Sundered Days

by Makazi

Rating: teen
Tags: Gore, Original Character, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Second Person, Changelings, Royal Guard, Adventure
Length: 7394

In the aftermath of the Canterlot invasion, you wake up to find that you're somehow alive.

The invasion has failed, but you're somehow alive. The sun shines down through the canopy, bathing your black carapace in a golden light. You're tired, hungry, and alone. Dragging yourself to your hooves, you begin plodding aimlessly through the woods.

Published 2017-04-19 00:50:01 UTC
Last updated 2017-06-15 15:17:36 UTC

Awakening

Your head is pounding, and your body feels broken in a thousand different places. Groaning, you open your eyes and take in your surroundings: You’re deep inside of a forest – which one you don’t know – and you can hear the soft lilting of songbirds pervading the air around you. The mottled sunlight falls down through the canopy, illuminating patches of the boskage in brilliant golds and yellows. Small critters frolic through the understory, and in the distance, by a shaded dell, a deer prances along before disappearing into the brush.

Several broken branches litter the ground beside you, and looking up you can see the limbs which have snapped off of the tall oak that prevented your demise. You try to stand, but cry out as a flash of pain jolts up your foreleg, sending you back face-down into the dirt. Through bleary eyes you look, seeing that your leg is bent at an unnatural angle; the sight makes bile rise in your throat, but you just barely manage to prevent yourself from vomiting. You test your other legs and, determining them to be all right, shakily push yourself to your hooves – clutching your injured limb to your chest. There’s nothing but forest all around you, and there are no signs of civilization. Picking a random direction, you begin limping through the woods.

Hours later as the sun is sinking in the sky, the world beginning to darken, you come to the edge of a stream – wending its way between gentle, leaf-covered hills. You carefully plod your way down to the bank, then look down into the water. It steadily flows past you, carrying fallen leaves and small twigs in its grasp. On the opposite bank, beneath the river’s glinting surface, you can see the sheen of several small fish as they struggle against the current. Licking your lips, you awkwardly waddle into the water after them, having not eaten since before the botched invasion. You try not to think too deeply on recent events as you slake your hunger, then your thirst. After you’re finished, you climb back up onto dry land, walking along the water’s edge.

Eventually you descry a shingled roof rising up from behind the crest of the nearest hill. Climbing up steadily, you come to a small grove where the trees have been cleared away. In the middle sits a dilapidated wood cabin, the fading sunlight shining down upon it. Moss and vines cling to its rotted siding, and one of the two windows you can see have been smashed in. The burgundy-trimmed doorframe stands empty, peering into the dark interior of the building. It looks like no one’s been here for a long time.

You approach hesitantly, sniffing at the air for any signs of life, your antennae flicking around, listening for movement other than your own – but there’s nothing aside from the incessant drone of the song birds. At the edge of your hearing you can even make out the sound of crickets and tree-frogs, beginning to chirp as the sun slowly makes its way below the unseen horizon. A breeze sweeps past, sending fallen leaves twirling around your hooves. You look up, and the sky is fading – the stars beginning to shine.

It’s quiet inside, and empty. Shards of glass litter the floor in front of the broken window, reflecting the dim room around them and the dim sky outside. A wall partially divides the cabin into an antechamber and main room. Inside the main room a bed, not much larger than a cot, sits against the western wall – a small round window above it. Illumined in the tenebrous rays of light are several motes of dust, glowing faintly as they float through the air.

Across from the bed there’s a cast iron stove, a cobblestone floor engirdling the area beneath its feet. The metal is old and rusted, and the iron door hangs ajar, ashes and charcoal piled up within. By the side of it, against the wall, are a few iron tools: an iron poker and shovel, as well as a brush that’s resting on the floor. The night is growing steadily, and the thought of sitting by a warm fire to keep out the night’s chill tempts you.

Deciding against it for the nonce, you amble over to the bed. A wrinkly, tattered wool blanket lays on top, and you pull it aside: The mattress is covered in large splotches of brown and yellow. Grimacing at the sight, you take the blanket and limp over to a corner by the fireplace and curl up with your back to the wall, covering as much of yourself with the blanket as you can. Unfortunately it only covers about half of your body, your legs sticking out. Shivering, you move it down so that it covers your flank and hind-legs. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to shut out the steadily growing cold and the throbbing pain in your foreleg. It’s going to be a long, restless night.

