"Three days. It's been almost three days and that child has been crying almost non-stop. I'm truly surprised there is any breath left in that foal. Sparks rose from the bed, once again missing any chance of sleep. What is she doing to the boy, dipping him in boiling oil head first!?" This had gone on long enough, he was going to fix the problem, if not for his sake then the kids. His body was heavy and sore from insomnia, but Sparks got up, stretched out each limb, and shook himself somewhat more awake. After freshening himself up in the lavatory and munching down an apple or two, it was time to go to "work".
"Before I get started, where'd I put that damn Spellbook?" he muttered to himself with a lazy yawn. Electricity arced from where his skull and horn met to the tip, causing the whole horn to glow a pale blue. Sparks stretched his consciousness through the energy of the spell, grasping in the dark for anything "Book" shaped. Why not turn on a light? Many reasons, mostly given the fact he was moving today and was foolishly in a rush to deal with his soon to be noisy former neighbors and catch a train to the east before the sun got too high in the sky. Speaking of sky, Sparks almost facehoofed when he remembered it was a full moon tonight. Without even a thought, Sparks used his magic to fling open the curtains on his only window.
The light shined in, casting a pale light through the room. Sparks apartment was what some would call "cozy", other more supposedly sane ponies would have used the term claustrophobic or tomb-like. It was a single room kitchen/den/bedroom, comprised of a sink and stove for the kitchen, a foldable table and plush pillow seats for the den, and a single bed and window for the bedroom. Only the bathroom was hidden from view, tucked away as simple closet space. For a bachelor and a student, this would be more than enough room to survive. Sadly, Sparks was a collegiate wizard graduate; so naturally, almost all of the floor was covered in papers, books, and dirty laundry. In lieu of a shelf, journals, textbooks, all manner of literature and other massive collectives of the written word were stacked straight to the ceiling as faux support beams. Sparks couldn't help but mentally sigh, "Such are the joys of a hermit."
Now able to look over the disaster area of a war zone he called "home", "Ah-HA! Found you at last!" Sparks cried in triumph, levitating his prize. The book was huge, well over three hundred pages with inserted notes and bookmarks stuffed the mystic tome. Reworked and rebound time and again, the spell book's faded green form had seen better days and worse ones. The beaten metal corners and weathered lock stood with little contrast to the deep golden etchings of runes and signets covering the book.
Sparks took some pride in the old thing, he made this book before he was even an apprentice. It had survived the test of time, though hell and higher water to be there and take in his blood, sweat, and tears through the years. After coming back down from his minor victory, an old bad habit reared it goofy head.
Sparks just groaned to himself and turned to face the window, "I see the moon, and the moon sees me~! Luna loves the moon, and Luna loves me~!"
What was a colt's nursery rhyme to ward off nightmares had almost become a superstitious ritual or a nervous tick with Sparks, this would be a thing for concern if he didn't like doing it, this "habit" of his was only brought on by the legends of Luna, one of the Royal Pony Sisters. In the depictions he had seen of her one thing almost always stood out to him, both he and Luna had the same midnight blue coat. That and she was gorgeous, while he wasn't entirely hideous. Despite his small crush on a more than likely fictional character, it was mostly that the moon just brought him some peace with its beauty.
The piercing cries of the foal brought him back down to earth from his astral reverence. With a heavy, weary sigh, Sparks continued his "morning" ritual. Sliding the books magical lock down the length of his horn, Spark's aura enveloped the book and energized the sealing runes. Then the book began to spin around the spiral of his horn, locks rhythmically coming undone as the book ascended. After the main lock that sealed the book snapped open, he flipped it and layer it flat in midair as if setting it on a table. Turning his attention to his cupboards, he rooted around for a few things for breakfast. Despite popular opinion, Sparks could cook to save his life. It just wasn't fancy. At all. After setting up the folding table, he set out a mug of cider, a few carrots, a small wedge of cheese, and his own recipe; buttered beer bannock and a few squares of honey hardtack. 'A good enough early breakfast" he thought and got down to study. One of the first things you learn about magic; it is the Mages curse that you must spend a certain amount of time each day, studying and recommitting your spells to memory.
After breakfast and his spell study, it was time to pack. Though moving out was still an annoying task most any pony is loathed to do, being a wizard does have its perks. Through a quick cantrip, a wave of energy swept through the room like a gusty torrent; bundling papers together, stacking books into more convenient less concussion-inducing heights, and tossing dirty clothes into a recently exposed hamper. For now, at least the room had a sense of "organized" chaos about it. After prepping his belongings, Sparks pulled an inconspicuous pair of saddle bags out from under his bed and set it down in front of him in the middle of the room.
Giving the room one final survey, and nodding with satisfaction at the results, he began. Sparks closed his eyes to concentrate; his horn grew brighter steadily, giving off the sparks he was named for until everything in the room was covered in the blue light of his magic. Shaking and twisting his head a few times made all of his stuff levitate as he held open his bags. A dim glow from inside showed that they were far from normal. He began to steadily feed his things into the bags, each time something entered the mouth of a bag it shrank to fit and fell fast sounding as if it had been tossed into a strong wind.
