof was the highest priority and either an unwanted gawker or an occupant would be sent flying back onto the boulevard on their rear. A ruckus would ensue until the dispute was settled; normally with one of the ponies knocked semi-unconscious.

He winced as a particularly thin looking stallion was bucked wildly into a nearby crate from an entrance, shattering it (and presumably him), in the process. The little colt had been just about to try and crane his head up to see if he was all right before the battered stallion managed to stagger to his hooves and limp off to parts unknown. With a worried look he watched the bruised pony finally disappear into the throng.

His stomach grumbled. The lump of mushed grain had been small and served little to calm to his empty stomach. It had only driven to inflame his want of food. Although... he reached a hoof to rub his side as the craving turned into an uncomfortable, roiling bubble.

Closing his eyes he lay and tried to think; ignore the pains. Small springs of light popped behind his eyes and flickered in his vision as his throat clenched. A rush of vomit fountained from his mouth to splatter outside the little entrance of his cave.

Quietly groaning, he arched his back in pain and revulsion. As he backed up and away from his new puddle of sick he retched up the last dregs of bile he could manage.

Unfortunately, he didn't get far. A young mare teetered on her forward lurch towards a tent flap and stepped on the rim of his hiding place. The pile shook violently as a number of the leathers slipped off the neighboring stack and fell heavily onto mound he hid under.

The sudden weight drove his body to the ground in a jolt as he tried to leave. His head now mushed into the, thankfully not vomit laced dirt, he watched through the tightened aperture as the mare's legs continued onwards, oblivious to the colt she had just trapped.

Glaring holes into the back of her skull he watched her stumble for the opening of a lime green tent. She was taking jagged steps that wobbled her entire frame from tip to tail.

One such movement momentarily caused her flank to slam up against a lit brazier. During which he managed to spy a ragged looking scar amidst the leathers on her hips. Hot coals and blackened ash spilled into the pathway and canvas walls.

Most of the little red embers fell harmlessly at the mares hooves, but his vengeful eyes caught a few of the errant coals begin to smoke against an oiled stack of leather.

Jeers and hollers of laughter followed the mare as she continued her drunken stumble towards the flap and he watched as one of her grimy hooves came down on a smoldering chuck of coal. She reared back with a sobering yelp of pain as the coal embedded itself deep within her hoof.

He grinned a wicked smile to himself.

Thanks, Celestia.

She cantered around the tipped over remnants and raked her burned hoof across the dirt a few times. Eyes brimming with tears she looked forlornly at the blistering mark the coal had left in her frog. She cursed inaudibly, trying in vain to put weight on it but failing with a noticeable limp. She eventually gave up on entering her tent of choice and instead found a place to sit out of the way. Her head drunkenly swiveled around and then locked on to a stack of pallets nearby.

As if manifested by the smoke a grisly stallion suddenly appeared out of nowhere in the throng. The slab of pony looked almost like he’d just crawled out from one of the braziers himself with his smoky mane and fur. A marred set of barding cradled his muscles as he made his way through the crowd towards her. His hooffalls grinding out the still smoking coals without a flinch.

The angle of the crevice didn’t allow the colt to see his full face as it rose far above the common ponies' but already he could tell the stallion would have looked terrifying up close. A poorly patched bullet wound had scarred most of his left breast. The mottled fur had grown in awkwardly and was even bare in some places, especially around the joint.

Whatever had shot him, the colt decided, hadn’t been small. He gulped instinctively.

As the big stallion barged his way through the throng of ponies some of the lucky ones managed to get mostly out of the way. The others unfortunate enough to fully block him just just seemed to bounce off his hide like bowling pins as he pushed himself through the mass of bodies like a bulldozer. His stride never faltered as he neared the unsuspecting mare.

Seemingly oblivious to the impending danger, she had perched herself on the pallets to rest while she looked crookedly at her damaged hoof. She was still inspecting the blistering skin when he reached her.

The little colt trembled as he watched them from his nook. Never daring to peek any further from the shadows he crammed himself in further into the leathers as the hulk of meat seized her and then proceeded to pummel her into a unrecognizable mass.

Bits of wood and bone crunched underneath his metal braced hooves with sickening pops and cracks as he crushed her and the box together. Nearby gawkers laughed and cheered on the spectacle as it unfolded before them. Ecstatic, a few of them broke out tiny canisters and inhaled them with gleeful indulgence while the spectacle lasted.

It was over in less than a minute. He didn't even think he had heard her scream before it was over.

Blood oozed into the dust below as the mares pulped form lay amidst the splinters. Her assailant turned away from his work. The colt watched in horrified curiosity as a leg twitched uncontrollably. It was hard to tell where she began and where the wood ended... he quietly decided he didn't want to look anymore.

Hardly having broken a sweat the huge stallion trotted back the way he had come and grunted to a nearby watchmen. The guard reluctantly pulled his attention from the scene and faced the hulk of blood and bone.

The stallion stood, gesturing with his still dripping foreleg to the spilled embers. The guard nodded and without word immediately got to work raking the butt of his shotgun through the scattered fire; gathering the coals and unburnt waste into a manageable pile away from the tent.

With all eyes on the bloodied stallion the colt deftly shot out from his hide and made his way to quietly slip into a cramped alleyway a few yards ahead.

With ears twitching madly from side to side and never resting on any particular sound for more than an instant he stealthily slinked closer and closer to the center of the camp. The bigtop tent at the center of the camp loomed a short distance away. So high were its walls that the little colt wondered if they could catch clouds from the precipice.

The general rabble meant the going was slow. Loud banter from a tent could easily cover the hooffalls a pony in his path and with the limited space it was getting to be even more of a danger to crawl forwards. Any adult finding him would mean his doom.

Tight walls and cumbersome obstructions didn't make it any easier to find a path through the nearly impossible amounts of clutter but with a now practiced grace he made the needed ducks and dives; weaving in and over burnt out generators, bins, and blown out terminals on his way inwards.

His packs weighed heavily on his hindquarters even with nothing in them. He turned and re-adjusted them for the hundredth time.

The surrounding yelling and hollering only grew more intense as he got further in. He passed countless tents with ponies bickering and yelling at one another. One he was passing presently even had a radio blaring out music from it.

The ‘music’ was more static than notes but it didn't seem to bother those inside. Both were yelling at the tops of their lungs though it seemed to be without anger. As he finished passing he heard a mare scream a flurry of yes’s over and over.

He angled his head away from the tent with ears flush to his skull. Blushing hotly he moved on to the next row of tents.

The sneaking wasn’t too hard with the abandonment of silence. Small clitters and clanks were the loudest things he made as his winding path led on. His line fed him through the last set of tented hovels that ringed the main bigtop and then to the big tent itself. This single alleyway led straight from the outskirts to the center, only being broken by the rings of paths that served as concentric streets.

Slithering past each tent wall was getting to be a chore. In places the walls nearly butted against one another, almost to tight for even his meager frame to squeeze through. Other times the gap was large enough for a fridge or large wagon to be discarded, which it usually was.

Each obstruction served an opportunity however. The jutting rested metal hid innumerable treasured inside their bulk. One in particular had a smell that invaded his nostrils as he passed over the overturned shopping cart inside. A quick glance rewarded him thoroughly.

A stale box of snack zebra-cakes was wedged into a corner of the cart. As he watched, a huge cockroach the size of his fetlock crawled out of its interior and scuttled under the adjacent tent wall.

Licking his parched lips he made to move in tents direction but before he could, he heard a yell of surprise from inside of the tent and then a swift crunch. Loud munching sounds followed and he hung his head. He turned back to his path, face scrunched up in a pout.

He stared into the ravine of garbage instead. The alleyway was constantly jogging back and forth is it moved along. Tent stakes littered the ground when they could find any semblance of purchase in and around the junk. A few of the ropes holding up poles were even attached to the junk themselves creating a lattice that was nearly impossible to get through without disturbing them.

It also didn't help that he couldn't stop noticing each new tent wall he moved past. Unlike the first ones he had encountered that were nearly all made from the same kind of canvas these ones seemed to stand out in stark contrast to each other.

It was covered in stitches and made up from many medium sized pieces. It was a haphazard patchwork of nearly indistinguishable origin. From the limited light in the winding darkness he could only make out what looked to be a thick waxed leather. It was stretched over the more exposed sections of the dwelling.

Much like the one he forced to cower against right now as a pair of cavorting ponies trotted by, it was somewhat odd to look at. Almost like the material didn’t flow properly.

With his side pressed against the wall he could feel the waxy texture through his shawl. He shuddered a bit as the cold seeped from the wall deep into his fur.

This was the last ring of tents before the bigtop’s walls. It had taken him almost to the moons zenith to get this far and his bruised hooves were aching for a rest.

Sighing, he started to poke his head around the corner to get a better look at his next move. He needed somehow to skirt the bigtop's walls and make it to an entrance. Hopefully a back door or tear in the fabric would let him get inside without notice but he wasn’t getting his hopes up. The near vertical walls looked strong, double thick in some places even from this distance.

His head turned the corner carefully and immedietly he went cross-eyed. A tuft of dirty lime colored fuzz completely obscured his view of the alleyway ahead. Grouching, he risked a further peak around the fluff, leaning out father than necessary.

With a hiss a light from the tent suddenly flared up sending looming shadows through the flaps onto the mostly deserted path right in front of his hooves.

Involuntarily squeaking, he hurriedly back peddled into the darkness as a grumbling male voice started to wake up from within.

In his hurry the straps on his hindquarters caught on an errant tent stake. The sharpened metal scraped painfully against his weathered sores. Even without looking he knew that he had drawn a small trickle of blood.

The grumbling continued as he looked around frantically for a hiding spot. The only thing that would conceal him was a pile of junk across the way. He quickly looked both ways and dashed towards it. He was almost to it when an outburst whipped him around in a jump.

"The shit did you do Splinter," suddenly boomed a loud male voice from inside the illuminated tent.

With tears of pain still in his eyes the colt quickly inched backwards under a desk laying half buried in junk. The voice rose again.

"I pried those bucking things off of Breakbeaks's body. Not you! And what, you sit here all blasted to all tartarus on 'em!?

There was a pause that held only heavy breathing.

"Did you take every last one!? "

A sharp slap was heard as hoof struck flesh. Gurgling, a mare's voice slurred something in response but it was too muffled to make sense of.

A fuming silence held for a few moments before the mare slurred something again. It didn't take more then a second for the male to respond.

"Oh yeah!? Wel-"

*Boom**-Sploosh*

A thick misting of red chunks showered the interior of the tent facing the buried desk. Ears ringing his little head shot up in surprise high enough to bash against the underside of the drawer with a loud *thunk*.

