The road from Coltgrave to the local New Equestrian Society outpost was a fairly long journey over the dunes and decaying rubble from ancient towns that were never revived after the Stables opened some 210 years ago. Standing on the edge of the petite settlement, I could see vast stretches of desert around me as far as the eye could see. The sun scathed the land with treacherous heat and typical winds whipped ponies with sandpaper lashes, the best chances a pony had to survive out here in the Griffish Wasteland was to take shelter when the wind started to pick up and carry as much water as possible. I breathed in the tepid air and fanned at my face with my hoof as I could feel sweat beading off my brow, thankfully though, the wind was quiet, nothing more than a faint whisper spreading wisps of sand from dune to dune.

I took my first steps beyond the town of Coltgrave, my hooves sunk into the sand and dust with each step, making walking difficult. All that time I spent trotting and galloping turned out to be for nothing. I levitated my Stable 83 flask out of my saddlebags and drank thirstily from it. The lukewarm water filled my mouth and soothed my throat, though it would’ve been more refreshing had the water actually been cold. I suppose the enchantment that made the flask so vital was nothing more than a simple fusion spell that fuses oxygen and hydrogen from the surrounding air, creating an infinite supply of water. The wonders of Stable-tec still amazed ponies, they even amazed me and I’d been taught how these objects work. Still, it could have benefitted from some kind of built in cooling since drinking warm water in the middle of the desert is fairly dissatisfying. Though it did beat dehydrating by a long shot.

I continued to mull over the events that took place over the course of the last couple of weeks. Firstly, there was a pony dressed in a tweed jacket who attempted to murder me because of a delivery I was making. Then there was this Odysseus, a mysterious omniscient pony. Guess Salt Lick was wrong to laugh about him having ‘ears everywhere’, how he does though, is another question entirely, and the only way I’d ever find the answer is if I did as he asked. My thoughts colluded, coming up with wild conspiracies about Odysseus and whether he was connected with the pony in tweed and why he felt it necessary to kill me, perhaps Salt Lick was just a loose end he needed tying up. I kicked at the sand in frustration.

“I just don’t understand why!” I screamed into the painfully silent desert, my voice was swallowed by the dust and the sand all around me. I took a deep breath to try and calm myself. My pipbuck was playing Odysseus’ message on repeat and had been since I left the confines of Coltgrave, his deep and droning voice rang clear as day out into the desert wind. I had hoped that by listening to it, I could have recognised the pony’s voice, but I didn’t. Instead, it just kept reminding me of what I saw in the Salt-Lick Inn, the sound of her swinging on a rope, the smell of her blood penetrating my senses, the taste of bitter mixing with the taste of metal and fusing in my mouth, it was enough to make a pony sick.

I switched my pipbuck’s radio off and stood atop a sand dune, listening to the dense silence of the desert. I took a moment to look around me, I was walking parallel to the monumental cliff-face that provided a natural shelter to the town of Coltgrave, which suggested I was headed in the right direction. The scorched stone that formed the face of the sheer drop was brown - almost black - in colour. I could make out tree roots shooting out from the crag and cracking the rock wide, clearly at one point in its history there existed a lush forest atop it. Now though, nothing perched gracefully on its precipice, only dust, dirt and sand dominated the environment. The squirrels that would have darted amongst the canopies were replaced by overgrown scorpions that hunted in the early morning, hiding behind the boulders and rock formations that were once hidden in the mysteries of a jungle. The colourful birds that didn’t perish in the balefire became hideously mutated and preyed on anything that they could get their talons around, including, but not limited to, fully grown mares like myself. According to the knowledge that was passed down from my family members who lived in the Stables, nopony knew why the Griffish Isles, which were once so green, became an arid desert where life struggled to survive. The answer didn’t matter though, this was where we lived, and this is where we’ll survive.

After calming the storm of thoughts in my mind, I was able to gather myself and level my thinking to taking a step at a time. First things first; reach that N.E.S. Outpost. According to my pipbuck, it was about a day’s walk from Coltgrave, trudging through the sand which tried to devour each hoofstep. On top of the difficulties I would have trekking across the oceanless sea of brown and yellow, I would have to find shelter during the night. As hot as it was during the day, the cold of the night was enough to freeze a pony in a matter of hours, twilight was also the perfect hour of the day when the Tatzelwurms burrowed up onto the surface to hunt. As confident as I was with my father’s 9mm pistol - his ‘Light in Darkness’ as he called it - I would be no match for a Tatzelwurm in the middle of the night. Fortunately, the sun was still high in the sky, which gave me several hours of walking before I’d need to take shelter.
“Best start walking again, Express. Standing here watching time pass whilst conversing with yourself is one way to drive yourself crazy”. I muttered to myself under my breath, the sound of my voice pleased my senses more than the monotonous whistle of the wind. I continued my long walk across the desert. My pipbuck resonated a low humming, it was the only sound I heard besides the whisper of my breathing and the shifting of the sand beneath my hooves.