The entire chore was done in a matter of minutes, Sparks now stood in the bare room like he never lived there for the past few years. "Years. Huh, it must be close to five or six years since we last saw each other." Sparks moment of inner reflection was cut short yet again by the sound of the crying child. "Best not leave my little neighbor wanting, or me brothers for that matter." Spark levitated a pocket watch, his coat, and glasses from either side of his magic saddle bags.
"I wondered why I was starting to get a headache reading my spells," he said kicking himself for his own tired stupidity. After dressing in his coat and specs, Sparks looked at his watch and made a mental note for when the next train was due. That done he strapped on his saddle bags and was finally out the door. Locking his door and pocketing the key, Sparks angled himself towards the crying. The complex was a forest of multi-storey brick and steel, cookie cutter cubes ponies could live in. Each one varied in price from occupation to number of occupants, mostly not the way it was intended. A family of six living in a flat for two, while some big name "Well-to-do" Merchant or what/whoever, lazed about in a suit fit to hold over a hundred!
Sparks just closed his eyes tight and shook himself violently like a soaked dog, best not to dive into that can of worms if you can help it. Not right now, and especially not today. Muttering a quick arcane phrase, a light blue disc of energy materialized over the railing of the walkway. He took a half a step back then leaped on top, like a big blue cat jumping up on a table top. Refocusing himself towards his destination, Sparks slowly walked forwards, then he moved with a steady trot. Trying his best not to blink or look down, Sparks made his way quickly so his fear of heights wouldn't come up to bite him in his current predicament; floating eight stories in the air on a spell with a short duration.
He wouldn't stop crying. The Earth mare Ginger Crisp paced back and forth, steadily cradling and bouncing her foal in one arm. Stopping now and again to rest on her haunches, and cuddle and coo in vain just to get him to rest. He wouldn't stop crying. The night was waning on, and work was coming with the dawn. Not a wink of sleep in almost two days. Or was it three. She could barely keep her eyes open let alone remember anything. Nodding off again, she startled herself awake feeling her boy slipping from her grasp. One of the many times she almost dropped him in her exhaustion. Her head and body ached, a chill ran through her body almost constantly now as she felt her strength leave her with every breath. He just wouldn't stop crying. Tears slowly form in her eyes from what little fluids she had left.
Suddenly there was a knock at her door, snatching away her attention from her child. She wiped her eyes and carried the two of them to the door. 'Someone else complaining about the noise", she thought. She didn't know what to say, she didn't know anything at this point.
The knock came again as she approached the door. Looking out the doors peeping glass, she could make out what looked like a mass of blonde and gray hair with a dark blue horn sticking out of it. "It's just me, Ms. Crisp." came from the other side.
Almost instantly she recognized the voice of her distant neighbor. Unclasping and opening the door confirmed what little suspicion she had as; if it wasn't for the full moon and his coat, she doubted she could have seen him. "Mr. Thunderhead?" she said, more than a little surprised to see her distant neighbor.
"Please ma'am, call me Sparks," he said regarding her with plain professionalism. The big stallion just stood there in the doorway looking her over coldly, almost bored like. "Mr. Sparks, what . . ." before she could ask anymore, his horn lit up and so did her baby. He lifted the baby up to eye level, panic ran through her like a shot. "Please Sir, I know he won't stop crying, just . . . !"
"Pttttthhhhr! Hur-hur-hur!"
Out of nowhere her had just blown a razzberry and nickered without even changing expression. The babies crying had slowed to sobbing hick-ups. Ginger was shocked, not only at the random noises coming straight faced from her reclusive neighbor, but the babies crying had lessened.
"Come on stud, time for beddy-bye," he said walking into her apartment. Her mouth hung open, she didn't know what to make of this. Had she passed out, or passed away? Ginger's jaw would have gone through the floor at what happened next, he started singing.
"Go to sleep, you little baby; go to sleep, you little baby. Your mama's gone away and your daddy's gonna stay, didn't leave nopony but the baby. Go to sleep, you little baby; go to sleep, you little baby. Everybody's gone in the cotton and the corn didn't leave nopony but the baby.~" He elevated the foal, rocking him slowly side to side. His horn lit up a bit brighter as four balls of dim light danced around, orbiting the pair. The deep singing had calmed him a bit more, but it was the dancing light that had his undivided attention.
"You're sweet, little baby; you're sweet, little baby. Honey in the rock and the sugar don't stop, gonna' bring a bottle to the baby. Don't you weep, pretty baby; don't you weep, pretty babe. She's long gone with her red shoes on, gonna' need another lovin' baby.~" The baby was getting calmer, just as sparks pulled a baby bottle of milk and a darkened bottle with a dropper.
While the baby was distracted by the light show, Spark had put a shot of the medicine right down his throat. Before the baby could start crying again, the bottle was already in his mouth. The taste of the warm milk washing away the foul taste of the medicine had the youngster suckling in quiet contention. After humming for a few minutes and taking the bottle away, the baby started up again.
This time instead of crying he was coughing. Sparks held the boys back to his ear, nodding after hearing what he did and bringing a waste bin from the room in front of him, he held the baby head down over it and began rhythmically patting his back gently. A few moments later and the boy gave what could be described as a cross between a burp and a hick-up, and brought up a mass of green gunk that splatted wetly in the base of the bin. Sparks set the boy right side up and held him to his shoulder as he surveyed the bin contents. His eyes narrowed to an "I thought so," manner, as he set the bin aside. After all that, the baby was more than a little sleepy.