Fresh tears added to the already welled up droplets in his eyes as he gripped the crown of his head with both hooves. He let out a whimper but the approaching sound of crunching hoof-falls forced him into silent agony. Rubbing the welt through the hood he looked out from under the desk at her approach.

A mare stumbled into view from the lit tent; a shotgun tightly held in her magical grip. Barding a ragged and gore splattered mess she nearly stumbled to the dirt as a loose tie caught her hoof. She cursed under her breath as she pushed the loose strip back into place. It did little more than to grind even more blood soaked sand into the already dirt caked mauve fuzz.

His ears turned as a pattering of liquid reached them. His eyes found the source almost immedietly. Dribbles of blood ran from the tip of the sawn off shotgun to the dust below. A tooth was still lodged between the steel barrels where it had likely been blasted.

She teetered a few paces from the tent before flicking a blood soaked bang over her ear with a wet smack. She turned to look towards her flank thereafter. He watched as a small cartridge was levitated from the pouch on her hip, and up into her wanting muzzle. A faint hiss came from the can as she inhaled greedily; her eyelashes fluttering in time with the dose.

Lowering the nozzle she gave a shuddering sigh. She quivered with a breathless moan as the fresh dose took hold of her. The cartridge now spent fell unceremoniously to the dirt as she shakily led the bloodied shotgun back to its sheath. She slumped slightly when it had finally been fitted snugly into its home.

A sudden look of panic fell over her features as she stared into the void behind her flanks. Eyes wide with fear she retched. Thankfully nothing from her stomach made to show itself, instead she made to spit into the dirt.

It landed with a tacky splat. The colts eyes locked onto the blood tinged glob that lay only a hoofs length away as she made her exit down the alleyway.

An ear flicked in his direction.

He froze. His last icy breath wafting from the confines of the desk. In horror, he watched as her bangs shifted his way, and than her nose, than finally her eyes came into view.

It only took a moment, but soon the two were staring across the divide right into each others eyes. Right into his own.

Fear took control with a terrifying intensity as he attempted to scramble even farther under the desk, yet with nowhere to go all his scrambling hooves could do was vainly kick plumes of dirt from the opening.

She only stood and stared at him. A wolfish smile slowly blossoming to her lips. She gagged again a little, but never lost the malicious grin.

Switching tactics, he strained with all his might to reach for the survival knife at his side. Craning his neck, he threw back his head but the tilt of the half-buried furniture made it impossible to reach the hilt. He nearly screamed in frustration when a gurgling noise snapped his head forward.

The mare was wobbling forward in uncertain strides, her pupils as small as pinpricks. The whites of her eyes had gone a feverish yellow making the moonlight glint from them with a predators sheen.

As she moved towards the trapped colt she gradually lowered her head to his level, low enough so he could clearly see himself in the wet sheen of her eyes. Readying a small fore-hoof for a strike at her, the colt trembled and watched her advance- gag again, stumble, and plow headfirst into the drawer right next to him.

She hit the earth with a solid thwump. Her horn digging a furrow into the packed earth at his hooves as she came to a full stop. She was murmuring something he couldn't hear, even from this close of a distance. His eyes never left hers as they looked at each other. Lungs heaving and close to collapse. Close enough to smell the reeking breath that slowly loosened itself from her lungs.

He watched, transfixed by the sickly pale yellow of her eyes as she murmured her last choked breath on dying lungs. Her eyes never left his for an instant. She gagged a final time as a small stream of bile leaked from the corner of her mouth to the barren soil under her cheek.

Her eyes kept their frenetic sheen, even after the world had fully faded from them. He watched as his silhouette slowly became unfocused in the recesses. Soon then there was nothing.

He sat. Too frightened to move. Adrenaline still pumping itself through his tiny veins in a now fruitless effort. Only a single shaky breath was all he could manage as he stared into her eyes. They sat idle, fully clouded with death.

He was crying again. He only noticed the stream of tears when they had perched themselves on the corner of his lip.

Worming his way past the mauve colored mare, he teetered to his hooves and made distance. As far away as he could. As fast as his little legs could carry him.

After what seemed like an eternity later he finally found himself at the front of the bigtop tent. The wide awning gaped towards the outside world like a waiting maw with posts holding a set of massive doors in place a few feet in.

Only a few ponies lingered outside the the entrance talking. The lateness of the hour having driven most of them inside for the night. Yet there were a few dozen mingling outside, chatting and laughing the night away in hazy shadow.

A few scratchy notes from a record could be heard whenever a pony entered or exited the doors. Each time they did the small colt would look up and try to catch a glimpse of the inside, but he was never able to through the meager crack afforded.

This last time he had craned his head about, this way and that, but had eventually given up and returned to squatting in his makeshift cover.

He had seen the overturned sparkle cola machine from a good distance off. It sat only a hundred yards from the entrance, smack dab in the middle of a clearing. Hundreds of hooves had compacted the soil around it to a terrifying hardness, yet it remained mostly intact through however many centuries it had sat.

Most of its guts had been ripped out sometime in the past leaving only the metal and ragged bits of wire left. The tempered glass pane that made up the main face of the machine was also intact, save for a tiny crack from which he now peered.

It was a bit of a chore but he could wedge his eyes to the clear portion of glass where the bottle return would have been and from there see the comings and goings of everypony that trotted past. He doubted anypony could spot him at this hour even if they were trying.

He had even found a few bottle caps wedged into the spaces between where the sheet metal met the front cover. Using his knife, he had already pried these from their home and pocketed them in a pouch, making sure they didn't cause any loose noise when he moved.

Also, since the incident with the mare was still fresh in his mind he had moved his knife from his side to his right foreleg. He had taken the remains of the lizard and fashioned it into a pair of strips that could be tied to his leg. It might be uncomfortable to walk or scamper too quickly but it was a small price to pay to make sure it was within mouthing distance if something like the desk happened again.

Thankfully it was spacious enough, if a bit cold, to rest comfortably amidst the inner compartment. Almost two colts his size could easily fit nose to tail so there ended up being ample room for him and his packs. A tight fit vertically but he had managed to strip off his saddlebags and wedge them into the sand next to where he lay. Pulling the last strip of blackened meat from his bag he sat waiting; chewing the nearly inedible ribbon and continued to watch the outside world from his hiding spot.

Biting into it he contemplated finding a different way inside. The doors were never open for very long and only a pony’s width was ever cracked so they could enter. He turned his head towards the dark part of the camp. Lights were beginning to be snuffed out in favor of the rising dawn as the night passed on into the earliest of morning. It was nearly 3 am he guessed.

It was still pitch black out but that would only be for a matter of minutes now. It seemed like most of the ponies had either gone to bed or were looking for one. He contemplated doing the same looking around at his makeshift camp. Daylight was a danger however, and a few of the holes in the rear of the machine were a bit too big. He decided against it.

Slipping back on his now empty packs, he watched and waited until the last few ponies wandered off either into the tent or elsewhere in the camp. The only ponies he saw out and about now were the erratically placed armed guards. Most of which were tiredly, or drunkenly, standing in place. Some carried shotguns like the one he seen earlier, others pistols and rifles. One lucky stud seemed to have even gotten his hoof on an assault carbine.

Wanting nothing to do with them he made his move only after the nearest one had stumbled off in the general direction of the outhouses.

Slowly, he popped his head out of the bottle feeder and inched out of the cola machine's interior. His hindquarters just barely fit through but with a bit of wiggling he made it past the opening and began his low scuffle towards the front of the bigtop.

Winds howled among the high walls of the bigtop as the never ending gale above strained against its existence. The tips of the poles that held up the wall now so high above they seemed to pierce the veil of night itself. Looking back, he aimed his course towards the right side of the massive doorway, past a sleeping watchpony, and to a shadowed corner at the entrance's awning.

The fabric and waxy leather there had been pulled away from the frame giving it the proper tension to stay upright. But in doing so this had left a small hollow at the place where the joining sections met the ground. He slipped into the small space afforded by the overlapping features and gave a quick glance over his shoulder before pulling the blade from its sheath.

He could tell just by looking at it that the sand was far too deep and the leather far to tough to dig under or cut through. So instead of wasting time trying to brute force his way in he aimed the point of his serrated knife into a stitching where two of the many pieces met.

The knife bit into the waxed stitches easily enough and even though it took his clenched jaw a bit of working the handle up and down he soon had a sizable hole large enough to crawl through. Musky air came rushing out from the fresh wound he had made, on it carrying a heavy stench of body odor, rot, and blood.

As he worked to return the blade to its home ideas of turning back hovered to the surface of his mind. The doubts floated there with oily thought as his gaze stared past the opening to the dim light beyond. Turning his head he stared at the empty canteen and saddlebags. It was this or nothing. He didn't really have a choice at all.

A sigh escaped his muzzle as and he dropped to his knees and scooted his upper half into the opening. With a flick of his tail hairs and and a wisp of dust he disappeared inside.

Rings on a Bigtop's Crown

With a subdued *fwump* a tiny shadow emerged into the vestibule of the bigtop tent. Pungent smoke assailed his nostrils as he surveyed the room and the edifice he had just meagerly bypassed.

Even so, the tip of his nose involuntarily scrunched closer to the folds of his hood. As he flexed his jaw he let his eyes wander around around his new surroundings.

The big wooden doors to his left loomed upwards almost higher than he could crane his neck. Well polished by many hooves the brass knuckles on each horizontal bar practically glowed in the light of the surrounding braziers. Huge letters adorned the oiled wooden slats; The Crown Raylneigh beamed down to anyone leaving the premises.

Looking upwards to the bronzed letters it was a small wonder he had missed them from the outside, if they were even on the outside to begin with. Musing on the last word he chewed his lip, but ended the thought when he was unable to parse out the meaning. Instead he turned to the rest of the room.

His already frazzled nerves stood on end as his eyes adjusted to the gloom of the chasm he now resided in. Twenty heights tall and nearly double as wide it was easily the largest room he'd ever seen. Five pegusi abreast easily could have raced one another from one end of the hall to the other with the space provided.

Twisting around he came face to face with the gaping maw of a tiger! Its fangs merely inches away from his nose.

He found the will to breath as his heart thumped in uneven strokes. Every fiber of his legs wanted to carry him back the way he had come but he willed his courage to stay and faced the giant cat with defiance.

Grouching and mumbling a curse, he looked the beast over with a curious eye, and even went so far as to walk around its side to see the chiseled features of each muscle perfectly represented to fully express the power they held.