You awaken slowly with the first gray of dawn. Outside you can hear a steady downpour, raindrops thrumming on the shingled roof above. As you return to your senses, you can feel the chill of night pervading the air around you, causing you to shiver under your diminutive blanket. The cold seeps in through your chitin, and you wistfully look over at the empty fireplace, the need for caution momentarily superceded by the need for warmth.

Behind the cabin, beneath a dripping awning, you find a rick loaded to the brim with chopped wood. Struggling with your magic, you levitate a few logs and bring them quickly inside, stuffing them into the wood stove. With a few flickers of your horn, it’s not long before they catch, pallid green flames licking at the wood. You swing the stove door shut and lock it, then huddle close to it – your shoulders scrunched up, feeling the cold against your back and the growing heat radiating against your chest and face. As you sit near the stove, letting the heat wash over you, your mind wanders back to earlier times.

You remember being a nymph, one of many others, beneath the scrutinous gaze of the queen whom you all adored. Learning to fly, the buzzing of thousands of tiny wings. Coming out from the deep umbrage of your hive, you stood perched on the cusp and saw the fir-blanketed mountains below stretching on for miles – long and winding rivers snaking their way through the valleys, afire with the golden glow of the setting sun. It seemed to you then that the whole world belonged to you, and that vista upon which you cast your gaze beckoned you to seek out strange and distant horizons. You took to the skies then, dove down into the valley – the wind wuthering past, your brethren close behind.

As time went on, you learned what it was to be a changeling, to live in shadow, concealing your true self from those who you desperately need to survive. You remember walking along the cobblestone streets of Canterlot, gazing up in wonder at the white and gold spires that towered above you. You wore a mask then, and smiled at those who passed – none of them suspected you, nor had they any reason to. After the starvation came to your hive, it had become more and more necessary to integrate with your prey. Your queen had a plan; she always had plans. But this one was different.

Everyone knew it was doomed to fail, but in retrospect, desperation can make one do strange things.

You sigh, levitating the iron poker beside the stove and opening the door, giving the logs a couple of nudges. As you set the poker down, you hear a floorboard creak behind you. Spinning around, you notice a pony standing by the jamb; they’re caparisoned in battered golden armor, and they stare at you through wide eyes. Their white fur is tarnished with streaks of crimson, trailing down from the rim of their helmet. Ordinarily the sight of a royal guard would send you scurrying for a place to hide, but you’re in no condition to run.

They stare at you for a moment longer, their mouth twisting into a frown, their brows furrowing. And then, without further warning, they lunge for you.

You barely manage to get out of the way as they barrel forwards. They swing at you with a hoof, striking your carapace weakly. You shove them away, causing them to lose balance and dodder awkwardly. You seize the opportunity and charge into them, knocking them onto the ground with a thud.

He scrambles back to his hooves and lunges again. Quickly you sidestep, ducking under his swing and plowing into his side with your head. You push, driving him staggering back until he’s pressed against the stove. He wails as the hot metal sears against his side, struggling as you continue to push against him. In one quick motion, he wraps his forelegs around your neck and jerks sideways, using the momentum to drag you down onto the ground with him. As soon as you’re down, he begins to tighten his grip on your neck. He growls as you try feebly to shove him away, strangling you with his forelegs. You sputter and choke as you feel your airways constricting. The stallion rolls on top of you, pressing down on your throat with his hooves. You try to pry his hooves off, but the more you try the harder he presses against you.

Your vision blurring, you draw on your already diminished mana reserves and charge up your horn, blasting him square in the face with a flash of green magic. The effort causes your vision to briefly flash white, your stomach to knot. He screams at the impact, a trail of smoke emanating off him as he staggers back and clutches at his face. You use the brief respite to roll away from your assailant. As you do so, your weight presses against your broken limb, sending a flash of fiery pain up your foreleg and into your shoulder. Nearly paralysed from the pain, you clench your teeth and groan, suppressing a scream. You try to stand, but quickly fall back down, your head smacking against the wooden floorboards, causing your vision to blur.