"Go to sleep, you little babe. Go to sleep, you little babe. You and me and Luna makes three, don't need no other lovin' baby.~" They made their way into what Sparks thought should be the bedroom; the mother not far behind, there was a crib by the wall next to a bed.
"Probably kept him near just in case." he thought. The little one was so sleepy. Reaching out to a nearby dresser, Sparks grabbed a new baby blanket and a small blue beanie. In less than a minute, Sparks had him re-swaddled and in his nightcap, slowly rocking him lower and lower to bed.
"Go to sleep, you little babe. Go to sleep, you little babe. Come and lay your bones on the alabaster stones, and be my ever-lovin' baby.~" Tucking him in with Teddy, to keep the monsters away. Spark let out a small contented sigh and turned to face the mother.
Ginger Crisp just stood there, eyes wide and her mouth almost as, "H-ha-ha-how?" she managed to say softly. Spark kept the same expression he had once he first came in, with a shrug he said, "I have a way with kids." Before she could say another word, he was shoving her out the door and closing it softly behind them. Walking back into the den, Ginger finally found her voice, and her wits, again. "I-I can't thank you enough, sir. He-He just wouldn't stop . . ."
"That boy is in a lot of trouble." he interrupted flatly. Ginger just looked at him wide eyed as he continued. "The child is sick. Right now it's just a case of the sniffles, but if you don't nip it in the bud right now it will end up as bronchitis or pneumonia." Panic started in again for Ginger, "Bu-but you..."
"The only thing I did was give him something to sooth the cough and expel the bad stuff, that's it. Take him to the doctors in the morning," he said sternly, interrupting again. "But I can't, I have work tomorrow. I've had to miss three days, they won't let me take a fourth. Who am I kidding, I'll be lucky to have a roof over our heads in the morning." Sparks eyed the place, it wasn't a clutter of discarded cider bottles or drug related pleasantries, the place was almost as sparse as his own room of no less that ten minutes ago. Here and there amidst what appliances and furniture there were scattered red tags showing what left was due for repossessing. Even the babies crib, if memory served. Probably had the child forced upon her by pleasure or pain.
Sparks just let out a heavy sigh, "I should have known this would happen," he said to himself more than any pony. "Had I planned ahead, I could have dug the hole and still had time to make my train." he rolled his eyes and shook his head disapprovingly.
Ginger could only stare at him a moment, "I-I'm sorry, hole? What hole," she asked nervously.
Sparks just motioned and grunted as if just now noticing her, "Oh, why a grave for the baby, of course. Well, I suppose since it is a baby, I won't have to dig too deep."
Rage. Rage and horror filled Ginger, how dare this stallion utter such things; "You - You, how dare you say that about my son! I love him, I love him more than any pony in this world. I would do anything for him, even if it cost me everything, even my own life!" There was what he wanted to see, commitment. No matter the age, a mother is a mother. "If she hadn't said something along those lines, I really would have to dig a hole. But for two," he thought.
Sparks just smirked, his horn lit up again and levitated out of his packs a few strips of parchment and one of his hoof-made fountain pens. "Oh yeah? Prove it," he said as he jotted down something on the papers. Before she could say anything, he had thrust the papers under her muzzle. "Here is a bit of honest work, it's nothing shady or under the table, but it is hard work. Give your "two weeks" or quit when you go in the next time, your choice. When you go there, go to the mare in charge, no pony else! She is a little hyper on the job, but she's the understanding type. She may have more in common with you than I know. Give her this note," he said separating the two, "and talk to her honestly. She will help you, I promise." he said solemnly.
"Try to move in with relatives, if you can. If you can't," Sparks let sparks fly from his horn as his eyes grew a light, there was a low electrical popping sound coming from behind her followed by a bright flash. When she turned around, something new had been added to the room. There was a small, stiff padded, canvas recliner with a crocheted brightly colored blanket draped over the front and down the back of it. A carved cradle rocking on crescent moons, holding a blue blanket and pillow, and a large wooden lacquered chest at least five to six feet long. Ginger just looked back at him, eyes wide and mouth almost as big agape.
"Furniture's overrated. This should be enough to get you both started in a measure of comfort. The chest is locked with a CAM latch, push up to open and down to lock. It has preserved foods and an ice box full of milk and fresh water, two weeks worth of my emergency supplies." he said in a proud, "matter-of-fact" sort of way. As he did so he also flipped over the first page of notes to reveal a list. Tears were forming in her eyes.
"Wha-wha, this is . . . I-I-I just... thank you. Thank You!" she didn't know what else to do, but thank him and hug him as tight as she could. Sparks just blinked to himself as he hugged her and patted her back. He thought she would be grateful, but he wasn't expecting this. "Y-your welcome . . ." he said trying to compose himself off the back hoof. And failing miserably.
Ginger just kept on crying into his shoulder for a while, "*sniff* Sorry, I-I just . . . this is the nicest anypony has been to me in so long," she let go of him as she wiped her eyes, "I just can't thank you enough." He could only stare off into space for a moment before he gave himself a small shake and cleared his throat. "You can thank me by seeing to it, that he has another birthday," he said with feigned sternness.