As luck would have it, his entrance had landed him directly behind a row of old marble statues and plaques. Big brawny stallions stood in heroic poses, in defiance of whatever they were to come across. Many mares held ring and tasseled hoops as they twirled in silent repose. In one nearby relief a mare and stallion stood side by side supporting each other as they faced down whatever it was they stared at, their faces posed, determined, a smile creeping into being in the corners of their muzzles.

By the looks of them they had been dragged here a long time ago, and not from a short distance either. Deep scuff marks and old rain-rusted bolts marked the chipped bases at random. His eyes wandered over the damage as he readjusted his shovel farther back on his haunches. His gaze was led upwards by a marred back leg and suddenly stopped short.

He stared upwards at the crude grey protrusions sticking from the statue. Ponderously, he stared at the misshapen chunks of concrete before a bout of realization hit. It took only moment, but soon the tips of his ears were burning like the noonday sun.

With blushing cheeks he forced his gaze away and let it wander from the effigy to some of the others further on down the line. A raider had seen fit to, -endow, most of the mare sculptures with an extra smattering of crudely shaped bits of concrete. The off the cuff artist was terrible, but he or she had certainly gotten the generalities right.

As he stared at a particularly ginormous set of... somethings below a nearby statue he suddenly heard a loud creaking of hinges from behind. Ducking his head he barely got it behind a marbled base before a grimy looking stallion nosed his way inside.

The pegasus strode in through the small opening he'd made and yawned. With a half hearted kick he used his hind leg to close door the behind him. With steady steps he moseyed slowly down the hall, taking his time to stifle another yawn and return a revolver to its shoulder holster. He fluffed his dirt encrusted feathers and lazily reaching out with a tired wing to whap a statues backside on his way past. Chuckling to himself the pegasus wobbled a bit and nearly stumbled in his advance down the uneven dirt hall.

Following with his eyes the colt watched as he regained his balance and grumbled a bit. A pink scar lanced across his hindquarters, fully marring the fur and cutie mark he must have once had.

Raising his head above the marble base he managed to spy a sack of food dangling from the pegasi's other hip as the guard hoofed a few caps at what sounded like a tin can. The rattling hadn't even stopped before the feathered pony had moved on out of sight; his body obscured by the numerous edifices that lined the walk.

Craning his neck the colt was barely able to make out a slumped over figure bathed in shadowy gloom right next to where the pegasus had just passed. The old pony rested crookedly in a chair and snored quietly into the dim light as the caps ended their rattling inside the coffee tin at this hooves. He stayed perfectly still, ears drooped forwards, oblivious to the gathering of the toll. The hallway was completely silent again except for the light sounds of slumber.

Edging out from his hiding place the colt quietly moved on down the row of statues further inside. The depth of the shadows near the crook of the wall and the floor making it a relatively safe venture. As he progressed past the sleeping guard his attention was drawn again and again towards the wall across the hallway. Wandering from floor to the dim ceiling and back again his gaze found its way past the sculptures legs to oggle the varied colors and slogans beyond.

All of his vision was crowded with an assortment of old posters and advertisements from before the war. Bold typeface and brand slogans littered the haze of colors that crept out from each layered parchment. Even through the ravages of time most of the prints were more vibrant than anything he'd ever seen.

Red and blues mingled with each other in swirls before melding into the greens of pastures and plains. Ponies were everywhere, laughing, playing, and holding multitudes of things by their various handles and holds.

A warm feeling grew in his chest as he as his eyes wandered over the smiling faces and grinning ponies. He even saw a few of the posters that left forth from a distant memory, recognizing at first glance a partial Mint'als poster taped to the remains of a ministry flier.

A large Sparkle Cola advert directly across from him was easily the most garish of the bunch. With its cute poster-pony gleefully holding a drink in one hoof and a box of war bonds in the other, her eyes almost twinkled at the surrounding gloom. TREAT YOURSELF, AND THE TROOPS! it read in sprawling cursive over the bottom half of the image. He wished he could, just to see that smile in person he would sell even his soul.

He almost could feel a twinge of a smile creep onto his lips as he stared longingly at her. The pink coat and blond mane radiated from the wall even though the haze seemed to want to deny it. He could almost imagine her velvety voice inviting him for a cold sparkle cola. He closed he eyes and paused, letting that sweet feeling in his chest linger.

**zzzZZZZZZZ-snork**

He slowly opened his eyes and turned to glare at the distant doorman. The offenders jaw hung open letting a bevy of drool slide from his gaping muzzle to trickled down his double chin on its long journey towards the dirt floor.

Making a quick mental note to piss in the doorman's coffee can on the way back out he snorted to himself and resumed his quiet trot deeper into the hallway. The spell broken, he tried to dismiss the garish posters across the way, but ended up stealing a few more glances anyways. It wasn't long before another poster stole his full attention. This time however, it was on his side of the hall.

Half crammed into the unswept corner of the hallway it lay, covered in a thin layer of grime. He stooped down to curiously wipe away the cruddy layer covering it. With a few deft swipes of his hoof a colorful image of the ministry mares poked its bright hues into the room after a countless number of years being hidden away.

It was an advert for one of the most infamous Hoofer line of vacuums and personal care robots to date. At least that was what the poster boasted. Multiple blocks of text covered the poster in clumps quoting the mares about the "guaranteed quality" and "everlasting suction" it was famous for.

All of a sudden he remembered a sign he had glanced at outside of a tent as he had made his way inside the bigtop. Had they been selling vacuums too? He nodded to himself before smacking a hoof to his forehead.

Lowering his hoof back to the ground he quietly surveyed the colorful mares. All of them held a separate piece of a dismantled Mr. Hoofer in their grasp and smiled proudly outwards to all the passerby's that would evidently come across the showy lure.

Dead center and definitely the most eye catching was a purple mare clad in a bright white labcoat. In her magical grip she held aloft a spherical robot head and gazed at it lovingly like a mother would a prized child...

Swallowing hard his eyes slid away from her kind features to the gloom ahead. His legs carried him forward and only stopped momentarily to swipe an empty from behind the leg of a statue.

A quiet snap of his pouch and a flick of tail hares later he was well on his way down the hall before he spotted anything else that caught his attention so readily.

As his small frame pressed itself in shadow along the wall he crept towards the door he had spied just a second earlier. Almost hidden by a crumbling statue it had been only the wandering of his attention that had gotten him to catch sight of it. He slipped inside unseen to another anterior hallway.

Much smaller than the one he had just left, it seemed to him that it must have been used quite a bit less. Or more, depending. It was hard to tell from the perceivable state of disaster the hallway was in. Other than two more posters for the sparkle cola ad, everything else on the walls was either vandalized or splattered with varying degrees of red. Large wooden doors occasionally marred the otherwise flat wall here and there and only the large opening at the end of the hall invited any light into the space making it barely bright enough to see where he was going.

Spray cans had been used to draw all kinds of obscene words or images on the posters and were littered on the floor in heaps. Some of the illustrators had crossed the eyes out of some of the posters denizens. Some had merely just scratched them out making their unmarred happy smiles turn into a more sinister and unsettling visage.

His attention instead went to a batch of posters further on. Many of them had generously large stallion bits drawn on them, regardless of the subject. Somepony had even gone on a rampage with a rainbow marker inking the words 'buck ya'll' everywhere in gaudy cursive.

A bright splotch of red coated a poster directly over the entrance he was aimed towards. A stallion stared out from behind the mark with a huge grin; his mouth chomping away at a zebra cake. It was hard to tell with the streaks of red below the face but it looked like it said something to the tune of Better eat em' before they -ceed em'.

Just looking at the poster got his stomach turned into a knot. It grumbled painfully in the dark catching him off guard with how loud it was in the stillness. Wrapping a foreleg around his belly he stood wishing the grumbles away. Finally after some minutes it gave up the fight to be heard and petered off into tiny, barely audible rumbles.

With legs that felt weaker each passing minute he trotted up to one of the nearby doors, holding an ear against it before scurrying past to the next. Than the next. Other than a few small snores he hadn't heard anything from the rooms he had passed. He guessed that many of them must have been sleeping spaces. Either that or the ponies inside had passed out where they had stood.

Stopping at a door that appeared to be mute he nosed it open quietly as curiosity got the better of him.

It was barely open enough for him to have squeezed through when it stopped with a quiet thunk. Unable to swing any farther he snuck his head forwards and cautiously peeked an eye around the corner.

Laying in a puddle of sandy vomit a bedraggled stallion breathed in low sleepy breaths. His head sat at a what must have been a horribly uncomfortable angle. The neck didn't look broken from but it was still a miracle that the stallion was able to breath with such a sever tilt. Movement caught his eye and the colt watched a ball of lint rolled back and forth in time with the pony's breath.

He watched the lint roll back and forth for a bit as it grew in size with each pass over the grimy dirt floor. Before long the momentum carried it too close and it was unceremoniously sucked into the stallions open mouth.

Gawking with mouth agape the colt watched as the stallion slightly coughed and the ball of now slightly soggy lint returned to its rolling.

The colt turned to leave, but even before he got even halfway out of the frame his hoof painfully struck the door sending it once again careening towards the stallions head. With eyes watering he clutched his foreleg and watched the door swing with horror.

With a quiet thunk the door impacted the stallions forehead. Wincing at the hit the colt turned to run. With nerves on edge he was almost sprinting before he watched the stallion once again fail to move even an inch. A smile even creeped onto the bile covered lips as the cold dumbly watched on.

After a moment a smile of his own began to spread across his face. He could see a bruised bump where the door jam had hit him squarely on the temple. Loosing to temptation a devilish glint came into his eyes and his head turned to look at the door. After a second he pushed it again, this time a bit harder.

He was rewarded as a lighter thump a bit lower in octave resounded in the air. A softer push, funnily enough, brought out a higher sounding thunk.

Beaming now, he batted the door a few more times. thunk, thump-thump, thunk .

He giggled quietly and slowly closed the door on the stallion and his swelling forehead.

Inside the Beast

He took tense steps around a nearby sleeping guard. A rifle muzzle scraped the edge of his nose as he eek'd by with barely a hairs breadth to spare.

The hallways had gotten smaller and smaller the farther on he went inside. The thick leather walls seemed to close in on him from every direction and he'd even needed to backtrack a few times after a few wrong turns had brought him to dead ends.

He couldn't tell but from his best guess he had been wandering around inside for nearly an hour. He had thankfully seen no one up and about, but his meandering search for the kitchen had also come up with nothing, only a small box of half eaten Fancy Colt Cakes which he had wolfed down almost immediately.

He had eased open door after door and had jingled countless locked knobs in a vain search for where the camp kept its stockpile but it was getting to the point that he figured luck was not going to help him. Each door he opened only served to make his stomach ache even more.