Grunting, you shakily push yourself back to your hooves. The moment you do so, you feel the full weight of the guard smacking against your side, knocking the wind out of you. In the tangle of limbs, the guard trips himself and ends up crashing into the wall. Above, a shelf laden with old dusty books comes unhinged, dumping its contents over his head. A particularly large book clangs against his helmet, sending it off his head and onto the ground where it spins a moment before coming to a stop.

As he’s recovering from the impact, you draw upon the last iota of your magic and levitate the helmet, swinging it into the side of his head with a clang, knocking him over onto the ground. He groans, and before he can right himself you’re on top of him, pushing down on his throat with your hooves. He struggles, clutching at your hooves as you press down. You only press harder, ignoring the kicking of his hind-hooves against your stomach.

As you continue to press down, you can discern tears beginning to form in the corners of his eyes, can sense his abject despair as the life drains from him. He looks at you pleadingly as the tears trail down his cheeks, clutching at your hooves. And then, suddenly, the realisation of what you're doing crashes over you like a wave upon the shore. You feel sick, and without hesitation you let go, stepping away from him and limping over to the far wall where you collapse, drawing long, shuddering breaths.

For a while the two of you lay there on opposite sides of the room. Outside you can hear the steady cascade of raindrops, the sound of trees blowing and creaking in the wind. You rise to your hooves. Casting a glance at the pony on the ground, you turn and limp out into the rain.

Excursion

The birds have gone silent, the sunlight obscured by thick clouds. You are walking alone beneath the tall, hoary firs and cedar trees, your steps methodical and languid. As a lone morning dove calls out in the distance, its song echoing through the quiet sanctuary of the forest, your mind is elsewhere.

Not long ago you stood below the dais of your queen. In a cavern deep underground, in a dark chamber illumined by pulsing nodes of green light, in a place long forgotten by the inhabitants of Equestria, you and your brethren gathered to listen as she apprised you all of her plan. You remember how imperious she looked as she sat perched upon her throne of blackened rock, and you could feel her pride. Her hope.

It was the same hope you had felt as you descended upon Canterlot, the pink shield shattering into millions of indistinguishable pieces. The elation had surged through you then, but there was an iota of something else: sorrow. As the cold mountain air ripped past you, your mind was cast back to that earlier time as a nymph. You remembered the joy you felt then. But you saw the ponies in the cobblestone streets below, some running frantically for shelter, some frozen in abject fear, unable to do aught but stare as thousands of black, winged beasts descended down upon them. You could feel their confusion, their terror. What had they done to deserve this? Where were their princesses, their protectors?

You remember Chrysalis teaching you that ponies were nought more than fodder for your kind, to be hunted and deceived – their emotions to be drained until they were living husks of their former selves. You had seen ponies captured, had been in those feeding chambers where ponies were dragged, either unconscious or kicking and screaming, to be cocooned in the green feeding pods that lined the cavern walls. It wasn’t a philosophy you agreed with, but you had always held your tongue – you saw first-hoof what was done to dissenters.

With a sigh, you turn back.

By the time you return to the cottage, it’s well past midnight and the moon gleams in the star-speckled sky, casting a pallid, phantasmal light over the woods. Upon your back you carry a bundle of fish and an assortment of green leaves and berries.

From one mullioned window, you can see the saffron glow of the fireplace and the bleary flickering of candlelight emanating from within. You step inside, seeing the silhouette of the guard sitting in front of the open wood stove. He glances obliquely at you, his face limned by the orange light. He sees you, then quietly turns back to the stove. You set the bundle down on the cot and take a few leaves. Hesitantly, you amble over to the pony and, with even more hesitance, nudge him on the shoulder.

You offer a faint smile and hold up the leafage. He glares at you, then your offering, then growls and shoves you away, causing your magic to falter, dropping the food on the ground. Folding back your antennae, you lower your head and pick the leafage back up, plodding over to the bed where you sit down and take a couple of fish. As you begin gnawing on them, the stallion glances over with a look of disgust and rolls his eyes. A few moments later his stomach grumbles, and again you proffer the leafage. He grudgingly concedes, taking a large frond with a hoof and stuffing it into his mouth.