***

It didn’t take me long to get tired of walking - only three hours to be exact - the repetition of my hoofsteps and the humming of my pipbuck monitor was beginning to drive me mad. I was putting my caps on finding some resemblance of civilisation but instead, I found nothing other than a small campsite comprised of a small fire-pit, two sleeping bags and a small, blue tent pitched around the campfire. I grunted in frustration. The sun was beginning to set and I was still out here wandering around like a lost filly. I stood at the centre of the camp and slowly spun on the spot, looking for any sign of civilisation besides this tiny joke of a campsite. Who camps in the middle of a desert knowing deadly predators slumbered beneath the sands? Idiots, that’s who. Of course, there was no sign of a town or village on the horizon. All I could find was a boulder big enough to hide a hungry Giant Taintscorpion adjacent to the campsite.

I sat down next to the fire-pit and reviewed the map on my pipbuck. There had to be some town nearby. I flicked through the menus on my pipbuck. From my health status to my inventory, to my discovered radio station frequencies and then finally to my map. It revealed to me nothing. My compass continued to show me which direction I had to walk across the desert and that was all. Only, my Eyes Forward Sparkle wasn’t being completely worthless. It was showing three markers moving towards me. One amber marker and two white ones. White markers? I’d never seen white ones before. If red meant enemy and amber meant friend, I assumed white was a middle ground, neutral markers? I darted my eyes around looking for some place to hide, all I could see though was that boulder I saw before. I quickly picked myself up out of the dust and silently ran behind the rock, peeking out around it with the hood of my jersey sitting on top of my head. I could just about make out the three ponies the markers were pertaining to and before long, I could hear them too.

“So let me get this straight, the boss wanted us to go and steal dynamite from the quarry?” One of the voices spoke with a hushed whinny, it was soft like a mare’s but had a distinct bitterness to it.

“Yep”. The other voice was a stallion’s, it was deep and harboured a certain masculinity to it.

“And he also told us to take hostage any pony who caught us and that’s why we dragged this worthless whelp through the desert with us?” The mare spoke again, and I didn’t need to guess why I could still only hear two voices.

“Yep”. The stallion clearly wasn’t much of a speaker. I could hear a third voice now, it was muffled like it had been gagged and was unable to make any sound besides a faint stifled cry for help.

“Oh shut up! If you hadn’t bothered to leave your post to investigate something you heard you wouldn’t be here right now!” I could hear a heavy thud, and could make out - with what light was left from the sky - a large gun shaped object being slammed down onto the third pony, which produced a response of a muffled scream. Why on earth was my pipbuck suggesting these ponies were neutral? They were clearly not a couple I wanted to associate with.

“Whoa, hang on a second,” the mare spoke again once she was done hitting their hostage whilst the stallion lit a fire, “there’s hoofprints here that aren’t mine or yours”. Fuck, I probably should have covered my tracks.

I stopped peeking around my hiding spot when I saw them follow my hoofprints (with their gaze) to the very rock I was hiding behind. I glanced back down to my pipbuck and saw that the white markers had become red, they definitely weren’t neutral anymore!

“Whoever’s there, come out now and you won’t suffer!” The mare shouted, her voice carried across the desert sands and destroyed the silence of the night, the moon had started beaming a bright silvery light over the land and made hiding about as easy as standing out in the open in the middle of the day. I could hear their hoofsteps in the sand shift closer and closer to where I was hidden. I didn’t have a plan of escape, and I feared that if I attempted to gallop over the desert sands I would last about five seconds before I felt a bullet burrow its way through my flesh like a sadistic parasite. I decided that my best bet was to assume their ‘take hostages’ command still applied.

“Alright, you caught me!” I slowly came out from behind the boulder, “I meant no harm. I was just looking for shelter for the night when I stumbled upon your camp!” I thought that, perhaps, explaining myself would have sorted the situation out.

“Sure you were, I mean, it’s cold and scary out at night, right? And I guess it’s lonely enough that eavesdropping on a private conversation substitutes company”. I could tell from her sarcastic tone that I had merely wasted my breath. The mare had a brown coat with a two-toned mane of white and black and the gun I saw turned out to be a combat rifle, which was aimed right at me. She gestured me over to the fire, next to their current hostage. I obeyed and sat down next to them. “Congratulations, you’re now our hostage! Make any sudden movements and I shoot you. Try to overpower us and I’ll shoot you. Try to struggle free and I’ll—”

“Shoot me?” I interrupted her, which didn’t go down too well. The stallion shot me a rather pissed off look. Clearly, the green stallion wasn’t accustomed to the desert, his apple related cutie mark suggested he was an apple farmer from the apple fields down south near the river trot, or perhaps an apple scrumper. Hard to tell with a cutie mark consisting of an apple and a burlap sack. His mane was pinkish in colour and had stains of colour speckled through it. If he was supposed to look intimidating then perhaps he might have wanted to consider a change of career.