As his hoof left yet another doorknob in defeat, his ears suddenly picked up something. A whisper of sound was coming from around the next bend in the hallway. It almost sounded like... a record?

Warbling tones moved past his ears in soft waves. Unlike the upbeat notes and blaring vocals he had heard earlier throughout the camp these ones were like silk on sand. He could almost imagine the smooth leather walls reverberating in time with the rise and fall of the crescendo like a breath in time with the music.

He moved on numb legs, not even aware of his full momentum as they carried his thin legs close to the bend.

The staccato plunks of piano keys started to increase from within the song giving the sad brass warbles a melancholic tinge. Involuntarily, his eyes moistened at the corners as he began to hear words fade into the air. A mares voice, entirely distinct from the record being played, rose into time with the notes. It lulled fully into being as he pushed himself forwards, no longer caring to keep to the shadows.

His hooves carried him swiftly around the corner. Luring him to come face to face with the hardened paneling of a door. The singing softly carried through the thin wood to his attentive ears.

He could make them out now as he pushed on the wood, the words-

"-Carried away,
Come to me,
Baaaaby don't you know, how to cry.

Li-isten to what I have to say,
Be what you want me to be,
Don't make me another sky.

Closely,
Kindly,
Hug-'n your ba'-a-by tight."

...

"M- Mama?"

His tiny voice nearly broke as the words cut off her sad delivery. The mare jolted at his voice, and slowly turned from her desk.

Tears were flowing freely now. They streamed down his face as he watched her golden mane turn. The music, the song, it was like a film reel had been turned on in his brain. It was over, finally over. The song he would hear in the waning hours of twilight, her soft singing lulling him to sleep as her beautiful green eyes looked into his. He could finally cry and have her tell him it would be alright. No more being brave. No more holding it inside. To nuzzle against her chest and breath in the flowers she always kept as he just let it all go. He could! He could finally be home, and.. and-

The music continued its warbling tones, unimpeded as his blood began to freeze in his veins. Through blurry tear laden eyes he watched as she fully turned to face him, and almost shrieked in terror. Half of her head was nearly burnt to a hollow crisp. One scarred eye stared blankly from its socket as the other trained itself on his tiny figure in the doorway.

And worst of all...

"Hey," she set down a knife as she stood up, a snarl forming on her mangled visage, "who the buck are you?"

"I, uh- buh, I-"

Her gaze hardened as she reached over and removed the needle from the record, "You'll tell me how you got in here meat or I'm going to skin the life from you, fuckwit!" Her snapped words were clipped off with gritted teeth.

His eyes stared at her flank as she got out of her chair, a sickle and leather motif stood out against an oily violet fur. A mile a minute, his brain raced to the forefront of reality and finally caught up with him. With widening eyes he looked from her to the walls.

Every corner and crevice of the room was covered, crammed, with drying strips of hide and fuzz. A small fluffy ear about his size poked out from a nearby drying mass of stacked leathers.

Without warning the smell of the room rushed into his nostrils as the moment finally unfroze.

*urp* He puked on the floor.

"Ugh, what the fuck!" She recoiled from the tiny puddle as it splashed on her hooves.

Without stopping to even wipe his chin he whirled and ran out the door with a flurry of tail hairs, slamming it in the process. A tremendous *bang* resounded down the hallway as he rushed back out the way he had come. The mare's shouts followed closely at his heels as he raced around the bend. He couldn't make out what she was saying with the wind whipping through his ears but he didn't ultimately care.

Tears streamed down his dirt flecked cheeks as he ran, passing the original corner that had led him here he suddenly skidded to a halt. Bits of rock cascaded from his grinding hooves onto a stallions. His ears drooped and pupils shrank as a glinting gun barrel towered directly into his face.

Glittering light lit up the ecstatic eyes of the stallion as time slowed to a crawl. It took only a second for him to truly register the colts presence as his magic unlocked the safety to the trigger.

"Ha-Hah, MEAT!" He pulled the trigger

The colt ducked.

*BOOM*

The hot whizz of coppered lead shaved his head by mere millimeters, tearing a hole through his loose hood and plowing a few mane hairs free. It pocked the dirt just behind his rear end and ricocheted straight into the tent wall with a resounding CRACK.

Ringing erupted in his brain as he reeled from the blast. A moment later his breath caught in his throat is the hot gunpowder refused to let him take another.

He was already reaching for his front even before he had the chance to cough out the invading air. He wheezed as a trickling sensation ran down past his brow and a few drops of blood landed on the dirt below.

Grasping the handle of his knife in his mouth he ducked forwards just as the twang of hot brass hit the side of his face. Looking up he saw the stallion rearing; racking another bullet into the chamber as he yelled something down at the colt. His mouth worked mutely up and down as spittle flew in wild directions with each overzealous syllable.

Teeth grinding into the grip he jerked his head upwards, plunging the knife deep into the stallions front just before the rifle bolt fed home. Sinking it in deeply, he released the hilt and dove between the stallions rear legs just before the body limply fell with rifle in tow. He rolled forwards and caught a glimpse of the rifle as it fired again down the hallway. Just as the scarred mare came bounding around it.

A fraction of a second later the mares head snapped back sickeningly. Before he could see any more his roll ended, leaving him looking down an empty hallway once more.

Spread eagle in the dirt, his head pounded with the ringing tempo of a thousand thunderstorms and a high pitched screech invading his skull. It was almost impossible to tell up from down. Little pats of blood fell from his hood as he hauled himself to a stand.

The deafening roar from his ears continued as he ran pell-mell down the hallway and away from the scene behind him. Not wanting to look back he concentrated on searching every dark nook or cranny for a place to hide. Tears still blurred his vision as he made a few random twists and turns before turning down a tiny hallway he vaguely recognized. It ended about twenty paces farther on with a low table that had been so thoroughly crammed with junk it had fully reached the underside of the lowest drawers.

Clawing his way into the detritus he carved a hole and slammed his body into it to shovel aside it all. His teeth clattered as his heart continued to race. His forehead felt like it was floating on water as he sucked in lungful after lungful of air into his small chest.

He crammed as much trash as he could into the hole he had made and shrunk farther back under the table. Soon it was pitch black and his heart slowed to a steady thrum. The ringing fading tortuously to a dull whine as he laid his head down and stared, shell-shocked, into the blackness surrounding him. The high of adrenaline beginning to leak out of his body. Small shivers ran from his nose to his tail for minutes on end.

He wanted to cry again, but nothing came. He could feel the leather wall he was up against vibrate as to what he imagined was hundreds of hooves, all running about about in the surrounding hallways. He curled up into a tighter ball as he imagined the thousands of ponies, guns drawn, teeth barred, thundering around. Just for him.

Shivering, he pushed a few more wads of old newspapers into the hole he had covered and further closed himself off from the outside world. Resting his aching head on an old stack of newspapers he fled into unconsciousness, all the while shaking and hoping he wouldn't scream when he woke.

Reborn Again

"Huummmmmmmmmm."

"Hummmmmm."

Two tired eyes cracked open only to only see a dark grey malaise. Feet below a small worm worked its way back and forth along the ragged surface in a lazy crawl. An endless loop that immedietly struck his groggy brain as odd.

"Wha..-*hrk*"

A frog in his throat. Lodged so firmly that it nearly choked the air from his lungs. The worm kept up its lazy circle. Faster and faster it went until in a blinding ray of light dissipated it altogether.

"So, it speaks," came a rough voice from below.

Head dipping, he looked with bleary eyes at the voice, shimmering in and out of the ether he could not tell its source.

"Wh- *huk*, who?" croaked a voice he didn't recognize. It took him a second to fully realize it was his own.

"You are meat, that is what you are. Hmmmm, but as for WHO you are I cannot tell. Your end is as blank as the walls. Hummm, so I think it is fair to say you are no-one."

"My- My name is..."

His froggy chords were silent for a moment. All that came was a blur of white and red, a stinging pain like a bee stuck in between a moldy set of barding. Nothing came to him.

"I don't think you know, yes? A pity. I'll have to name you myself if that is the case." A hearty chuckle. " And I do love to name"

The voice from the edge of his vision was silent for a moment before speaking again.

"Hummmmmmmmmmm, tear."

Groggily his brain failed to make sense of the word.

"Tear? Tearing what?"

"Hmmm, yes, Tear."

Suddenly, and without warning an incalculable pain lanced up his right leg. Red, hot, throbbing gouts of agony. The slow torturous burn of flesh in marriage with the searing heat of blood. He screamed. It lasted for what seemed to be hours. Amidst the horrific onslaught of bursting color behind his eyes he could see as clear as daylight an Instamash lid being peeled from its tin.

Finally, the pain stopped. Leaving behind a throbbing slick mass of raw hurt. He sobbed into the air with great heaving breaths as his lungs struggled to keep up with his agony.

He limply hung from the restraints and trembled. His mind raced to drive itself into the hole it had receded from.

The voice from below softly wafted across the valley that had formed between him and world. Its tone now more of a sultry growl. Like that of a cat stretching its body in a beam of sunlight.

"Tear, yes, NOW you are tear." A chuckle rolled from the voice, as if there was a joke being shared between them.

"Tear will do."

His mind latched onto a new voice. A honeyed wine like thing that slithered around his brain in a hugging embrace that choked as much as it drove away the pain.

It did not stay however, hoofsteps were soon receding from his ears. He strained them back and forth in vain to catch all of the words she might say as she left but none came. A soft click signaled her departure.

"Hmmmmm," said the graveled voice again, sweeping the warm embrace of the precious words aside. "Let me give back your eyes."

A wafting sensation tickled his fur as the strip of cloth was removed from his face. A thing he almost immediately regretted as the bright white glow of a construction light blinded him momentarily.

Blinking a few times he squinted into the surrounding gloom and quickly spotted the door leading out. An orange aura seeped in around the rickety frame just barely illuminating the dirt ceiling above. He craned his neck back to see the steel shackles that clung to his arms and legs. Small ringlets of taught chain run through a ripped and stained mattress. Firmly securing him to the layered sick that coated its surface.

His eyes moved to the throbbing pain in his leg. It was almost to bright to see in the work light but he managed to sickly gaze at the ragged strip of flesh than hung down from his limb. A steady trickle of blood ran lazily off the wound and pattered onto the floor where it had already started to pool slightly in the dust.

His eyes gazed at the bright crimson as it sparkled and refracted the light on its fall towards the floor.

"Mmmmmm, yes, it does look pretty doesn't it."

The purring voice was right next to his ear. With a jerk, the colts muzzle was soon mere inches away from a sea of rotted fur. He recoiled, and as he did he could finally see his tormentor.