The two of you sit quietly, listening to the sounds of the crackling flames and the distant cadence of crickets and tree-frogs. After a few minutes he stands up with a groan, ambling over to the bed. He takes one look at it and turns to you with an accusatory glare. You offer a shrug. Grumbling to himself, he walks over to the corner and slumps onto the ground, resting his chin on his hooves.

He cracks an eye open and watches you for a while. Suspicion emanates off of him like a cloud, imbued with anger and a trace amount of fear. You can sense his wariness, much the same as you can descry the dancing flames within the hearth and feel their heat. Sighing, you lock the stove door shut and turn away, stepping outside.

The moon is nigh full tonight, and the forest shines in the aethereal twilight, and the trees cast black shadows over the hills and valleys – darkness caressing the light. The river whispers nearby, and a zephyr passes overhead, rustling the leaves in the trees. You limp your way down to the stream and wade in until the water comes up to your withers.

A long time ago your hive travelled north to the far unknown, past the furthest boundaries of the Crystal Empire, and further still. Searching for a new home, pining for the salvation that had always eluded your kind. But there was nothing to the north.

Despite this, your hive stayed a while in the frozen wastes far beyond the last vestiges of civilization. Away from those that would pursue and persecute you, sending gatherers miles away, who would always return with just enough love for you to survive. It was not a sustainable way of life, and soon you returned to the warmer climes of the south.

And yet no matter where you resided, whether in the midst of pony-kind or sequestered from them, the starvation marched infallibly on, claiming more and more lives as time had passed. You had seen your queen once before all this, stalwart as she commanded her changelings, guiding them towards a brighter future.

But you remember most vividly of all the image of her lying at the base of her throne, the bodies of the deceased around her; you heard her wails, and you felt her pain resonating within your heart – echoed by the hivemind, shared by those who were still alive, who were growing fewer with each passing day.

The gelid water flows past you, and you wonder where she is now. You close your eyes and call out to her. You can hear the phantom of your voice echoing out across the void, and then...nothing. The hivemind is silent; more quiet than the black nothingness above.

After you’ve shaken yourself dry, you return inside. You can hear the stertorous breathing of the guard. He shivers, curling up tighter. You bring the blanket over, draping it over him gently so he doesn’t wake. Afterwards you hobble over near to the stove, laying down and closing your eyes.

In the morning you wake to the querulous chittering of a squirrel outside. You feel something lying on top of you, and slowly you crane your head around to see the wool blanket covering your body. With a simper, you carefully push yourself to your hooves and yawn, trying to shake the languor from your legs. Your injured limb doesn’t ache as much as yesterday, but putting pressure on it sends pinpricks up your leg. You decide to keep it off of the ground for now.

Light gray clouds blanket the sky, patches of silver shining through. The air feels humid, and there is no wind.

You find the guard by the stream, splashing water onto his face. He casts a sidelong glance at you as you walk up next to him, then resumes what he’s doing. Looking over, you can see the gash across his brow. It looks bad, and from where you’re standing you can smell a faint trace of decay starting to set in.

He looks at you and takes a step back, though he is more curious than afraid, now. You glance at his wound and take another step forwards, motioning for him to stand still. He glares at you as you get just a little too close; you can feel the tension radiating off of him in waves. Stopping where you are, you lift your nose and sniff at the wound.

After a moment you draw back with a frown. It’s infected.

He looks at you inquisitively, then turns away and begins donning his armor. You place a hoof on his shoulder, causing him to glare at you again. You wince, then nod towards the open gash, biting your lip. The guard raises a brow at you, then takes his helmet and holds it up to his face, examining the injury in the helm’s gold-tinted reflection. He sighs, then turns the helmet, placing it onto his head. His gaze becomes distant, and suddenly you get an idea.

With a flicker of your green magic, you snatch the helmet away from him. He blinks, then looks at you with a befuddled expression. You don the helmet and smirk, and after a moment he sighs, chuckling softly. He plods over to you, taking the helmet off of you and putting it back on his head.

You look at the cabin, then into the depths of the forest. You point with a hoof into the weald, causing the guard to tilt his head. You gently touch near his wound, then motion towards the woods. For additional emphasis, you trace the shape of a cross in the dirt. He glances at your crude drawing, then out into the wilderness. After a moment he nods, fastening the straps on his armor. He begins plodding away from the cabin, and you’re quick to join him.