Before she could thank him more, Sparks just pulled a pocket watch out of his breast pocket, what emotion was on his face had drained as he regarded the timepiece and returned it promptly. With a smirk, he chuckled to himself; "Y'all have a nice life darlin', I've got a timetable to keep" he said turning to leave. She had barely wiped a tear from her eye, one minute he was standing there surrounded by a blue aura, she blinked, and then he was gone.
A cold wind blew through the complex's courtyard, all was quiet except for the electrical hum. A small, sudden bright flash and there was Sparks, walking away as if he'd been there the whole time. "Hopefully that's enough to get her through," he thought. Sparks could relate to a single parent, he had been kinda raised by one after all. After finishing up his business with the complex management, he was at Shetland station plotting his course to pick up his three brothers.
"Hmm ...; first pick up would be Quake off of Sandalwoods, he's closest. Then it's half a day's trip to reach CrackerJack in Skyros city, and we should be able to grab Bron a few hours later in Coffin Bay." After jotting down a few notes for the course, Sparks took a moment to prep a few letters to his brother on his estimated time of arrival. Sealing each of the scrolls with a wax seal of his cutie mark, holding the three aloft he muttered under his breath making the burst into green flames. As if on cue, a gust picked up and carried the ash and smoke of the letters off to the east, with two traveling more north then the third. The smoke darted off into the horizon like snakes in a river, greeting the morning sun as they went.
Sparks smiled watching them go, no matter how old or better he got, magic still amazed him. Taking a backward glance confirmed that the train would not be arriving for some time still, "Time to kill? Time to read," he thought taking a seat on the station's bench. As he sat going over one of his many texts, he couldn't help but wonder what his brothers were up to?
"We'll just wait and see ..."
To be continued in Silent Springs
Author's Note
The first entry in what I hope maybe a series. I was inspired to do this cuz of the relationship I have with my 3 best friends turned adopted brothers and the madness that was cartoons in the 80's and 90's.
If anyone can name the references/skits used in the works; 10 points.*
Also, Introducing my OC (Thunderhead "Sparks") 
!
*WARNING! The points I mean made up Old Nerdy/Brownie points (i.e. Thumbs Up, Good Karma, House cup, etc.)
Not: DA points, Bitcoins, PayPal deductions, money in any way, shape or form. ~sorry
Chapter.2; Welcome to Silent Springs! (part-1)
"Well Master Silverwind," the pony rose to his hooves."I thank you for all you've done for me sir, I'll carry it with me always and I will never forget your teachings," he dusted himself off and did a final respectful bow to the small pile of rocks. "But, I must be off," he said finally, "it's our long-awaited reunion, and I mustn't keep my brothers waiting."
The purple and black piebald pony fitted his vest and saddlebags and walked away from the lone cabin in the woods, his home for the past five years. Among the stones there was one larger than the rest sitting dead center with letters carved into it, the inscription upon it read;
"Here lies Arch-Druid Silverwind of Oakenmire's Circle of Stone. Beloved Founder, Friend, and Father."
Cwake (Quake) made his way down the well-worn path, dense woodland flanking him on either side, "I entrusted the cabin to Jake and Steve, in case any-pony get lost or hurt." Jake was a Grey Wolf and Steve was a Brown Bear, dear friends, had always stuck with him through his years of training. He knew they would watch over the place till Mother Nature reclaimed it. Cwake tried in vain to take his mind off where his current path was leading him.
Ever since he first arrived for his training, Cwake had known there was a town at the foot of the hills, his mentor had strictly forbade him from going anywhere near or into the town. Cwake obeyed naturally, not only heed his teacher's warnings but also because he wanted little to nothing to do with the trappings of "civilization", he could interact with other ponies if he wanted, but he refused to be locked into their oversized pen! That and being surrounded by strangers cluttering around shoulder to shoulder going this way and that, trampling and shoving anypony without even an apology or any acknowledgment of your existence. Then the sea of bodies swallows you up and carries you off into who knows were, there's yelling and chatter all around, so much noise that you can't even for a single thought, and then . . . Oh Gods, the walls are closing in!
Cwake shook himself, "Snap out of it! Focus, damn you!" he had to get that line of thought out of his head, this was no time for a panic attack. "The town is only a small obstacle for me to reach my family. I can do this!" and with that, he marched one hoof in front of the other with his chin held high and his eyes to the road ahead.
Even in his forced attempt at bravery, Cwake was a peace with his surroundings. The well-worn path snaked it's way across and around the wooded foothills, pines far as the eye could see up, down, and all around. The sun was just coming up, the bright orange and yellow on the horizon was fading fast as the world grew brighter and more alert to a new day. Squirrels scamper through the needles and cones, gathering their breakfast and squabbling with each other for more. An eagle flies by overhead, roosting in a nearby pine to the piping of hungry chicks. All's quiet. All's peaceful. It is the perfect, time of day. Or was.
It had not even been fifteen minuets, by Cwake's best guess, and the world around him was blanketed in fog. "Hmm, well this should clear up in no time." he thought. Cwake knew there were several lakes in the area, and at least one good sized river feeding in fresh water, this would explain the early morning fog. But it didn't explain why the fog got thicker the farther he went.