Mottled fuzz rippled across sinew and bone. A dreadlocked mane so matted it might have been actually been solid ran down across the misshapen head, ending at the tips of the floppy ears of a... mule? He had never seen one outside of a children's book he had once seen but whatever this thing was, it was hard to tell through the mushy skin that seemed to layer it from head to toe.

Two burgundy lips parted as the creature took in a sucking breath.

"The crimson in the light, it makes you feel warm inside yes? Warm in. Warm out."

Its hazel eyes flicked over to the still bleeding wound and then flicked back to his. A mixture of want and desire played across its... "features" as he motioned a hoof at the strip of dangling flesh.

"Warm?", it offered again.

The colt could only minorly nod his head as the being leaned in closer. He could have sworn he saw a maggot worm in and out of its mane as it moved.

"Hmmmmm, warm still means alive, yes, and that's a good thing too. Wouldn't want it to go cold. Cold meat spoils."

The thing cackled a dry, heaving laugh and grinned at the colt. It took him a moment to realize it was patiently waiting for him to laugh as well. He let out a tiny pained, tittering, laugh that sounded too much like a wounded animal for his liking.

The thing nodded, seemingly satisfied with that. It turned and started to roll a dolly cart past the colts vision towards a nearby dilapidated desk. A single set of gleaming pliers sat neatly in the center of the cart. A trickle of blood dotted the otherwise impeccable surface.

"Boss ma'am needed new blood, and I gave it a good test, yes. You are good to go."

With a sudden jolt the colt was set free of the restraints and plummeted to land heavily on the floor. Wheezing, he curled into a ball and cradled the torn flesh on his leg. Dirt and grime from the floor had already mushed itself into the still bleeding wound from the fall. Tears welled up again in the corners of his eyes he looked about for the mush-like mule.

It was slumped in a chair behind a nearby desk, quietly humming. With deft care it worked to polish clean the pair of pliers till they shone brighter than anything else in the room.

With a pained expression he burbled some half formed words past numb lips as tears began to run down his cheeks.

"Hummmmmmmm, warm, yes." The thing looked up from its work and ceased its throated hum. "Now out."

The colt looked from it, to the ramshackle door, to his leg, and then back at the thing. His amazement was staggering to the point of forgetting the pain in his leg.

"Now... out?"

"Yes," it pointed with a mangled hoof, "out."

Confusion crossed the colts features. A grimace started to form along his muzzle as he realized.

"You're not going to fix me."

The thing nodded its head unceremoniously without looking up from its work.

The colt was dumbstruck on the floor.

"You. You cant leave me like this!?" he sputtered the words out through mounting panic. "I- It'll grow infected!"

"The warm will not get cold yet. Patience."

Growling, the tears now gone and replaced by the terror rising in his throat, the colt cursed under is breath and started frantically peering into the surrounding gloom for something, anything to stop the bleeding. His head whipped back and forth as he numbly tried to drag himself along the floor.

It was only when he was looking underneath a canvas bag, merely finding a worn out tire, that something brazen came into his mind. Gaining his hooves, he sucked in a shuddering breath, and tried to remember what his mother had always told him when he had done something bad.

Putting on the best grin he could muster, more out of desperation than hope, he slowly turned his head towards the lump of mule at the desk. He swallowed the gall in this throat and attempted to mimic the same tone as he had heard her use.

"You're not cleaning up your toys, you mangy sack."

The cleaning rag slowed and the mule looked him dead in the eyes, wide and surprised. The colt leaned in further and insisted.

"The warm meat spoils because of you," he took a breath, "you are the reason the butcher rots."

'Wait. The butcher rots? What the heck was that supposed to mean?'

He cursed to himself was just about to try again when a blur of motion caught him unawares.

The movement was so quick the colt almost didn't catch the thing leap to its feet. The chair it was perched on clattered nosily to the floor in a cloud of dust. The colts back stiffened in fright but relaxed when it was apparent he was not being lunged upon.

The look on its face was imperceptible through the folds of skin but the apparent restraint gave the colt courage to go on.

"The butcher is rotten, and so it spoils the meat, you are the spoiled butcher. Ho-"

"That's enough kid."

The colts little frame leapt in surprise as a previously unheard voice coolly spoke right next to his ear. He whipped his head around and stared back into a set of blue iris'.

The tastefully tattooed muzzle of a young mare smiled coyly at him from where she stood. Stooping low enough to get to his level on the floor.

"I know you think your clever and all, but if you piss him off he's just going to just eat you." She looked up from the colt and yelled to the still standing lump of mange. "Isn't that right Harlem?"

A grunt, and a mumble was all she got in return as it picked up the chair and perched once again with the medical instrument. She turned to look back at the colt.

"Not sure if you were trying to get him to feel..." she paused and looked him over, "sorry for you? But I doubt whatever you were going to say to him could never truly manipulate that idiot into doing anything other than making 'meat'," she poked at his chest, "out of you."

She smiled.

He gulped.

The monstrosity in the chair burped.

"Now then. What's your name."

He wasn't sure why, but he felt a sudden need, a burning desire to let something, anything, of his life out to this beautiful mare. It took him a second try but he managed to bring the words to his lips.

"I- I don't remember my name. I was barely not a foal when I last heard it."

*SMACK*

"No, you little pile of shit; what is your NAME?"

He had fallen partly sideways and his head was still turned sideways from the blow as she lowered her hoof back to the floor. It had caught him right behind the chin and he could feel a welt already forming beneath the fuzz.

The thing in the chair gingerly set down his pliers, catching her attention.

"Tear. Meats name is Tear."

"Tear huh?" She turned to look at him, this time with a more appraising look, "Tear will do."

The mare leaned forwards and bit into the nape of his neck. Shock ran through his body as little tingles coalesced at the tips of his hooves, banishing any lingering numbness from his bones. It was a gentile but firm hold, one that made him feel a little bit hot.

It did not last long enough for him to parse the feeling however as he was hauled to an unsteady standing position and let go. He looked downwards to reorient the world as it tried to spin and noticed that the still throbbing wound on his hind leg had mostly stopped bleeding, mainly thanks to the grime and dust that been caked into it. He looked down and away from her knowing smirk.

"My, my leg."

"Yeah?" she looked at it, "what of it?"

He summed up the courage to turn to glare at her.

"I'm going to get sick if you DON'T FIX IT." He managed a snarl on the end for emphasis even though it left him scared once they left his lips.

Her eyes carried a cold, faraway look for a second before reasserting themselves.

"Yeah?" She intoned again with scorn before switching to a snarl herself. "It doesn't really matter now does it? All good meat dies in the end anyways now don't it?"

With those words she turned and walked to the nearby door and pushed on it to enter the pale orange glow beyond.

Shuddering, he followed.

Rip and Tear

She was halfway down the hall before he could catch up to her. It had only taken him a moment to find an errant scrap of cloth laying in the detritus of the floor to bandage his leg together with but to his dismay he finding that he was being dogged by a small limp that came up whenever he set pressure on the limb.

She had turned her head to watch him but hadn't slowed her gait to accommodate his own hampered one. He managed a small hiss of pain each time he had to scurry forwards after falling too far behind.

He struggled to keep up his motions as the fog of exhaustion threatened to overtake him on his hooves. His eyes locked on the mares tail in a vein hope of finding a marker to keep up to. The dark strands waved in the air as he tried to keep a level distance between his hoofalls and her own.

Like a little puppy following its owner he trailed her as she wound her way through torch lit corridor after corridor. Countless turns that seemed to snake in upon themselves passed them both by as the minutes wore on. Fifteen, twenty? He couldn't even begin to guess how long they had been seemingly walked in circles for. It was only when she had started to ascent a set of stairs that his vision finally became too blurry to see anything anymore.

He had started crying again without even realizing it.

He looked forlornly at the high wooden steps, leg aching. The steps looked like a mile high to him at this point.

The mare turned around midway up her ascent and spotted him at the bottom surrounded by gloom.

"Get up here."

Her icy tone gave the hairs on the back of his neck a tingle, but he remained silent and still.

She turned around when he didn't move.

"Get up here. Now." The last word oozed its way from her muzzle like a slick of tainted oil.

The colt named Tear could only sullenly look up at her from the first set of steps in exhausted despair.

If I climb that stairs, I'll just die.

It didn't make sense, at least not to him, but the small voice somewhere inside of his head wanted it to be true. If he tried to climb those stairs he would just rather lay down and let the blackness creeping into his vision take him. Until he felt a metal bit ram past his cheek and into his throat.

*Pssssssssttt-chk*

"WHUOOAAAAAAAAAHH!!" he sucked in a surprised rasping breath so deep that it threatened to pop his little lungs.

His pupils shrank even more that they already were from the surprise and started to tremble in their sockets. He threw his head backwards towards the ceiling in a gasp that turned itself into a throat gurgling rattle.

The mare lifted the Rampage injector away from his face and tossed it aside into a dim corner near the stairs before turning back to him with a smirk on her lips.

He didn't notice. Couldn't notice. His vision was a still a blur, but now it had taken on a red tinge at the edges. His heart thudded so mightily in his small chest that it threatened to explode with each thrum. He could see into the future, the past, he could see the world in the tiny grains of sand that clung to the grimy locks of mane that passed in front of his eyes. He-

"You ok meat?" she looked at him with the first bit of doubt he had seen from her thus far. "You're vibrating faster than a toy."

His head snapped up to her rapidly moving face and then downwards towards his hooves. He was? Looking down at his legs and torso they almost seemed to be buzzing about in tandem with his vision. A heat was building up in his chest, so much that it felt like it would explode right out of his ribs and onto the floor!

But, all of a sudden, it stopped. And he was left, standing stock still in the hallway, with heat welling in his gut. It pooled there consistently and could also be felt weaving tendrils of the feeling down into the joints of his legs and up into his shoulders and hips.

He couldn't think. Red tinged heat blocked his thoughts. A blaze in his mind that dipped and waned and then rose back in comforting waves. Like bubbles leaking to the surface he felt the feelings of... he didn't know what, rise to the surface. He lashed out to one of the bubbles before it rose to the surface and popped it. A sea of bright crimson blanketed his vision as he inhaled the elixir of coppery lust.

Bloodlust.

Not himself, he wallowed in the feeling for a moment before looking at the mare. He wanted to hurt something. Anything at all. Make it feel like his leg did right now. To rip and tear something to make it feel just the same. A burgeoning hunger filtered into his glassy eyes and he took his first step up the stairs towards her. Only one separated them now.

She smiled, and so did he.

He lunged. And she waited.