“Interrupt me again and I’ll shoot you. Do I make myself clear?” Her voice which was once gentle with only a small hint of bitterness was now overwhelmingly bitter and housed nothing gentle about it. I merely nodded whilst the stallion tied my hooves together and taped my mouth closed. I couldn’t help but have a distasteful sense of deja vu.

The mare and stallion, whose name’s I had heard uttered a couple of times - Applesack and Marble, hardly names fit for psychopaths or criminals - left me and the other hostage by the fire, which kept us warm. What we weren’t though, was safe from any wild predators who might have wanted to kill and eat us.

I examined the other hostage and saw a small black uniform with an embroidered 3 headed lion on the shoulder, which was the banner of the New Equestrian Society. They were also a mare, I could tell from her small frame and her somewhat attractive candy-pink eyes. Her coat appeared to be olive with a shoulder-length silvery blue mane. She was an earth pony, made obvious by her lack of a horn and pegasi wings. She had a deep cut above her left eye, probably from the beating she received earlier from her captors. I couldn’t help but feel bad for her, she seemed to be young, no younger than 18 if she was a member of the New Equestrian Society, I wouldn’t be surprised if the night she was on duty was her first. I could see a tear rolling off her cheek, whether from pain or fear was unclear, though that is a distinction without a difference.

As we sat there, helplessly tied next to a stoked campfire, the two ponies holding us hostage watched us. Marble was still aiming her combat rifle at us, holding it with her magic field that glowed a remarkably similar colour to my own, whilst Applesack was sat opposite us by the campfire, cooking something that smelled of blood. My stomach churned, I’d heard of ponies in the wasteland resorting to eating meat but I’d never tried it myself. I preferred buying fruits from the farmers employed by the New Equestrian Society. The land was cleaned when the clouds cleared twenty years ago which allowed for agriculture to exist in pony culture again, though, to the confusion of everypony, the Griffish Isles still remained a vast desert. According to the Radio New Trottingham, the clouds clearing was the doing of a pony whom he referred to as “The Stable Dweller” - my father was about my age when it happened - I was only one. On top of that, she lifted an old stigma of Stable ponies, we used to be looked at as some kind of slave to the old system, warmongers; simply because we were protected by the ponies of old. Even us ponies who were related to those who hailed from the Stable. Lost in my thoughts, I failed to notice that Applesack had thrown a hunk of meat from a Taintscorpion onto a small plate in front of me. He also removed the tape covering my mouth.

“Eat”. The light green earth pony sounded impatient and irritated at the fact that he had to waste food on me. And when I say waste, I meant it. There was nothing in Equestria that would force me to eat meat.

“I’m going to have to decline. I’d rather eat the sand I’m sitting on”. I spat at him. He wiped my saliva from his muzzle before he kicked me in the gut. I buckled over as his hoof sunk into my body, the air in my lungs was forced out with a breathless scream and my diaphragm felt tight as my torso exploded with pain. I bit my lip as I tried to get a breath into my lungs whilst also trying to overcome the agony in my abdomen. Regaining my breath was difficult, I began coughing as I continued trying to force my diaphragm to move. I could hear the stallion laughing as he observed the result of his kick. Marble simply rolled her eyes at her partner’s brutality, or at my disobedience, I was more inclined to believe it was the former.

Once I could breathe again, I felt faint. Temporarily losing the ability to breathe made me panic as I got more and more starved of oxygen. Once Applesack could hear my deep and laboured breaths, he retaped my mouth and gave the other hostage my plate of meat. Unlike me, she ate. Which disgusted me slightly, though I’d rather be made the example if this young mare avoided any further abuse. I closed my eyes as I relished in the warmth of the fire and took solace in being able to breathe again.

***

When I came round from passing out, it was the middle of the night and our captives had fallen asleep and - based on how heavily they were snoring - they weren’t woken easily. It gave me time to work out an escape plan. One I would have to enact in the dark and in complete silence.

The binds around my hooves seemed to be loosely tied, obviously, the stallion who tied them didn’t spend enough time learning how to tie a knot that wasn’t easily undone by a unicorn, maybe he should have been doing that rather than practising kicking bound mares. My horn glowed a shallow green as I began to fiddle with the ropes, I began to feel anxious about whether or not my captors would notice the sickly glow from my horn. I untied the double knot over my front hooves with ease, same with my back hooves. Once I was free I slowly removed the tape over my mouth, it was hard to not cry out in pain as it tore out hairs on my muzzle, leaving my skin underneath feeling raw. Once the tape was off I quickly began to free the mare with me. She was originally asleep, but once she felt her bonds loosen her eyes opened wide and she seemed eager to get away. As soon as the binding ropes were off and the tape over her mouth was painfully removed she took off into the swallowing darkness of the desert, with me on her tail. Sure we were now cold and galloping amongst the dunes in the dark, but we weren’t at gunpoint anymore.