At this point, Cwake couldn't see anything past ten to fifteen feet in front of him, and the path itself looked as though he was walking through water as it covered the ground, shifting every time he took a step. The trees shifted ever so slightly, casting a glance to his right, Cwake could see the trees becoming slightly less dense and with the illusion of them getting shorter the further they were from him. The facing of the hill got steeper the farther he went. Then it hit him. Unconsciously, he had been listening. A life of almost constant fear and terror had sharpened his senses beyond what most ponies couldn't fathom, all in the name of self-preservation. There were no sounds. Aside from the occasional small gust of wind, all was dead silent. No morning birds calling out to one another, no squirrels or chipmunks darting about, no animals of any kind dwelled here. Aside for the rare gust or two, the only sound was his hooves on the dirt road.
The silence was as smothering as the omnipresent fog as if it's presence were a warning or a deterrent to all sensible animals that he had foolishly overlooked.
"I'm just paranoid, it's probably nothing." he tried to convince himself. "I hope."
Cwake remembered asking his mentor about the town when there was nothing more pressing for him to accomplish or if his mentor had returned from the town, as he was want to do for whatever reason. But the old pony always stayed taciturn on the matter, or spontaneously changed the subject, as if always expecting the question. Cwake never dug too deep into the matter or pestered his teacher on the subject, the last thing anypony smart enough to know better would ever do is anger their mentor, especially Master Silverwind. Though slow to anger, the old pony could make grizzly bears soil themselves fleeing in terror if pressed on to that point.
Though his master saw fit to stay in the town a day and a night, once or twice a month. Almost like clockwork.
These recollections crossed his mind, as Cwake tried to keep his nerve in this suddenly suffocating atmosphere. He continued on, a sudden gust picked up, flinging and scattering pines and dirt all over him, then he heard it.
'SQUELCHE-HURHUR-RUFF!"
The sound came from behind him, on his left side up the hill. A low grunting, almost like a dog or wolf barking low or growling, but this was from no animal he had ever heard before. About to speak, Cwake shot his hoof to his lips, he knew better than to shout, "Who's there!?" all alone in the woods. Eyes wide he threw a glance behind him, of course, he couldn't see anything, this fog was so thick it even blocked out the sun!
Cwake quickly pulled his eyes forward and carried on at a quicker pace. That little voice in the back of his mind muttered something, not loud enough to be heard but enough to know it's there. The fog, ever present, hindered his progress only a little. After rounding a sharp left bend in the path, the way became a little more visible. The farther he looked, the steeper the road went. He kept going.
'SQUELCHE-HURHUR-RUFF!"
Then he heard it again. Louder. Closer. He wasn't even half way down the natural ramp when his nerves kicked in, his survival instincts prompting and egging him to move, faster. Much faster! From what little he could see, the dirt path kept going down but jutted out in right angles two times, making what looked like a natural spiral staircase. Of course, Cwake failed to notice the similarity, only seeing it as his escape route.
A right, keep running, another right. It was almost a mantra in his head, he would have gone yet another right if he could see the ground. After a bit the path evened out into a straight line, he slowed a bit. Then stopped just long enough to catch his breath. Cwake stained his senses as heard as he could, looking, listening, sniffing, feeling for the air to move in any way. Was he out of danger? No. Was he safe? No!With these facts secured, he pressed on, all be it slowly trying in vain at calming himself.
Still, the only thing he could hear was the sound of his hoof beats. Nary an echo to be heard in these hills of dense wood, of any kind.
Further on he went and still, all was quiet, he wouldn't even humor the notion that whatever was following him if it were following him, had left. The growl sounded from a carnivore, a large hungry carnivore. "It couldn't be a timberwolf, they aren't born of pine forests. And that sounds like no pack, there is only one voice growling like that." Cwake thought. A chill worked its way slowly down his spine, anticipating what to come. Trying his best to feign serenity or at least calmness.
'...SQUELCHE-HURHUR-GRRRRU!"
The growl came again, this time it was; "...Oh, Gods!" the sound chased a jackrabbit from the tip of his tail to the top of his head, leaving goosebumps and hair standing on end in their wake. A chill sent a cold sweat to cover him, as the small voice of his survival instincts rang loud and clear in his ears; "Run. Do not walk. Do not stop. Do not think. Just RUN!" Needing no further encouragement, Cwake was already bolting headlong in a full gallop down the path. The road snaked and turned, but he kept running, till the trees and finally, the ground started to level out to his right then his left.
He came to a skidding stop, falling and rolling a few times to the bank of a wide left turn. Resting on elbows and belly, Cwake craned his head up and looked back at the trail he blazed, gasping for breath. Aside from his dust finally catching up to him, there was nothing there. Not a shadow, not a sound. With one last shuddering sigh, he could finally relax a minute. Poking his nose into his saddlebag, he retrieved his hoof-made gourd canteen. After a few pulls from it, he shook it, finding it half empty; "Huh, guess I was more thirsty than I thought." he thought, the gourd hanging from his muzzle. Hazarding a quick glance all around, he packed his canteen away and was back on his feet.