He neared her and she didn't even move a muscle as he did. Four steps. Three. Two. Now he was within biting distance and he opened his jaws wide to take a chuck from her beautiful, tattoo'ed throat.

But in a blur, just when his wolves were mere inches from her supple fur, he was jerked forwards in a mighty toss and sent flying through the now open trapdoor.

He sailed from the darkness of the underground into the open air of a massive tent. THE tent. There were ponies all around him. Seated in slatted benches raised above the pit of dust and grime that he now found himself laying in. Jeers and cries of joy raced up and down those assembled in ever growing waves.

He leapt to his hooves in an instant. Blood boiling and frothing from the lack of mare throat in between his teeth. He snarled and bit at the air in desperation; right before he noticed the filly across the way.

"Mares and Colts!" came a booming voice from somewhere overhead. He flattened his ears against his skull to lessen the volume. "We have for you today TWO, that's right you fucks, TWO new little balls of meat to cheer for!"

The crowd somehow boomed even louder than the speaker.

"And it looks like this one here's already all coiled up for the kill eh' folks!?"

The crowd gave another thunderous cheer that thudded into the little colt's ears. He wasn't paying attention though, not really, the crowds cheers and jeers were floating past him on a level to high for him to reach. No. He only had eyes for the filly across the bowl from him.

A burnished grey thing with a grungy blond mane teetered to and fro in front of him with a a helpless gait. A blood soaked bandage wrapped itself around her hip, and she winced whenever any discernible weight was put on it.

"Drill, and Tear!!!" shouted the voice.

"DRILL AND TEAR!!!" boomed the crowd.

He lunged. Crossing the distance in a matter of moments. His leg screaming in pain. Screaming just as much as the filly in front of him was.

...

He was standing... His eyes were locked on the grey and... gold. He hadn't realized her mane was gold; not blond. The broken remains shimmered under the heat of the noonday sun as it shone down through the hole in the bigtop's roof. He felt as if his fur would burn up in the heat. Inside and out.

Copper coated his mouth and front, and he growled. In fear, and also for no reason at all.

Did I do that?

He eyes never swayed from the form at his hooves. Red lines laced his vision making it hard to see. He blinked them away.

The world rushed back to meet him.

"WHAT A TAKEDOWN!" thundered the voice overhead over the thunderous yells of the crowd, "That filly didn't even stand a chance against that! Give it up for the little meat cube everypony!"

The sudden shift broke his stupor enough so that he staggered away from the mess. The crowd hammered with approval, some even going so far as to take a hit or two from canisters of their own. They jeered and crooned over him as the haze of an errant question flitted by his consciousness. meat cube...?

"ANOTHER!?" asked the announcer, and the crowd boomed in approval. "Well, then this mangy mutt will need to get on his A game to handle your favorite!"

There was a clank and a whoosh as a door opened across the pit from him; out of which another colt roughly his age stepped from. A Deep brown coat with golden eyes that sparkled in the sunlight met his gaze. A gargantuan scar ran along his side that was only partially hidden from view by the loose, metal studded barding he wore. He stretched and glared at Tear.

"RIP, and TEAR!!!"

The throng whooped and cheered once more.

He could feel it rising in him again, that warm oozing heat deep in his gut. He felt the fear rising in him too this time though. A icy wind that tried but failed to quell the rising coppery lust in his veins now that he was looking at another so close within his grasp.

He screamed in terror, or what he felt was terror as his body was hurled forwards in a mad dash. The other colt named Rip braced himself expertly for the impact. Tear felt himself slipping, backwards into that hole. The tiny place where he could be safe and shut his eyes to the world. It would be over soon.

And so, darkness reigned.

Nothing Lies Here

It was the nothingness that rose him from his deep slumber. His fetlocks almost tingled it was so quiet. The only thing in his periphery was the faint pitter patter of his heartbeat against the silence.

Groggily he opened his eyes and looked out into the... he wasn't actually sure...

An endless white expanse stretched before him on all sides, totally and evenly formed save for the gentle ripples and waves that ran along its long surface. Like a long sheet of paper it hovered just in front of his nose and seemed to move with his every glance about. His eyes you flick to the left and the ripples would follow, but change, teasing out smaller waves with each passing ripple and fold. Even though it wasn't touching him, it tingled his fur.

The deep haze ebbed and flowed, meandering this way and that with incomprehensible direction. With each breath he, took patterns would become clear within the soupy surface. Like a branch pushed into sand, the creases would multiply until running their course and falling away to nothing against the waves. He snorted through his nose a short puff of air. Little lines scattered this way that in front of his eyes as his breath punched into the white miasma. His glossy eyes wandered, fully entranced by the odd shapes that spread from him into the vast nothingness beyond high above his head.

He felt an overwhelming sense of calm deep in his chest. It felt like his lungs and heart were wrapped, like a pillow in a case, or like a swaddled foal in a warm blanket. He felt like he could just wind himself into a ball and just float here for eternity. Smelling the crisp air. Taking in the shapes that played about in the smoke all around him.

He looked away from the lines high above as they finally ended their race to the heavens. Turning back with a smile on his lips to blow air again he was surprised when he realized something new had appeared in the perfect sea of white. Slowly leaking a small stream of black smoke into the void like bubbles into an ocean he could see a tiny pinprick of pitch black darkness.

Blinking hard, he tried to get his tired eyes to banish the dot and return the immaculate surface that had existed before, but without any feeling he found himself slowly drifting closer. The leak was widening. No longer merely a pinprick the hole was now the size of his hoof. Craning his neck away he tried to pull back, to pull himself away from the spot. He got closer, closer still. Until he stopped

Eyes straining to tear themselves away he was peered into the inky blackness beyond and saw...

Nothing.

Scrunching up his nose he blew a puff of air towards the wisp of oozing blackness, hoping to drive it away and bring back the lines. But before even his breath could fully reach it it had shrunk back as if defending itself from the assault. It receded again to a tiny pinprick as he watched and leaked no further but remained, tiny and dark against the waves. Turning his head away from the blemish he stared into to the open expanse with curious eyes. He could hear something.

Somewhere far above, past anything and everything, he could hear a faint warble begin to be played on an old grand piano. His ears shifted forwards to strain against the silence to hear it better and he was just about to just make out the flowing chords of a song when they suddenly ceased to play. He could almost, but not quite, remember.

For a time he sat and listened. His body continuing to float endlessly in the mire as the trailing end of the notes wafted past him to the great space below. Straining against the echo he tried vainly to hear the end, but it had faded away into the mist just as subtly as it had arrived.

Loosing a disheartened sigh, he leaned back and closed his eyes to block out the white. It was starting to annoy him, the nothingness. Why exist at all if it would just torment him? He opened his eyes and grunted in annoyance. He could hear his sigh being carried away on the ebbing tides of white until he could hear no more than a faint echo.

He lay quietly in the tide, the feelings of serene calm permeating every nook and cranny of his previously tired muscles while his mind struggled with the rising annoyance he felt. Like a dichotomy of oil and water the two feelings gelled together in his body and warred against each other; flip flopping over and over enough to make him feel a bit sick. Like he had done one too many somersaults.

Like a calm bit of water flowing through a sheet of silk he let the sensations wax and wane until again he was alone in a sea of nothingness. Untold time could have floated by without his caring. He lay still and waited.

Every once and a while he could feel his muzzle brush into a particularly thick bit of the white ether as it passed on by. Each soft caress of the fog would spark his mind briefly briefly with an old smell here and a subtle taste there, seemingly to linger just long enough to goad his curiosity in what it was but too short lived to truly identify. The teasing game of cat and mouse with his memory was starting to really get on his nerves. Almost like a drip of water over the course of days that could drive a pony crazy.

I was during a taste of what could have only been described as 'sunlight' that he felt a new sensation start take over. Little pleasant tingles sparkled all over his scalp in a cascade of invisible static. Each one almost like a tiny hook of velcro plucking pleasantly at the base of each passing hair. Teasing out every little good feeling he'd ever had and multiplying it against the backdrop of the world he found himself in. It worked its magic to sharpen his senses into something keener than they ever had been here.

He inhaled and his lungs filled with the cold, crisp air of an autumn wind. Catharsis washed over his brow and chest with warm feelings of knowing. With it came the wet haze of sodden leaves underhoof on either side of him. Each new breath brought his groggy thoughts further and further into this land of feeling, far away from his start as the pleasant tingles continued. He breathed in and out to keep the smells and sensations within reach; but it was in vain. Shortly the vision faded away from his mind, just as he was beginning to hear the faint start of a scream.

He tensed. The small noise echoed into the malaise and he whished it to stop but it just kept on going up, and up, and up , and up. A marble of fear had started to form in his throat as it finally left the reach of his ears. He shivered. He should know.

The pinprick of pitch black darkness was almost as tall and wide as he was now. It bubbled and frothed like a cauldron against the white fog that housed it. Pulling his fetlocks closer to his chest he watched as the white void come to life with little fizzling bubbles as the two colors battled away. Almost like a Sparkle Cola shaken too hard the voids fought against one another for supremacy. Small chunks of blackness chipping off white edges that were shorn away to float into their own battles and tides.

Eyes wide open now and irises merely a millimeter wide, he slowly reached out with a trembling hoof to the beyond where he couldn't see.

Suddenly and without warning the tickle on his scalp that had not yet ceased flared into a frenzy of fire. Flying, falling, jumping, crawling. He felt like he too was slowly able to realize all the feelings rising within him to count the black thoughts that whizzed past. He stretched out his arms to steady himself and ended up touching a small war in the white being fought with the black. The shock nearly killed him from the ferocity it wrought.

Crying out in pain and terror he clutched his hoof to his chest in writhing agony until the gnawing pressure lifted from his foreleg. Through gritted teeth he hissed a curse. He couldn't tell why, but he needed to remember them all. All of the smells. All of the good feelings, the bad one too. And the sounds. Especially the sounds. Nothing could to go to waste or be left to forget. He had tried to let go, but something however was desperately trying to hold onto him. Even now.

A horrid feeling seeped into his gut. Like a damp, clammy towel it wound its way up and around his hind leg in a vice-like grip. A flash of memory snapped past as a spoiling bubble of black fog tore towards the up. Visions of a monster hoping to clamber up from its watery grave to gnaw at his legs and drag him below burst into being as he struggled against the thing. It held fast against his thrashing, serving to only weaken his legs a bit more as the warring bubbles raced faster.

A sudden thought sprang to life throughout the malaise making the white expanse shimmer. The voice was unbidden, booming, full of barbs and talons meant to hold him still.