Eventually, the mare stopped running when we came across what appeared to be a small cottage in the desert. The door wasn’t locked and the building seemed large enough to shelter a couple of ponies for a night, comfortably. It was a small stone building with a chimney jutting out from the roof, implying there was a fireplace inside, the silvery glow of the moon in the black night sky shimmered over the building, like some kind of divine intervention that such a welcomed break (from tiresomely galloping across the desert) would just so happen to grace us and shelter us from the dangers of the wasteland. We both took shelter inside and moved a bookshelf in front of the door, barricading it, on the off-chance that Applesack and Marble would wake up and find this place. We could now take a breather, luckily for me as my stomach ached from bruising, my pipbuck was alerting me to what was either a cracked rib or internal bleeding, though based on the fact I was only in pain and not dying, it was easily deducible as a cracked rib.

“Thank you so much!” The young mare pulled me into a tight embrace as she laughed with tears in her eyes, the hug caused me to wince due to the tenderness of my body from the result of my disobedience. “I thought I was a goner for sure!” She buried her face into my shoulder, which I could feel getting wet from her tears as she began sobbing. I patted her on the back and gently hushed her, trying to get her to calm down.

“It’s okay now, we’re safe they’ll never find us in here”. I spoke with a calming whisper, I knew it’s what I would’ve liked to have heard if I were in her position. I gently pulled away from the hug and smiled at her, she smiled back and wiped her eyes dry.

“I suppose I should tell you my name huh?” She blushed, probably from the realisation that she’d been crying into the shoulder of a complete stranger. I shrugged, a mistake that I bit my lip through, thankfully I had magical bandages inside the first-aid box that the doc gave me.

“Only if you feel comfortable, but first maybe we should get a fire going. It’ll take the chill out of the air”. I smiled again, though on the inside I was screaming. I carefully walked over to the quaint open, stone fireplace that sat at the heart of the only room in the house, which made it feel larger than it looked on the outside. I levitated a couple of logs into the fireplace from the bundle that was placed next to it centuries ago and lit a match from an ancient matchbox I found sat on the mantel. It didn’t take long for the dry logs to catch alight. Once they did, the room was lit up with both light and warmth. As inviting as it looked, the walls had the antlers of deer hung on trophy displays, small birds were taxidermied and modelled in a flying pose and hung from the ceiling and the wooden floor had a brown bearskin rug covering it; clearly whoever lived here before the war was a hunter - an avid one at that - it was a bit disturbing to say the least.

I sat on a large plush chair that was slightly tattered but for the most part, it was intact and amicably comfortable, it took the pain out of my bruised body as it sunk into the cushioned chair. I encouraged the young mare with me to sit down in the seat opposite me.
“I’m Express by the way. I’m a courier”. I broke the awkward silence with a couple of modest facts about myself, hoping it would make her feel slightly less uncomfortable around me. I saw her eyes shift around the room, clearly uneased by the company of a complete stranger, especially a complete stranger whom she met under a hostage situation.

“My name’s Essay Strive, though my friends just call me ‘S’. You know... like the letter? It suited me through the academy. I’m a security pony at the New Equestrian Society Quarry site. Though I really doubt I have a job left there after allowing two ponies to break in and steal the last of the dynamite and getting myself taken hostage”. She chuckled nervously as she spoke, her voice was raspy and she had a squeak to it. It was cute in a way.

“How old are you Essay?” I leant my posture forward into the question and immediately regretted moving my broken body, this wound seriously needed bandaging. Yet my curiosity remained as to why a young-looking mare was entrusted with a high-risk job.

“I turned 18 last month. I passed the academy at the top of my class. They said I was the most talented recruit they ever had!” She sat up straight and smiled, showing pride in her own ability.

“I bet your parents must be proud of you, huh?” My smile wasn’t returned, her pride filled eyes collapsed into a melancholic gaze at the floor. I clearly struck a nerve when I asked about her parents. Were they not pleased about the career their daughter took? She fell silent again. I cleared my throat and resided to listening to the crackling of the logs in the fire. I wasn’t going to press her for details if she wanted to answer the question she would.

I sat up from the chair and went to examining the room, sitting still made me uneasy and, despite my pain, I hated being motionless. The dusty shelves were lined with books with broken spines, many were burned from the balefire bombs of the war, but some were still intact. Most of the covers were about hunting, ‘Your First Kill’, ‘Dehorning and the Process of Skinning’, ‘Taxidermy for Fools’. I shook my head as I read the titles.

“Disgusting don’t you think? How a pony centuries ago found it entertaining to kill innocent creatures?” I tried to change the topic of conversation, but it didn’t catch. She merely shrugged and continued to be lost in a world of her own. It was at this point that I decided to leave her alone to her thoughts. I, instead, turned my attention to the decrepit desk tucked away in the corner of the room. There were papers sprawled across it. I figured there had to be something there of some use. We were in a house that occupied a hunter, yet no gun was adorning the wall? I would have bet caps that the pony who lived here had kept a gun in that desk.