At the base of the incline was where he stood, the path's sharp turn was wide; at least four to six ponies would fit here and still not bother a single blade of grass. Looking back to the hills, the path behind him looked so much darker than he remembered, and from where he stood to the path ahead, it seemed almost bleached with light from the ever unseen sun. The fog never lifted even for a second, leaving a gray matte behind him and a thick white wall in front. As he pressed on, the fog revealed an old, weather worn wood fence gripping the side of the road for dear life. Looking past the shamble of sticks, Cwake could only just make out what appeared to be a great mass of something in the distance. Not paying it a second thought, he was stopped again by something just a little further up the road.
It appeared to be a small pony-made wood and mason gazebo housing a stone well in the center. It's shingled roof was a wash of varying shades of faded green, while the rest was all unwashed white stones. Cwake approached the well, hoping to at least get a little more water for the trip. Surprised but undeterred, he noticed an old hoof pump and it's base cast off into the bushes just behind the well. Casting a slight glance into the well, he didn't want to have his head down the hole if he could help it. He recoiled slightly as the stale air of sulfur water greeted him from the depths. Pulling away from the well was most likely a smart move he thought, "If it's open to the air and smells like that, it's more than likely stagnant, or worse." Almost happily he went on his way.
Back on the road, it now had slipshod fences on both sides funneling the road down to a large something just up ahead. Taking a quick sigh of what fresh air there was, he approached. The "thing" happened to be imposing wrought iron gates framed by thick stone cubes, four stacked on either side. The gate was open, unlocked and unbarred, you could fit a hoof through the spread bars, but not much else.
Cwake weighed his options, he could leave the road and head through the forest; navigating through this fog was a small nuisance but one that wouldn't slow him down for long. But, that thing, whatever it was, could still be out there. If it had really existed, Cwake didn't have the time or the patience to argue with himself on whether a monster was there or not right now. On the other hoof, go straight ahead into the unknown.
...gurrrrr~
. . . Straight ahead it is then!
Sparks fell in and out of consciousness as the train rocked him gently. The light rhythm of the wheels clicking and clacking on the tracks and the warmth of the morning sun didn't help any. Sparks rested his head on the car's window as he wedged himself in the corner of the hard bench, not that there wasn't any room mind you; the car if not the whole train was practically deserted, aside from the occasional passing attendee or conductor.
As sleep came to him stronger than ever this time, Sparks shifted his saddlebags up to the wall as an impromptu pillow as he slid down, lying stretched out across the bench, his legs hanging off the bed half way to his knee. All was peaceful and comfy, all according to plan.
'CHOWOOOOO!~"
The high pitched scream of the train's whistle put a stop to that, the sudden noise felt like a punch in the head to Sparks as the shock sent a jolt of his own electricity straight through him from horn to hooves. Cursing the sudden shock (and the engineer's family) lightly, sparks prompted himself back up again and watched out the window.
Even rolling by as fast as they were, the landscape was beautiful in the early morning light. The sun was just ahead of the locomotive, guiding it on. The vibrant oranges, reds, and yellows of dawn were a short-lived memory now, blue skies far and wide as the eye can see. The swathes of white clouds and a few storm clouds were neither issue or bad omen, only every so often granting a small boon of shade. The grassland stretched on for miles, lush green grass and small shrubs only broken up by a small lake here and there as they reached out to meet the flowing, patchy treeline swerving and spanning the horizon. Hills became more frequent the further they went.
Squinting as he cast his sight ahead, he could just make out the start of the foothills. They were as close as you got to mountains in these lands. Vast ranges of foothills stretched here and there on the land like veins on the body. Sparks couldn't help but notice one small blotch on this picturesque view, dead ahead of them was a dense fog bank, looking like it had bled down from the hills in the distance.
'WHOO-WOO!"
The train's whistle let out a small laugh as the slight screech of the wheel's brakes ushered the train lurching back a bit. "The engineer's slowing for a fog bank?" Sparks thought as he pondered this for a moment.
The realization hit him like a hoof upside the head, how could he have been so stupid! The next stop where he was to meet Cwake was practically a stone's throw away from a bad place, a real bad place. He blamed his grogginess long and hard for this oversight, though he knew the chances were small, things could turn ugly for Cwake. That boy was like a magnet for anything supernatural or otherworldly, and could quite possibly be an embodiment of "Murphy's Law", Sparks had tried many times in their youth to figure out why these things were always happening to his brother, to no avail.
But it was that certainty that "things would go wrong" with Cwake, that made planning ahead all the easier for Sparks, and a bit more fun. Like setting up vast rows of dominoes to fall evenly and precisely so that the last one would land on a button, setting off a whole new chain of events. Seeing how they would fall and following along as they all affect each other was so much more fun than just know where or what was waiting at the end. That was normally obvious.
Sparks smiled to himself thinking of his joyous self-indulgence in planning and plotting for the future. This ended abruptly as Cwake's destined "bad place" reentered his thoughts, he tried but could recall the name of said "bad place" Cwake was headed for. He knew it was something Springs, and that nothing recent had involved the town. "Nothing recent? That's it!" Sparks knew what he had to search for, tossing the flap aside and glaring into the void of his magic bag.
"Now, where did I put that history book?"
With more force than was first thought necessary, the iron screamed and groaned in protest after so long without use, but the gate swung open as Cwake stumbled in. Not much was different. The path ahead was unkempt with dead weeds and leaf litter from the surrounding trees, all girdled in on either side by a low stone wall, each side was weather worn and blotched here and there with moss or algae. The fog followed Cwake like a lost puppy, never leaving his side once.