Before you get very far, you turn, looking over your shoulder. As you do so, the sun slides out from behind the clouds, illuminating the cabin and the grove around it in a soft yellow light. Watching, you can almost see back through the passages of time.

You can just barely see the phantom of a young earth pony in a straw hat, toiling away as he hammers the siding into place one board at a time. He vanishes, then he reappears by the old tree-stump, propping logs onto it, chopping them into quarters – preparing for a long winter. Years later, you can see him sitting outside by a picnic table. He is laughing and smiling, and he has friends there with him, passing a drink around the table as they confer and share stories of love and life. After this memory fades, he hobbles out of the door of the cabin, a wizened pony with deep wrinkles lining his face. He wearily looks up in your direction, causing your breath to catch in your throat. With a smile, he raises a hoof and waves at you. You hesitantly return the gesture, feeling a pang of sadness as you do so.

A cloud slides across the sun, causing the light to fade – and the illusion is gone. You start slightly as the guard nudges you on the shoulder. He motions towards the woods, and you sigh, nodding in response. The two of you walk away, leaving the cabin behind.

The rain has been coming down for most of the journey, and after several hours of wandering there is still no civilization in sight. The two of you plod on through the muck, wincing as thick drops of rain drip down through the forest canopy, giving you no respite from the miserable conditions. You sniffle, and look over to see the guard staring down at the ground, dragging his hooves through the mud. There is a nearby outcropping of rock that might offer shelter, and you nudge him, pointing towards it.

It’s wet underneath the outcropping, with trails of rain streaming over and down the roof of the shelter. The two of you huddle into the middle where it’s relatively dry, shivering, teeth chattering. He leans against you.

You both sit there for a while, gazing out at the brume-cloaked world beyond. As you do, you realise that it’s been a while since you last fed on anypony’s emotions. You can feel the hollowness gnawing away inside of you. And then you notice the warmth of the stallion sitting next to you. It’s nigh inebriating, and your mouth waters at the thought of draining him of every last scintilla of emotion. And then that thought causes you to recoil in disgust.

He looks at you curiously as you draw away from him. You turn your head shamefully, refusing to meet his gaze. He nudges you gently, tilting his head to the side. With a shake of your head, you turn away, laying down in the dirt and curling up, clutching your hooves to your stomach.

After a long while of hearing nothing but the incessant downpour and the steady breathing of your companion, you hear him draw a sharp breath. You crane your head to see, and he motions off into the bleary world beyond. You pull yourself up to a sitting position and look, and can just barely make out something moving in the woods.

It’s a light.

Looking into the brume, you can see it waving back and forth slowly, side to side, flickering with each movement. You get to your hooves and follow the guard as he starts off towards it. When you get closer, you can see that the light’s emanating from a lantern attached to a covered wagon via a long wooden pole. Two mares, one white and the other crimson, are out in front dragging the cart along a track through the miry woods.

The guard calls out to them, and their gazes snap up towards the two of you. They slow down to a halt. At first you can feel confusion as the guard approaches, and then as you step out from behind the brush, you can sense their trepidation as they look upon you. Limping forwards, you don’t feel very intimidating. The guard takes off his helmet, showing them the gash across his forehead. He then nods towards you. You glance at him, then at the ponies, then hold up your injured limb for them to see. That seems to allay them for now.

The two of you are brought around the wagon, where the white-furred mare climbs up into the back, disappearing behind the flaps of canvas. You hear boxes being shifted around, glass clinking, and then after a minute she waves for you both to enter.

It’s warmer inside. An oil lamp hangs from the bows above, illuminating the wagon’s interior in a pallid amber glow. Looking around, you can see several wooden boxes, piles of linen and other fabrics, and barrels packed with wheat grain, apples, and corn. You sit down near a pile of crates, happy to be out of the rain. The mare smiles at the guard, then glances at you nervously. He looks at her sternly, causing her to feign a smile in your direction.