LET ME SAVE YOU

He froze. Panic overtaking his struggles as the thing dragged him down, down past the warring bubbles towards the gray miasma that was its domain.

He didn't believe it for one second.

Snapping from the fear he thrashed, trying to throw off its cold, icy grip as his heart raced. One mighty kick after another yielded no ground as the thing drug him closer and closer to the end. He could almost feel the cold slick mud writhe up to his heels before it was too late. He thundered a bellow so deep it shook the expanse around him and kicked out with a mighty buck striking something solid for the first time just as he neared the bottom.

Almost immediately he felt the hold on his leg loosen and with another swift kick it slithered away and left him altogether. As it did, he left the cold confines of the gray and began to float untethered into the great expanse above without direction. Tumbling head over haunches errant tingles still clutched at his mind as he drifted forwards faster and faster. Soon so fast that he was rising in concert with the black bubbles that surrounded him, all of which zipped towards the great white up at blazing speed.

He could feel the density around him shift suddenly. With each growing second the white sheet that surrounded his tumbling form became lighter and lighter and pressed in closer and closer. Soon, as it pressed in tighter to his frame, the color of his coat began to rub into it, mussing its impeccable sheen to more resemble the grey rain clouds he sometimes saw over the distant mountaintops. It pressed into his eyes like they were made of water and soon all he could see was the expanse above him. He gasped.

Blazing orbs shimmered like a billion stars in the open air all around him and into the distance as far as his eyes could see. Each one a brilliant dot of gold throwing a close halo of light on the canvas of grey. It was hard to look directly at them as they whipped past. There were just too many, and where they clustered the shimmer combined into a frightful glow hot enough to make him squint.

His eyes wide in amazement he drifted upwards at a speed he could not define. It wasn't until one of them whizzed by at such a speed as to make a snap that had him cover his ears did he realize how animated they were now that he had entered their domain. They ha begun to rise with him! He merged with a cluster as they all rose together, spinning and twirling around him like a gale of fireflies.

He watched as a sphere in its accent wafted close enough to his nose to make him shy away from the glare. Only after letting his eyes adjust was he was able to finally see into depths of its inner coil. The shine muddied the image, but he watched transfixed as deep within the orb a small brown colt was swaddled into a gigantic hug from behind by a mare that he could not fully see.

Burning with a sudden need he reached for the image in a lunge, but it was snatched away by an emerging tendril of smoke before his hoof could get any closer than an inch away.

Small little pinpricks of blackness had began erupting from the grey all around now. Tendrils of smoke that wrapped themselves around the rising spheres and snatched the glistening orbs from view into the depths of their otherworldly bellies.

Stunned, he had only a moment to contemplate the vision in the orb he had seen before he was wracked with a feeling of loss so great it nearly coiled his stomach upon itself. Raw hurt filled his chest and he suffered a whimper as he clutched at his frame in a desperate plea to make it all stop. But he kept rising, even as a tear rolled from his eye and floated away into the gray nothingness. Only his lack of breath finally ended the silence. All that was left was a sound, a terrible sound so far, far overhead.

His heart steadily froze as the movement brought him along faster and faster. Upwards towards the unending wail in the heavens. More tears had streaked his face and reflected the blazing orbs around him as he watched the spent tears speed away to the top of the unending vastness of the grey malaise beyond. They collected there and flattened into a thin sheet of glass. He rose faster, and in the unknown reaches beyond the glass a banshee's scream rattled the veil between the him and whatever lay above. His face met the glass at speed.

He erupted through the water with a whooshing roar and a scream. Fragments of the glass pane were sent spiraling out into the great storm beyond as the silence he had been enveloped in for so long was replaced with a monstrous cacophony so dense it flattened his ears to his skull by sheer weight of volume. Cartwheeling end over end he flew countless feet as he arced over the waves before splashing down into the endless gray green sea.

Huge swells crashed and thrashed as rain and wind pelted his bobbing face in an effort to drive him below the surface. Shards of shimmering glass pattered into the ocean swells around him and cut deeply into the rising tides that threatened to overwhelm him. Far away, a bolt of lightning struck a section of the ocean and cracked a peal of thunder so loud that it almost flattened the roiling waters below.

Choking on the waves he paddled as best as he could to stay bobbing at the surface. He was steadily loosing the battle between him and the whitewalls as they relentlessly pounded him beneath the surface again and again in a flurry of bubbles and ash. A shriek from a voice above had him soon staring directly into the mouth of the whirling storm as he came heaving back to the surface for the then countless time.

Spitting out mouthfuls of salty brine he watched to his horror as a pair of translucent voids descended from the grey splitting skies above. Monstrous portals through which he watched a slowly clearing picture of a world beyond. One of blood and bone and fur. He pushed out with his front legs to paddle against the cold grip of the ocean to escape the looming windows to another world and immediately regretted doing so.

Corpses floated everywhere in the choppy waters now. Having appeared either from the depths or the sky he had no idea, but as he thrashed away from the portals he managed to knock into a few and realized he didn't truly care. Gagging on the water, he was blocked in by a trio of them as they were tossed frightfully in the swells. He could see the nearest of them roll over to reveal a face covered in hair made of gold. He choked back a gag as anguish flooded every nook and cranny of his frame.

Directly overhead now the windows blotted out the sky. Growing to such proportions as to block the rain from striking the ocean. The wind could still be felt as bolt after bolt of lighting struck the waters all around him frying white tipped crests to ash in an instant.

Craning his neck upwards to stay afloat he bobbed in the surf and could only watch through rain swept eyes as the vision from the lens's finally cleared. It was a nose. Dripping with blood, as somepony screamed past the iron bit stuck between their lips.

Flames danced and shook with a impassioned rage past the iron cage that encircled the limits of the vision as another shock coursed through the writhing muscles surrounding his nostrils. Lungful after lungful of air was sucked out of his breast to be thrown to the unknown beyond as he once again heard the wail he had grown so accustomed to.

He moved to cover his ears but it couldn't, wouldn't, help. He wanted so badly for it to stop, everything, the tightness of his taut muscles aching with every thrash. He wanted so badly to return down below. To the quiet, to the unknown, to the end.

Let me save you

Thoughts started to race forwards across his scalp like bolts of lightning. He could almost feel them burn hollow ridges into his skull at they tore back and forth. How long had it been now. Months? How long had he been here?

His head ached, the screaming never letting a second go by without its unyielding presence. Pops and snaps accompanied the bedlam. Brain cells fried in an instant with each passing eternity. He bellowed hoarsely into the storm above.

Fear lanced at his heart. How long?! What did- How long had he been gone? Wh- when, where was he?

He screamed again as another torrent of lightning rained on his skull.

With a painful yank he was driven forwards with a blinding speed straight from the ocean; right towards the windowed world above. Faster, faster than ever before, by every hair of his being he was pulled towards them. The heavens thundered downwards in kind, tasting his memories.

His brain rung with an endless cacophony of sounds, a mare singing a lullaby. A gunshot's reverberation. An eerie coalescing of angry shouts and tearful screams. The feel of a blade in his hooves, slowly sliding home into yet another chest... fuzzy ears on strings.

A morphing face suspended on wire, laced with sand to stare from eternity to the waking island that was reality. A brief yet interminable amount of time before anything or everything could ever occur. He almost could feel the seconds slip by like they were years. They tickled his eyelashes.

"So... to t- than, coming."

Suddenly his vision was enveloped by the picture of the world outside his waning prison, like a projection on the inside of a ball. He saw others just like it side by side as it rushed down to meet him.

In a blink the world finally snapped into focus.

And he was screaming for real this time.

What a Time to Be Alive

"Holy crap can't you stuff a rag in him!? He's going to make me loose my goddess damned hearing at this rate!"

A guttural feminine groan came from the stallions left, "Mmmmmmm, no let 'em scream. Gives my bits a warm feeling when he does. How could you want it to stop?"

"Ugh, nevermind. Stop diddling yourself for a moment and help me take off the freaking harness?"

There was a grunt and after a few moments Tear could feel a heavy cage lift itself from his head. His breath was flowing out from him in a perpetual wail; a scream sourced entirely from the pain and terror he still felt from deep in his bones. Blood flecked spittle eked from the corners of his mouth to the ground as the lasting howl left him.

Finally his breath ran dry and he immediately seized up in a hoof curling migraine that began to form in the absence of the weight on his head. He tried to clutch at his head but tight metal bands bound his forelegs to the posts of a rickety metal bench. Only a thin strip of wood separated his chin from seat which he would have actually preferred, given how wonderfully cold the metal felt on the blazing skin of his legs.

Gasping, he reached out for air and even though he felt like his throat would slip out of him at any moment another wail tried to build behind his exhausted lungs. But before it rose to the surface he forced it down with a hard, gagging, swallow and let the his chin fall onto the bench with a thunk. The haze over his vision gradually lessened as he managed to funnel into his body what little oxygen there was left to have through his nostrils.

"About freaking time," mumbled the male voice close to his left ear, "You'd think he was going to die or something with all of that hollering."

"Just as well," he heard a chuckle, "who knows though, not too late to find out you know."

With aching neck muscles he tried to tilt his head towards the voice at his ear but the migraine’s pounding stopped his movements before he got far. He resigned his chin to stop and rested. Slowly letting the throbbing world clear. He was staring at dirt again he realized through the haze. The same old dirt he'd always looked at. His eyes rolled in his head as a wave of nausea ran though him. Shuddering, he focused with all of his might on the wall and fought back the bile.

The pounding thundered on and on with the tempo of a stampede. It served as a constant disruption and never allowed a complete thought to coalesce no matter how hard he tried. With a surge of willpower he strained against the binds and bit his lip in concentration. The last thing he could remember. He needed to find it. Darkness. Bags. A home in garbage. Table. It all fit but the throbbing kept the puzzle constantly shifting up and out of his reach.

He winced as another wave of dizziness steadily built into a roaring crescendo and then fell with debilitating strength. Heartbeats thudded in time with the pressure in his ears as his errant thoughts attempted to occupy the same space as the current stampede. He tried desperately to think, he was missing something. Running, explosions, a strip of flesh, thundering applause.

How could- wait.

Eyes flying wide open, migraine forgotten, his heart stopped.

Slowly, with a practiced grace, a grime covered hoof reached beneath his muzzle and gradually tilted his head skywards off the bench's surface. His pounding mind fizzling cracks of panic that shot off into the recesses of his brain. His vision rose in tortured unwillingness from earth to meet a pair of large, brown, gold flecked eyes. Unbidden, a scream rose to his lips.

The stallions other hoof slapped harshly down onto the colts muzzle before anything could escape from his throat. The frog of the foul smelling thing dug furrows into the sides of his nostrils as it clamped down, effectively cutting off any scream he was forming.