I approached it and studied the dust engulfed surface, the papers were untidily strewn about the desk. The documents were in no way legible, they were burned and the words had been destroyed by the fires of war. Remarkably though, the desk seemed to still be in a functional condition. In the front of the desk were multiple drawers, several had been opened, ransacked and emptied, except one. It was locked however, I grabbed the handle with my magic and tried to shake the drawer loose, but I had no luck, I have no idea why I thought that would have worked. I looked through the other drawers, hoping a key remained but my search produced nothing.

“Well bollocks”. I exclaimed under my breath, though audible enough to be heard by Essay. She sat up from the chair and was staring at me, a hint of worry was in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she said with an urgency in her voice. I stared at her in confusion, my eyebrow was raised, I mouthed ‘what for’ at her. She responded, with her same urgent tone, “I-I, uh, I was—, I didn’t mean to ignore you”. She stuttered with a trepidatious squeak, I shook my head with an empathetic smile on my face.

“Look it’s fine, I asked you a personal question about your parents, no need for you to be sorry for not wanting to talk about them,” I went back to searching through the drawers for a key to the one drawer that was still locked, “besides you don’t even know me, if you wanted to tell me something then you would, I’m not going to press you for details”. I sighed after I finished overturning all the drawers.

“What’s wrong?” Essay approached the desk that I was trying to gain entry to, she took one look at the lock and laughed, “Oh, that’s child’s play!” She paused and examined the mess on the floor, she was looking for something, “you got a screwdriver and a paper clip?” Her laugh followed by her question had once again brought a confused look on my face. I levitated exactly those tools she asked for out of my saddlebags. She snatched them out of my levitation field, eagerly, like a young filly snatching an apple from their father’s hooves, and slotted the (now misshapen) paper-clip into the keyhole for the lock. She twisted it with the screwdriver, every now and then she fiddled with the paper-clip, jimmying the tumblers before she continued twisting with the screwdriver. After several short seconds of her fiddling the lock it released with a satisfying click. My jaw fell open and I simply stared at her in amazement, I’d heard that some ponies had a knack for infiltrating locks without a key, but never had I actually seen it with my own two eyes.

“How did you just do that?” I continued staring with my mouth open. She merely shrugged, claimed she learned how to do it whilst she was at the academy. Amazing, so not only did they teach young colts and fillies how to fire guns and follow orders at this academy, but they also taught them how to pick locks. I shook my head and pulled the drawer out and, as I suspected, a .44 Scoped Hunting Revolver slid down the drawer, if only there was some pony around to claim those caps I would have bet. “Perfect!” I whinnied, as a smile crept across my mouth. I levitated the gun up onto the desk and checked its chambers, it still had six bullets loaded and - to add to our luck - there was an additional box of .44 calibre bullets inside the compartment.

“Why is this perfect?” Essay gave me a look that suggested she hadn’t understood why I was happy to find a gun, “You have a gun of your own in that holster around your thigh”. Well props to her for being observant.

“It’s not for me, it’s for you. If those ponies who took us hostage come back then we stand a much greater chance if we both have a weapon”. I levitated the gun in front of her, the handle hung close to her mouth. She bit onto it and gave me an uneasy look, her eyebrow sat cheekily raised over her eye as if to say ‘What am I supposed to do with this’, clearly they never taught her how most earth ponies shot a gun in the wasteland (which was without the aid of combat-saddles) but rather with the handle gripped by their teeth and the trigger pulled by their tongue. It wasn’t stylish or even remotely suitable over a combat-saddle, which is why most earth ponies use melee weapons like bats emblazoned with spikes, but a pistol placed in the mouth like a bit worked just as well. I explained it all to her and, once I was done, she placed the gun onto the table and gave me an acknowledging nod. That was when she showed signs of being tired, she stretched her body out and belted a rather vocal yawn.

“Look you get some sleep, I’ll stay up and keep watch”. I placed a hoof on her shoulder, she smiled in response.

“Won’t you be tired though? I saw how hard that stallion kicked you! Shouldn’t you rest too?” Her smile turned into a frown, her care for my own tiredness and my well-being was irrelevant though.

“Look, Essay, I’ve had too much sleep recently, I’m sure I’ll be fine if I stay up for one night”. I jested with her, she laughed with me but failed to realise the seriousness of the situation I had joked about. Though I’m sure she wouldn’t have laughed if I had told her I’d been dead for eight days. She did, however, agree to sleep whilst I kept watch, which was relieving. A pony her age shouldn’t be strife with worry about whether or not she would wake up the next morning, and I sure as Tartarus wasn’t going to let her trust in me go in vain.

***

Once she had fallen asleep, I pulled out the first-aid kit that was stowed away inside my saddlebags, I unhinged the case and levitated out the magical bandages inside. I sharply inhaled as I began to wrap the bandages around my torso, pulling my ribcage tight, which caused a sharp pang of pain to shoot through me making my breathing shallow and laboured, but - according to my pipbuck - the bandages had already begun to heal my cracked ribs.