Nearby you see a rectangular box made of mahogany with a clasp on the front. She pops it open, revealing several square-shaped repositories containing glass bottles. The bottles are a deep burgundy, and you can’t discern what’s inside. She extricates one of these and grabs a nearby cloth, popping out the cork and setting it down. A moment later the smell hits you, and it takes everything in your power to not keel over. She looks at you and offers an apologetic smile, then wets the cloth with the bottle’s contents. She lightly daubs the guard’s brow with the cloth, causing him to wince and groan in pain. You look at him with concern, resting a hoof on his side. He sighs and grins at you. You smile back, feeling a pang of hunger.

The mare finishes her work, setting the cloth aside. She looks at you, then your mangled leg, biting her lip. The flap opens up, the sound of rain following. With a nervous glance at you, the crimson mare shuffles up into the back of the wagon, the flap falling shut behind her. She takes a cloth off of a hook above and uses it to dry herself off, shivering from the cold. Then, noticing the three of you are soaking wet, immediately opens a box and tosses a few extra to you. You catch yours with your face, garnering a few laughs.

After you’re all dried up, the white mare takes a roll of cloth and wraps it around the guard’s forehead. He nods in thanks, placing his helmet back on. The four of you sit huddled there, eyeing each-other as the rain beats down heavily above.

Eventually the white mare turns her attention to your injured limb. You wince as she touches a hoof to it, sending a jolt of pain up your foreleg and into your shoulder. She draws back slightly, but then shuffles closer for a better look. She gently touches a hoof to the same spot, causing you to clench your teeth – glaring at her. A tear rolls down your cheek, and she sighs and turns away, pulling something off of the wall.

She holds it up, and in the dim light you can see that it’s a map of the surrounding area. She points with a hoof to a small, dotted line leading through the woods. Further to the northwest, in an area where the trees have been cleared away, there are depictions of several buildings near a river. A town.

Your eyes widen at the sight, and you vigorously shake your head. The mare looks at you and sighs, and the guard rests a hoof on your shoulder. You whimper lightly as she sets the map down. After a pause, the crimson mare gesticulates, making an erratic motion in front of her face with her hooves. You raise a brow at her, and then she lifts a mirror to you. You can see your reflection, your emaciated form, your haggard face – your deep blue eyes. She then takes the lantern off its hook, holding it in front of the mirror, obscuring your visage in the flickering flame. She shifts the mirror slightly to the left. When she moves the lantern away, you cannot see your own reflection, but the reflection of the guard sitting next to you.

You realise what she’s getting at, and you sigh, shaking your head. With a hoof, you motion to your stomach, then to your heart. It’s been too long since you’ve last supped on the emotions of a pony. You can’t shapeshift without that energy – and if you forced yourself, you’d likely die. She looks at you for a moment, then nods, replacing the lamp.

The two mares make to go outside, but the guard nudges the crimson one on the shoulder before she can leave. She looks at him inquisitively, and he touches a hoof to her yoke, motioning to himself. She shakes her head, glancing at you before stepping outside.

He turns and sits back down. You gaze at the map lying upon the crate-top, trying to suppress the rising panic inside of you. After a minute the wagon shifts, and peering out the back you can see the path slowly but surely starting to move away. The panic sets in again, and you begin fidgeting, getting up and moving towards the exit.

The guard wraps a foreleg around your barrel, stopping you from going any further. You try to shove him away, but he only holds tighter, drawing you near. You relent with a whimper, gazing out the back of the wagon – the drenched forest slowly passing you by.

You close your eyes and listen to his breathing, to the steady trundling of the wagon’s wheels – to the creaking of the wagon as it shifts back and forth. You can hear the susurrus of the lantern’s flame as it flickers and burns, can hear the heartbeat of the stallion as your head rests against his chest. And you can feel the vacuity inside of your heart, pining for the warmth of a pony’s love.

Town

Hours after the wagon set off, towards the end of day, the sun comes out from behind the clouds and slowly, in a rising crescendo, the birds begin to sing again.

Deep down in a verdant valley comprised of soft rolling hills, you can see a throng of buildings all along a winding, scintillating river. The sunlight coronates the verdant hilltops in hues of yellow and gold, and the grass and tall fields of wheat blow gently as the wind passes through. You can see large oaks dotting the town, cobblestone paths built around them; can see the pink and white blossoms of dogwood trees by the riverside – their petals drifting down into the gelid waters, carried away. Further down the muddy trail you are on, forsythia and hydrangea bushes grow by the roadside, their outstretched branches brushing against the cart as it passes by.