It would almost be comforting if it weren't so foreboding in it own way.
Still, no way to go but ahead, Cwake carried on. Always having his eyes and ears open for trouble, the sound of the leaf litter under his hooves was all he heard. "It too quiet, way too quiet. Almost more than the forest." he thought. Little ways ahead the walls of the path bowed out on either side, Cwake entered a large swath of land, till something came into view.
Just ahead, spaced out about every three feet or so was row after rows of tombstones. "I knew it was too quiet!" Cwake thought as a cold sweat broke out over his brow. The face each stone was more worn down and poorly cared for as the walls, the inscriptions lost to time and the weather. If this rain was indeed the norm.
The fog still blanketed the world as far as the eye could see, but the path to the left seemed a bit brighter. He doubted it was the sun, but anything was better than standing around here. Turning to leave, Cwake was stopped by a sound, a rather small sound that sent a chill through him again. 'hic-hick-sniff-uhg~" Crying.
To his right, into the rows of headstones, came the muted sounds of small sobs. Even with every fiber of his being screaming not to, he inched forward looking for the source. Three rows in he found it.
There, sitting and facing towards a headstone was a small pale blue filly with a pitch black mane. Her tail was a little long but the mane of hair on her head almost touched the ground, it was so long. The bulk of her hair was slung over her shoulder, held up in a loose tail by a big red ribbon. Her head hung low as she wept. "It's a ghost. It has to be a ghost!" the thought racing and repeating over and over in his mind as every muscle tightened up, ready to run. He only hoped if she noticed him, that she wouldn't turn around and scream at him. "I don't think my heart could take it!"
Inching on one hoof at a time, he approached. With ever fiber of his being screaming and pleading for him not to, he approached. Ghost or not she may know something, anything. Hi, I'm Cwake, what's your name? Could you help me, I'm lost? Where's this town? What's with all the fog? Where are we? What the hells is that thing in the woods, and why is it doing those things? Please don't kill me!
Keeping a fair distance between them, Cwake took a deep breath; "Um ..., excuse me?" *-SNAP!-* shifting his weight caused a twig to snap under-hoof. "OH CRAP!"
-Gasp- The little filly looked over her right shoulder, only the side of her face and a normal golden yellow eye was shown. Wide with shock. Half a breath later and she ran off ahead through the headstones. "Wait! I just want to ask-!" Cwake tried to say, but she had darted off to the left trough a row further on. He tried his best to chase after her, after four or so stone the way was cleared to flat ground again, still, he had lost sight of her, until. . .
"Whoa!" -THWACK!- He ran headlong into the stone wall. "Ugh. . . Ow! What the!?" Cwake rubbed a hoof to his throbbing head looking around, the same worn down stone wall he had been seeing lately greeted him. As high as his head, and fenced in at the top. Off to the left was what looked to be an old two story building of some sort, possibly an undertaker or gravedigger's place, and the right lead to another old iron gate.
"Gotta love the decor; Gothic redundancy, a classic!" he thought Sparks would say something like that, taking a chuckle from his brothers' would-be remake. If only his brothers were here, then he wouldn't be lost, he wouldn't be alone, he wouldn't be scared out of his wits!
No. He would be scared, just not as much. No sense worry about possible ghost fillies. With a bit of effort to steady himself, Cwake made his way through the next gate, this one not taking nearly as much effort. Before him lay a path through the woods again, and the recent memory of the sounds that had stalked him here. Scanning his surroundings, he looked high and low. This fog clung to him worse than his own shadow! The right side was the woods, only one tree deep and the fog turned to pure shadow, but what could be made out showed that a steep hill shot up not too far from the road. Can't go that way. The way left was blocked, as the wall kept right next to him. Standing his forelegs on the wall, Cwake could see the land had been worked on that side. A little brighter than the right side, the ground had dried grass scattered on and above the ground; and off as far as he could see the ground had been tilled, streaking the land with black lines. "Hmm~ Maybe?" Thinking better of it, Cwake would just keep to the road. It was safer, for now.
The path was coated even more densely with leaf litter, every step caused a crunch and a rustle of kicked leaves. Except that, all was quiet again. "I'm sensing a pattern here." I road stretched on as always, with the only sound to keep him company was the crunch of dead leaves. Still, no animals or birds or even insects to be seen or heard from. Little ways on and his surroundings changed again, now he was flanked on either side by fencing.
The hill had faded low off into the distance, almost immediately replaced by a barbwire fence! "Ponies still use this nasty stuff!?" Cwake thought, fighting the urge to jump into the air like a startled cat, as he was known to do. What could be seen through the tangled, rusted mess; was a few sparse trees and a stump here or there, "Logging? HERE!?" fear would have shifted to rage in a heartbeat from Cwake to see this if there were anypony around to take the blame. The only evidence was an unused ax wedged into a log or stump, or cast to the ground; and a wagon with a front wheel broke almost entirely in half, tilted to one side from missing another altogether.