As I healed, I moved one of the chairs in front of the windows and stared out into the moon-bathed landscape of sandy hills and burned rocks. I levitated my 9mm pistol out of its holster and kept it in my levitation field the whole time. If something moved for the cabin, I would shoot it, because no pony was going to hurt another hair on Essay’s head if I had something to say about it. Even if it meant putting myself in harm’s way, I welcomed it, in fact, it wasn’t as if I was a stranger to having madponies aiming weapons at me.

The room was silent, bar the gentle snoring of the small olive mare cuddled up by the fire, which continued to crackle into the dead of night. Outside, I could make out the faint sound of crickets chirping and the undeniable howl of a coyote. I leant back into the chair I was sat on, the warm velvet cradled my neck and cushioned my aching body. It would’ve acted as an ideal pillow had it not reeked of ancient cigarette ash and nicotine. Not even the end of the world could save the gorgeous fabric furniture from a lifetime of smelling like a chimney, not to mention the unmistakable stench of a thousand-year-old whiskey that had clearly been spilt onto the fabric, if the pony who lived here some 200 years ago wasn’t a total slob, then I would have, without-a-doubt, fallen asleep.

I let out a pained gasp as I shifted in the chair. Despite knowing what keeping watch meant, I still hated sitting still for so long. I opened my pipbuck’s interface and scrolled across to the files saved onto it. There was always a note left for the ponies who inherited it. Words from my ancient family members. Even one from my mother addressed to me. I read it quietly to myself with the hum of my pipbuck and the fire crackling in the background:

“To my daughter, Express,

I’m sorry I won’t be around much in your life. Shortly after I brought you into this world I was diagnosed with dementia. I write this to you as a mother to a young filly, but I imagine you won’t read this until you’re all grown up, I wish I could see that, but I couldn’t let you and your father suffer with caring for my deteriorating condition. Take care of your father for me, you’ll grow up to be someone incredible.

Love, your mother”

I swallowed my emotions as I read my mother’s message to me. It wasn’t the first time I had read this, but my feelings about the words hadn’t changed. I wiped my eyes and shook my head. My mother was sick and she knew it would kill her eventually, but to spare my father and I the pain of watching it, she took her life. I was very young when it happened and I didn’t understand why it happened. At first, my father had tried to tell me that raiders had broken into our abode and murdered her, but, when I was about ten years old, when I earned my cutie mark on a paper route I took up to make a few bits, he told me the truth. That was when I first read my mother’s message.

My E.F.S. pinged on my pipbuck, I frowned as I saw a red marker appear on it, interrupting my wallowing thoughts about my parents. I stared out of the window, the sky was still lit up from the moonlight, yet I couldn’t see anything. I continued watching the dunes obscuring the view opposite the house, whatever was out there was using the dunes as cover. I considered waking up Essay but decided against it, I was sure whatever it was wouldn’t be too much trouble. The red marker was unmoving, which seemed wrong. Taintscorpions don’t wait when they smell food and Tatzelwurms were constantly moving just under the sands, so who was out there?

***

I continued watching the window and my E.F.S., if anypony came out of hiding, I would be ready to fight them. I saw a second and third marker appear on my E.F.S. Shit. One against one was enough to handle, but three against one? Those were odds I wasn’t feeling comfortable with. That’s when I saw a figure emerge from over the hill. I could make out that they were dressed in red cloth with studded leather covering their body. Their face was covered by a brown rag, but the mane was unmistakably notable. It was striped, black-to-white and went down their neck in a mohawk. They were a Zebra scout, and more wouldn’t be too far behind. I ducked under the window, making sure I was no longer visible inside the house. I then scurried along the floor and extinguished the fire. Essay stirred from her sleep and asked me what was wrong. I quickly hushed her with a hoof over her mouth and listened carefully. I could hear hoofsteps in the sand around the house, my pipbuck was displaying about seven or eight red markers now. I swallowed hard, my mouth began to dry and my breathing, though laboured, became heavier, forcing my bandages to tighten over my ribcage - the temptation to cough was difficult to overcome.

I bit my lip from worry, hoping that they didn’t notice the smoke from the chimney or even me sitting in plain view of the window. I heard two of them sit by the front door, they were talking, begging even. I recognised their voices, it was Applesack and Marble from before. Looks like they were found camping in the desert. I heard one gunshot, the bullet shot through the door and bookshelf, dust and blood sprayed through it. I tried to hold my own breath, still living on the hope that our presence inside the house wasn’t already known. I knew what the Zebras did to mares and not only did I not want that life, but I certainly did not want that for Essay. I could hear Marble struggling against her own captors, she was kicking and screaming, fighting against a Zebra who I heard laughing. I closed my eyes, wishing that I didn’t have to hear a pony screaming for their freedom but there was no avoiding it. They weren’t like bad neighbours who you could tell to keep the noise down. I heard one of the Zebras shout in pain, followed by multiple shots from a gun. A couple of them passed through the wall with the same spray of blood and dust as before.

“The crazy bitch bit me!” One of the Zebras exclaimed after the bullets had finished firing and the commotion had stopped, his language was colourful and his accent was foreign. It was a stallion’s voice, and I didn’t want to think about what she had bit.