You let the canvas fall shut, ensconcing the cabin’s interior in relative darkness. Nervously, you look at the guard sitting across from you. He looks up and meets your gaze. You touch a hoof to your chest, then draw that hoof across your neck. He stares for a moment, then laughs softly, shaking his head. You grumble to yourself, looking away. After a moment passes, you feel the cart drawing to a stop.

The shadows are chased away as the crimson-furred mare pulls open the flap at the back of the wagon. She smiles at the two of you, motioning for you to come outside. Feeling another pang of fear, you shake your head. She rolls her eyes, then points at something. You realise that she’s motioning to the box you’re sitting on top of.

You get to your hooves, looking at her inquisitively. She nods, and you pull open the lid, peering inside. Within the box you can see a mass of bunched up, light-brown fabric. You lift it up with a hoof, and turning it around you can see that it’s a cloak with a hood attached. Smiling, you drape it over your body, pulling up the hood as far as it’ll go. You take the mirror and lift it, mulling over your own reflection. You glance at the stallion across from you. He grins and winks at you. You clamber down the back of the wagon, the guard close behind. The mare raises her brows and whistles, and you can’t help but laugh.

The white mare is waiting by the front of the wagon, her yoke resting on the ground. She’s rubbing the back of her neck, then she glances up and sees you. She playfully nudges you on the shoulder, then the four of you set off towards town.

It is not long before the crimson mare stops you by holding out a hoof in front of your chest. She points towards a small wooden building, a sign with a painted red cross hanging above the door. She nods at you, turning to leave. The white-furred mare goes to follow her, but before she leaves she places a hoof on your side. You meet her gaze for a moment, and in that diminutive space of time, you can feel the warmth of her compassion filling you with life – it is not much, but it is something. She joins her friend and ambles off into the crowd, and then she is gone.

An hour later, the two of you egress from the building. The stallion carries a satchel containing rolls of gauze, cotton balls, and a bottle of pills. You, on the other hoof, limp forwards with a crude wooden brace attached to your leg. It clicks with every step you take, and it rubs awkwardly against your chitin whenever you move. But it doesn’t hurt as much when you put pressure on your limb, so you suppose it’s a slight improvement.

As you both plod your way back into town, the sun is slowly dipping below the tree-tops, causing the light to fade from a brilliant yellow into a dull orange. Wispy clouds stretch across the sky, their underbellies lit up in hues of gold and lavender. You can see the first stars twinkling in the gray-blue sky, and you can hear the creatures of the night beginning to sing.

There is something else you notice, too: Even though it is growing late, several ponies are still meandering about town – perhaps even more than earlier. It is then that you notice the banners and tapestries hung about the town; the ponies behind their stands, hawking their wares. Your companion looks around with a befuddled expression, and a group of ponies runs past – laughing and shouting at one another.

You draw your hood up over your head, turning to move away from the lights of town. Before you can get very far, you see two guardsponies walking out from a nearby street, rounding the bend and making their way towards you. Your heart stops, and quickly you turn and begin walking in the other direction, your companion following closely behind. Soon you lose sight of the guards amongst the throng of ponies. You and your companion wend your way through the crowd, the others barely noticing as you brush past them.

Suddenly, a high-pitched noise blares out into the night, startling you into the guard’s side. He grunts as you nearly topple him over. You frantically look around, only to be startled again when a resounding crack fulminates from above. Shouting, you duck and bury your face in your hooves, whimpering softly.

You hear a chuckle, and the next moment you feel the guard’s nose brushing against your muzzle. You hesitantly crack an eye open and look at him. He motions up towards the sky, and you tremulously rise back to your hooves, gazing upwards.

Above, you can see hundreds of motes of light scintillating in the deep blue sky, drifting lazily downwards until they flicker out of existence.

Another sound rings out. You go to scramble away, but the stallion wraps a foreleg around you, pointing up at the star-speckled sky. You watch with wide eyes as a glimmering speck shoots up into the air, then gasp as it bursts into a thousand different colours, turning the night into day. The guard steps away from your side and smiles as you gaze up at the fireworks with your maw hanging open.