The left just had a sturdier made white wood fence, this one clearly had more "T.L.C." put into it, and the white wall of fog
-CRUNCH-
The sound came from right behind him, "Oh, no~" Cwake could feel tears starting to well up on him, he gulped hard fighting them down and let out a shaky breath. Every two steps -CRUNCH-, then another -CRUNCH-, and another two -CRUNCH- The sound never got farther or closer, and there was never any other sound. No breathing, no popping of knuckles or joints, no scratching or growling, nothing.-CRUNCH- Well, almost nothing.
Cwake was making enough noise for six other ponies, gasping and panting, knees knocking from trembling and quaking (his namesake), and a cold sweat beading up and running off him like a mug of cider on a hot afternoon.-CRUNCH- It sounded big, whatever it was. But whatever it was, was gone. The complete silence had Cwake slam on the breaks, he looked around then spun around clockwise and counterclockwise. Nothing!
"Okay, this is well past old now!" his brows furrowed, the frustration of jumping at shadows plus being reminded of and seeing more proof of the damages done by the loggers, had reawoken the anger so foreign to the pony. "I'm beyond peeved right now! Nothing else is going to scare me, I refuse!" with this fresh in his mind, he stomped off quickly. Determined to get this over with.
Passing by a large locked gate with a bold sign saying; "TALUCA RANCH, SI_ E _ T SPRINGS" though he paid it little mind.
-CRUNCH-
There it was again, same sound, same direction. "Nope!" Cwake said to himself and picked up the pace a bit. The farther he went, the more the scenery became more monotonous. The fences went farther from the road and the fog block out everything ten feet around him! Only getting more frustrated, the path suddenly changed yet again, the fence on the left had given way to a hill and the right looked like it would follow suit. "Alright!"
-CRUNCH-CRUNCH-CRUNCH-CRUNCH-CRUNCH-CRUNCH-
A steady stream this time, rapid trying to keep in two for one step with him, "Nope! I'm not doing it!" he cried out, finally sprinting at this point. -CRUNCH- The final one came suddenly and alone, as if in frustration. Cwake didn't care, he was done. He made his way through a small natural valley between two high hills. Darting through the dead leaves, dry grass, and around a stray tree or two till the land opened up again, with more fences. But these were different...
The area off to his right was a cage of high metal mesh, girdling in something pony made here and there in the distance. The road evened out too, from what he had been traveling on, to a slightly deeper well-used pathway. Another hill made it into view, this was constructed though, high stone slab faces covered in animal droppings, graffiti, and what should have been posters and signs smeared the wall as far as he could see. "Civilization, at last. . ." he thought sarcastically.
It had begun to worry him slightly how he was taking after two if his brothers more and more. "Sparks and Jackie would be proud." he thought still sarcastic and with a shudder. -clip-clop-/-clip-clop- The sound caught him off guard slightly, to his right and his shock was the same small filly as before!
"She's a GHOST! You KNOW she's a ghost! . . .Your still gonna ask, aren't ya?" The little voice of reason could not have been any louder, even if he spoke to every fiber of Cwake being down to his soul, not that it would have helped any.
"Excuse me," he said approaching the little filly,"I was trying to ask you for directions." he temper still fueling him now, he spoke firmly. The little one's head swiveled in a flash to meet his gaze. Her "peek-a-boo" mane style still covering half her face, but what could be seen was in shock again. Just as quickly as she turned her head, she turned and ran again! "HEY! Would you please just answer me!?" And like that the chase was on again.
She leads Cwake on down the wall, making a sharp left turn down a tunnel, Cwake practically on her heels. The area in front had a gate ahead of them, the filly didn't even slow down. -SLAM- With a tackle the gate swung open and she ran even faster. Slowed just slightly by this display, he kept up the chase. Cwake, still not paying attention, failed to notice the many rusted signs about the area; especially the ones that read "DANGER!!!" in big bold red letters! But clearly, these didn't matter to him.
They exited the tunnel, making their way down a single stretch road. The right shoot down to a steep pony made retention canal, the left was a high wall. Atop, from what he could see, were decorative bushes and shrubbery. The way stretched on, a guard rail or small bench and fence combo next to a streetlamp came on the right of the road at odd intervals. The little filly hadn't slowed down in the slightest, the fog no more an impedance that a blindfold, she was a native, she knew her way around. The way snake this way and that, till a straight away had a picket fence guide them to the street post than the sidewalk. They had arrived.
The realization had slowed Cwake again, as his eyes went wide as he tried to look around and see what he could see. His surroundings were vast and bright as the shadows and silhouettes of building spread about the background, blanketed by the ever present fog. All was quiet again, the same eerie quiet that had been his sole companion this trip along with the fog.
"Wait! Quiet!? But that means... " Cwake looked around feverishly; left, right, front, back, yep she was gone again. "Oh, come on! Not again!" he whined, stomping a bit in frustration.
What does this town have in store for Cwake? What can Sparks do to help his brother? Can he help? What's the little filly's purpose in all this!?
We'll just have to find out next time in, Farewell Silent Springs!
To be continued...
Author's Note
Part-1, DONE! 2 bros. down, 2 ta go!
I'll pick up on Pt.2 soon. I cut it in 2 cuz it was just dragging on and on.
We'll get to the meat and potatoes next time we visit Silent Hi- er, I mean Silent Springs! yeah~
Buh~Bye!