“It’s fine, plenty more plundering to do when we take this land from the New Equestrian Society!” The words came from a particularly deep voice, yet it obviously was that of a mare's. They treated their own mares with respect, probably because they knew necromancy if they even dared to threaten a Zebra mare she could have conjured up a curse to make their life a living hell.

“Any of you see that shape in the window when we came up over that dune?” My heart jumped to my throat and my breath fell from my mouth, a haunted breath brimming with angst and uncertainty, the kind of breath a pony takes when the class bully calls out their name. I closed my eyes tight and whispered an apology to Essay, yet, I continued to hope that they wouldn’t look inside the house, I clung to some small shred of optimism that we would be okay. Essay was shaking, she was clearly just as scared as I was.

“You were seeing things, this house is about as empty as his head!” The mare spoke, and a stallion disapproved of her words. My eyes shot open, if this mare was really convinced that the other Zebra was seeing things then perhaps my hope wasn’t in vain. That’s when I heard their hoofsteps in the sand walking away from the door. My pipbuck confirmed that they were moving on too as their markers began to move north - thankfully not west. I removed my hoof from Essay’s mouth and fell back onto my haunches, amazed that we were even still alive. Essay on the other hoof was still in shock from what she just heard.

“Were those... Zebras?” Her voice shook from nerves, as did the rest of her body. Her ears had fallen flat against her head and her bottom lip quivered. I nodded, unable to speak due to my own shock. She stared vacantly at the blood-spray on the floor by the door, I didn’t know what was going through her mind, but what was going through my mind was all the horrible things they would have had us do had they caught us. I shook my head, attempting to clear the thoughts poisoning my mind.

“Essay?” She turned to look at me as I called her gently, her eyes were teared up, “Come here”. I held my hooves out, offering her a hug, she clearly needed one. She dove into my hooves and tightened her own around me, I didn’t even care about the pain that exploded from my bruised and broken body as she crushed me, I just cared about her safety.

***

In the morning, I awoke, cuddled up to Essay, it was cold last night - and she probably felt safer by being close to me. I took my time to gently move the olive coated mare from off my hindquarters without waking her up, her cutie mark stood out to me as I shifted her and her uniform rose up her body. It was a padlock surrounded by three golden stars, I smiled, her cutie mark confirmed her prideful gloating about being the best in the academy. Still, I was shocked to think that her parents weren’t proud of her? If she were my relative, I’d be proud.
The concept of having somepony I was close to, like a relative or a friend, wasn’t a new thought in my mind, I’d been practically parentless throughout my life and as for friends, you don’t get many opportunities as a courier to stop and make any. I stared at Essay, her breathing was almost silent, comparable to a whisper from the lips of a lover the morning after a passionate night; except, that was a metaphor lost here, we had no connection like that, unless I considered getting the wind kicked from me in view of her whilst we were tied up and held at gunpoint a connection. Besides, I’d only ever been in a relationship once, though, it only lasted a week, she tried to convince me to stay but I took my work as a courier seriously. We never kept in touch—

“Stop letting your thoughts wander girl”. I shook my head with a harsh whisper, killing my trailing thoughts. After coming within several feet of being found by Zebras, now was not the time to get lost on a thought train I would unlikely get off before the morning was over.

I gathered my saddlebags, which I had stored over by the desk where Essay left her revolver, I used the time that the young mare remained asleep to check my inventory. I spoke aloud with a murmur, “A bit short on food, but I can make this last in the…” I checked my pipbuck’s marker for the remainder of my journey to the N.E.S. Outpost, “half a day’s journey I... no, we have left. Once we’re there I can just purchase food from the caravaners who make their trips to the Outpost. As for ammo, I am… fucked, I have very few bullets left to protect myself and Essay with. I have enough shots to last two maybe three gunfights? Definitely need to make it a priority to buy some of that, or I might as well start trotting about shouting boom boom at anypony who has less than kind intentions”. My ears drooped with frustration, I was running low on caps, ammo and food. With a long sigh, I pulled my saddlebags over my back and woke Essay up, we needed to get moving if we wanted to make as much ground as possible before the heat of the sun became too unbearable.

Essay rubbed her eyes wearily as she sat up from her slumber, a dreary yawn tore her mouth agape and fell off her tongue, much like the words that she attempted to utter during it. “Why are we getting up this early?” She complained, with her eyes squinted, like I used to when my father would wake me up every day for the paper route I worked, “The sun has barely risen!” I shook my head and dropped her revolver in front of her. She grumbled as she bit ahold of the handle. “You didn’t anfer my queftion”. She rolled her eyes as I tried not to giggle at her sudden lisp, “Juft anfer me!” She frowned as she yelled, her lisp ruined any part of it that was startling, it just made me laugh more.

“I woke you up this early because we need to get moving if we want to make it to the N.E.S. Outpost before sundown today”. I wiped a tear away from my eye as I spoke through my laughter. In reaction to this, Essay huffed and walked towards the door, where she stood and sulked, which was just as funny to me as she sounded with a lisp.