The ponies around you cheer and applaud as more and more colourful explosions light up the sky. As you watch in awe, you hear a quartet kick up a sprightly tune. Around a building, through a cobblestone drang, you and the guard come out into an open area where the ponies have gathered. Stepping forwards, you see four ponies garbed in black suits within a gazebo, playing slowly to the cadence of a dream as purple and blue spheres of light jaunt around the stage.

You smile as the light slowly fades from the sky, watching the band play their tune. There are ponies of all sorts crowded in the open area; you see couples and those standing aloof, foals and the elderly, stallions and mares. You can feel the warmth of day fading. And as the band continues to play, you see fireflies beginning to blink in and out of existence beyond the lights of town.

To the side of the courtyard, through another throng of ponies, you and the stallion find a long table with a purple cloth draped over it, all sorts of confections laid out across its surface. Your stomach rumbles, and before you can stop yourself, you find that you’ve eaten almost three platters’ worth of muffins, cinnamon rolls, and coffee cakes. A few ponies cast uncertain gazes towards you, but quickly turn their attention back to the concert.

You sigh and lick your fangs clean. Before you can turn around, you feel a light tapping on your shoulder. You look, seeing a peach-coloured mare with a cherry for her cutie mark. She gasps lightly as you turn to face her, a wave of surprise washing over you. When that dissipates, however, you sense a curious amount of fascination coming from the mare.

There’s little time to ponder her emotions before she giggles and takes you by the hoof, dragging you out into the crowd. You cast a befuddled glance at the guard, but he only laughs, offering a wink. Before you know it, you’re out amongst the audience, balancing awkwardly on your hindlegs as she guides you into a slow, meandering dance.

As the music lilts on in the background, you can’t help but gaze into her amber eyes. She smiles at you softly, resting a hoof on your shoulder, her emotions a mystery to you. Curious, you try and reach into her mind, only to have a maelstrom drive you back.

Though the smile upon her lips seems genuine, you feel that she’s lost somehow – cast adrift in a tumultuous sea. Her gaze is distant and desperate, her dancing torpid and listless. Frowning, you lean into her and coax her head onto your shoulder. You hear a shuddering sigh, then a moment later you feel a bead of wetness drip onto your back. Then another. And another.

The music swells, and you hold her gently as she weeps. A few moments later you nuzzle her on the cheek, and you feel a faint warmth wash over you. You’re not able to enjoy that feeling much longer, as looking ahead, you see a coterie of guards making their way towards you. Your heart stops momentarily, and when it starts again, the mare is looking at you with an inquisitive gaze, her eyes still glistening. With a faint nod you motion towards the guards. Sniffling, she turns to see – then gasps lightly as they come into view.

She breaks off the dance, wiping away her tears. Taking you by the hoof, she quickly starts dragging you away into the bustling confusion of the crowd. As the two of you plunge through the tumultuous mass of ponies, you see a glimpse of your friend standing by the confectionary table. He’s smiling and seemingly conferring with somepony else. Grunting, you tug the mare in that direction. She casts an addled glance at you, which becomes even more addled when you point towards your friend. You ignore her objections as you pull her out of the crowd and rush over to the table, panting from the effort. The guard stares incredulously at the two of you as you rush up out of the crowd, the other pony turning to see what the hubbub is about. The moment he spots you, he drops his drink and let’s out a shriek, turning to run – knocking the table and all of its confections onto the ground as he scrambles away.

The guards notice you standing thither with the mare beside you, her hoof in yours, the upended table, the stallion in golden armor between the two of you. They shout, pushing through the crowd in an effort to get at you. The stallion lifts a hoof and opens his mouth, then shuts it. He quickly motions for the two of you to follow him, galloping off in the opposite direction.

You don’t hesitate to sprint after him. After a few strides, however, you stop and look back to see the mare hasn’t moved an inch. She stands there, one hoof poised to run, the others glued to the ground beneath her. She casts an uncertain glance towards you, then looks back out into the crowd. A blue stallion with a black mane comes into view. He looks up and their eyes meet, and in that short span of time you see the animosity chiselled across the stallion’s face, can see and feel the mare’s fear.

She decides to run.

The guards finally break free of the crowd, but you, the stallion, and the mare have already vanished into the darkness of night.