"Ah ah ah, you bucking scream one more time," the voice growled, "and I will reach down there and cut off your bits and feed them to you one by one. You hear me?"

The little colt stared up and over the crusted fetlock fur and into the glinting orbs that calmly looked back into his own. A brown lock of the stallions hair wavered in the air between them, almost like the strands themselves were chiding the colt for his lack of self control.

With a few gulps he managed to work his throat into choking the scream back down to where it had came from. It took an unimaginable level of effort but he managed to drown out the bubbling panic with a few short, gagging breaths from his compressed nose. Shivering silently he stared into the impatient gaze across from his own.

The stallions rancid breath plumed straight into his eyes forcing them to momentarily close as he sighed gratefully and took his hooves away from the colts face. Looking down the length of his muzzle Tear could see little dark smears of something foul mashed into his face. He was almost itching to have a hoof free to wipe at the gunk, but contented himself with not gagging on the thought. Silently, and slowly, he let the head fall back to the bench, never taking his wide eyes from the stallion in front of him.

"So, like I was trying to say over this meats wailing. I've never had one scream so much as he came out! Are you sure you got the parts even close to working right?"

Tear moved his eyes from the brown haired stallion in from of him to a mottled grey mare with a deep red mane who stood across the small room, glaring back at the question.

'No. I don't. Aren't you supposed to know how this thing works? she haughtily proffered. I just find the bucking parts and replace them," she moved to point a hoof at her forehead, "Not a unicorn. You're the one with that freaking carrot stick here its not even my job to do that anyways, it's yours."

The stallion sneered back, "Well, maybe the part you brought in was broken. Just like the last one was! Did you even make sure it was salvageable before you brought your stupid flank back here!?"

The mare looked him directly in the eyes and returned the sneer.

"Oh go call your mom and lick'er you drag. Why don't you go hoof your own asshole to Manehatten next time. Get some work into those stringy legs Twig."

She made a rude gestures at him while the stallion grunted dismissively in her direction and turned around from the both of them to place something on a rickety shelf. With a pale yellow glow he levitated a glistening orb into place next to a few others that all looked identical. Each glinted eerily in the meager light with an otherworldly sheen even though the shadows surrounding them should never have let them.

Turning back he interrupted as the mare was almost about to speak again, "I'll have to review it for later. You take him to the pit."

She looked and then grunted in Tears direction, "Why don't you do it, I was the one who just dragged him here."

"Because," he glared at her and pointed to a dark corner where a small bundle lay next to a shelf, "I've got another one to split. Now take him out of here before I call Garum and he goes to waste."

Wiggling in his restraints the small colt shied away as the clearly annoyed mare as she huffed and moved towards him on heavy hooves. With a flick of her tail she launched a moth eaten sack from a nearby corner to her teeth and began to push and pull it on over his head. He got only a quick second glance at her face close up before his vision was obscured with the dark brown fibers. He knew deep down that he could have sworn he had seen her before.

With a few clinks the binding metal around his hooves came undone. A flood of relief washed over him as blood once again was properly able to reach his ankles. He had almost gasped into the stale air as tingling sensation rushed back into the tips of hooves. Without even thinking he attempted to slump off the bench and onto the floor, but before he could do so a strong hoof steadied his limp form against the cold metal and slipped the large burlap bag past his shoulders.

His head swam as he tried to push away from the musty smelling cloth but with a practiced grace he was upended head over tail into the yawning mouth of the bag and landed on the hard floor with a thud. The world spun for a moment as he reoriented up from down in the bag. The bottom of it had been reinforced with a large square of leather that looked original to the construction.

Looking up to the opening he briefly saw the mares face before it disappeared and the opening was cinched off with rope. Her ruby and gold flecked eyes had looked at him hungrily. He shivered as he was laid flat down on the rough wooden floor.

Feeling her tighten his prison with an extra rope or two, she bound the sack tightly around his frame. Soon, the cloth had been all been pressed tightly against his body and nose forcing him to breath through the old, moldy cloth. Gulping down a lasting gag, he instead tried to focus on a small hole in the leather instead of the sticky film that was gradually lining the roof of his mouth.

Through the tiny puncture he was able to see the room twirl as the mare hoisted the bundle of colt and sack onto her back with a huff. Her sturdy flanks dipped and bobbed as she measured his weight and got him into a stable position before turning to march out a door he hadn't been able to see from his place on the bench.

Without warning she carelessly, or purposefully he couldn't tell, whanged his head on the door frame as she stepped through. His yelp of pain went entirely ignored as her path lead out of the room and further down into the hallway and the encapsulating gloom. He could only see brief glimpses of the walls and ceiling from being bounced up and down by her motions as she hurriedly made her way down the cramped passage. It was almost entirely unlit from what he could see. Other than a smoldering torch here and there it was totally bereft of any light source, only adding to the foreboding sense of claustrophobia the passage entertained.

The walls looked considerably dirtier then the ones he had seen before this point. Each was slick with old torch oil and heat marks from absent sconces ran up the walls to the low boarded ceiling above. Dirt and mud had piled up in tremendous globs along the bottom halves of the passage walls leaving it almost indistinguishable from the floor.

It took a while , but after what seemed like an eternity trapped in the foul smelling sack and staring at the same walls the mare turned one last corner and came to a set of earthen stairs topped with planks. From his pinhole he craned his neck to watch her open a trapdoor overhead and then clamber upwards to another dirt floor. Almost immediately he felt the stifling torrent of heat begin to seep in through thick burlap weave.

While he lay and struggled even harder to breath the mare turned without much pause and closed the hatch with a thump.

After that was more trotting. He managed to roll over a bit on her back as she bounced and soon he had a good view of the ceiling which trailed off into the distance above. Even with the meager sunlight that could be see bleeding through the overhead canopy he could tell immediately that he was once again under the sprawling leather expanse of a tent. The Bigtop.

Without warning the mare he was riding turned left and opened a door. Stepping out into what could only be described as organized bedlam.

Heat radiated off the walls and high ceiling in waves down onto the ponies below as they moved about in the large passage before them. Nearly the size of a hoofball field it was chock full of bodies writhing to and fro. Yells and shouts rang out in blithering detail about all manners of things as he fought to stay conscious in the din.

The mare unfazed by the commotion moved further into the hall and started to budge her way towards the center with a determined march. Steady hooves led her on as she wove between ponies, parcel in tow, managing to find her way forwards in the throng of thousands. He could only see glimpses of the chaos that they moved through in the bedlam but he could already tell one thing for sure. He was terrified more now than he had ever been in his entire life.

Sunlight radiated down through the slightly transparent leather above and gave the entire scene an ethereal quality as equines of all shapes, sizes, and creeds worked their way past each other in the head of midday. He stared out into the crowd, transfixed.

Tongues and ears and neck and tails, all studded with bits and bobs of leather jewelry swished in front of his limited vision. Tattoos of all shapes sizes and colors could be seen on nearly everypony he saw in the crowd. Some looked far more complex than others, but all had a similar motif of a rising star over a building sprawl. Studded barding could be seen here and there in the crowd as well, but it seemed much less common.

Ponies strode this way and that with obvious purpose. Each weaving through each other in a choreographed dance as they made their way to wherever it was they were headed. He could hear the general din steadily increase as the mare hauled him deeper and deeper into the maze of crowded stalls and pathways. Stallions voices could be heard shouting out into the crowd, each one welcoming the passerby's to look at their wares. Mares coo'd and awwed from shaded stalls as ponies meandered by with enraptured gazes.

The chaos steadily grew in size and scope further in as he heard bartering calls for weapons and the staccato crack as a patron tried out his purchase. A scream or two managed to rise over the growing cacophony and laughs followed soon after. Double decker huts made of thin planking and leather rose up to the distant ceiling 4 stories overhead.

Passerby's were regularly bumping into each other here with either a shoulder or a hip as they wormed past each other and as he was swung wide in a tight turn he was whacked inadvertently by
a rifle butt to his temple. His cry was lost to the crowd as he slipped and almost fell from his captor.

The mare thankfully managed to steady him from falling to the floor to be trampled and heaved him up to a better position on her haunches. He couldn't see anything but the floor at that point but even still he could imagine them all as the roar of the throng in his ears accompanied the dirt and spend casings that slipped by underneath him.

It thankfully didn't last much longer as his ride turned into a smaller hallway that led off from the main artery shortly after.

With a layer of leather close overhead the general din died substantially as she moved into the dim hallways beyond. Soon he could only make out the distant clatter of activity if he really strained his ears to pick it out.

Suddenly he found himself painfully thrown to the dirt through an open door. His head had recovered somewhat on the trip but now it was thrown back into a haze of pain as his skull collided against a large stone embedded in the floor. Rolling helplessly to a stop he hit the far wall with a thump. Though the pain that welled from his temple was fierce he could still feel a bit of slick blood start to leech into the burlap right above where he had been hit.

He waited for the next impact to come. Her hoof to contact his stomach or worse. Or his spine, he couldn't tell which was was up anymore. His eyes finally teared up as he imagined what was to come. She was going to kick him around this tiny room until he couldn't move anymore and only a lumpy bag of meat was left. Oh, goddess she was going to pulp him to death and he would have to lay here in this hellish prison and take it.

But to his surprise, the next blow never came.

Instead he heard her grunt as she slammed the door shut with a tinkling of brass. The bang dissipated into the near pitch black gloom as he wearily stretched in vein against the ropes and cloth binding him. He wanted desperately to bite into the sack to tear a hole but the thought of even getting his tongue near the fetid cloth made him want to vomit. On a whim he started to wriggle his way forwards through the dirt towards the place he had heard the door slam. Maybe there was a loose nail or something that he could get to... to-

He stopped moving. Over the thumping of his heart he could faintly hear a scraping noise arise from back the way he had been tossed. Staying completely still he heard the scraping noise slowly morph into a steady hiss of something slithering along on the dirt. Terror plated itself into his chest as he listened. He realized he wasn't going to get beaten to a pulp now. He was going to get eaten alive!

With a sudden burst of speed he scratched and inched himself further and further along from the encroaching noise. Head and heart pounding his mind raced as he tried to think. Straining at the bonds he soon was forced to give up his forward momentum as exhaustion took hold. Panting through the woven fibers he shivered and cried. Tears blotted the surface of the burlap as he sobbed into the stale air.

Something pressed down on his lower back as a sharp pain lanced up his leg. He emptied his lungs in a scream that left him wilted.

With a flourish the bag was ripped from his body and he stared upwards into the gloom at a fiery set of gold flecked hazel eyes.