Upon composing myself, I picked up the bookshelf covering the door with my magic, shifted it out of the way and pushed it open. The sand and the sun silently flooded the room, blinding both Essay and I. With a wince, we stepped out of the cool refuge of the building and into the scorched embrace of the desert. The body of Applesack laid flat against the sand, the blood that would’ve pooled beneath him had long since dried and been absorbed into the ground, leaving the sand beneath him dark brown, almost tar-like, his body would lay out here until scavengers picked his corpse to the bones. The mare, Marble, had been dragged around the building, where the Zebra’s had… other intentions for her. Had she not been a fighter, we would’ve had to have listened to it. The thought of it made me sick. I caught Essay staring at their bodies, she had gone slightly pale at the sight. I put a hoof around her shoulder and escorted her away from the building that could have been our graves.

***

After an hour of walking, Essay began to drag behind me, she seemed bothered by something, like the sights and sounds of the night before had perturbed her in some way - nor did I blame her if they did - I called to her in an attempt to gauge what was plaguing her, but she didn’t reply. She dragged her hooves through the sand, gouging lines through it, forming small trenches behind her and, in extension, me. I called again but still I received no reply. I sighed and allowed myself to fall into a world of my own, much like my companion of circumstance had.

I stared off into the horizon, the dunes appeared to try and reach for the sky, lovers separated by fate; according to ancient pony mythology anyway. The pony god of the earth and the goddess of the sky were in love, or so the stories claimed, but the pony god of the Sun, the goddess of the sky’s husband, found out and separated them and ever since then the earth has forever tried to reach his lover. I chortled at the thought, gods and goddesses; there was no such thing. The ponies before the Great War believed that two ponies, princess Celestia and Luna, were like goddesses and owned the sun and the moon (respectively) and, ostensibly, raised and lowered them when the time was right, which was clearly not true since Celestia and Luna, the reigning princesses during the war, were gone and the sun and moon remained to function as intended. I found myself laughing at the thought that maybe these same ponies considered Celestia - who they believed to be some goddess of the Sun - to be the pony who banished the earth and sky to separation.

“— all alone with no-pony who loves you?” A small, raspy voice interrupted my tactless thoughts which distracted me from the silence of Essay. A moment of realisation struck me as I considered the words I’d heard.

“I, uh, sorry did you say something?” I fumbled with my words as I turned heel to look at the young mare following in my tread.

“Yeah, I um… Do you ever feel all alone with nopony who loves or cares for you?” Her words were reserved, dissipated by the sands which she spoke into as she stared at the ground. As I thought about my response, Essay ran a hoof through her mane, leaving flecks of sand behind, which caught the sun’s light at just the right angle, making it seem like she had sequins adorning her mane.

“Well, I guess I do,” I cleared my throat as I put a hoof around her and continued walking towards the marker on my pipbuck, “but I don’t have time for love, too busy taking care of helpless mares like yourself”. I gave her a brazen wink and a chuckle, though her lack of a laugh (or any response) was unsettling. I sighed and stopped once again, staring into Essay’s eyes as I spoke, “What’s bothering you, S?” Using a nickname she reserved for her friends felt strange like I was acting a bit forward, but her reply assured me she didn’t mind.

“When you asked about my parents before? I didn’t speak, I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t sign up for the academy, I was left there as a foal. I don’t know if my parents are or would be proud of me since I’m an...orphan”. She shifted her gaze away from my own, her candy-pink eyes had begun to leak, tears drained from them and ran down her cheeks. I understood now why she seemed so distant before, nopony had ever shown her care. Just military training, corporal punishment and harsh orders, the fact that I had taken her into my protection that night, the night she had been taken hostage, probably broke something in her; gave her something to reflect on like a point of reference on how little affection she had been given in her life. I thought that if I told her about my parents it may have helped her, so I did. Perhaps she would have known that being an orphan wasn’t something she was alone with, as I too was one. I didn’t know if it helped, but she cracked a smile upon hearing of my own past.

After our heart-to-heart, she spoke of a nearby town where her commanding officer was stationed, she called it Rutford and mentioned that she needed to receive her next orders and to tell her what happened at her first job. I agreed to take her there since she recalled it being close to the Outpost. She marked its approximate location onto my pipbuck’s map and thanked me for being kind enough to rescue her, and for teaching her how to use a gun without a combat-saddle, as well as offering her my words of comfort. Things she didn’t need to thank me for, I’d like to think that somepony would do the same for me.

According to my pipbuck, the walk to Rutford was about six hours and, after sharing an apple with Essay, we set off. Essay walked on for hope that her time as an N.E.S. Security pony wasn’t over, and I trotted on; hoping some pony knew where my elusive murderer had wandered off to.

Author's Note

Footnote: Level up.
New Perk Acquired: Creature Of Night - Your eyes adapt quickly to low-light conditions due to the time you’ve spent waiting in the dark.