The mana-drained wasteland was a punishing crucible, if only because its general feeling was so terribly jarring. For folk born and raised in a mana-saturated world it was completely alien to them. Even the donkey, whose magic content was slightly less than a pony, could feel just how wrong the whole thing was. That just made all the desolation and misery exponentially worse.

The trio trudged their way through the scrub and cracked ground, having long since burned through the energy needed for running. They bore their burdens with all the strength they could muster, keeping pace with the slowest of their number which was, surprisingly, the young pegasus. While his wings looked undamaged he still went on the ground like the rest of them.

Their vague and indistinct journey gained direction when the donkey caught sight of a rising plume of smoke in the distance. The pegasus finally took to the sky, forcing himself up at high as he could before unsteadily making his way back down.

“I can't see much, but I think it's not natural. Too thick, the composition is definitely some kind of fuel. This far in, if it's deliberate it's rebels. They can afford to be open in areas like these as they would notice any approach before it became a danger.”

“This might actually be our lucky day!” The older stallion cried, turning toward the smoke.

“Calmate, it was only a possibility, Viejo...” the donkey said, to the retreating back of the unicorn.

The three ran with a renewed sense of purpose and energy, expending energy they didn't quite have on the promise of help. The closer they got, the more they were aware of the smell. Sickly-sweet to some degree. Cloying. And known to them.

“Muerte, sangre y fuego... such smells can never be forgotten...”

“The bastards would put slain rebels to the torch so we'd have nothing to bury. Now we need to get there faster and stop whatever this is...”

The final approach revealed a scene of horror. It looked as though some kind of steam-driven, possibly thaumatic carriage had suffered a catastrophic failure, the boiler having exploded and exposed the blazing coals. That had been turned into what the griffins would have called an auto-brochette or a rôtissoire, with some of the charred remains of an unfortunate stallion still over the coals. They also encountered a muffled sound, muted shouts and whines, along with a husky, low voice. Those came from what the thing had been hauling, something like a large tent on a wagon frame.

The pegasus led them closer, using hand signs of low complexity to direct a stealthy motion to the back of the tent. On peering inside they caught a strange and terrible sight. A unicorn stallion, with a strange body proportion, colored in a kind of dirty off-peach, with a severely styled almost bowl-cut mane of dark filthy-blond. Given the width of the tent by being on one of the sides they could see he was erect, and looming over a bright cornflower earth pony mare with a light yellow mane, who looked heavily pregnant. Her legs were parted and she appeared to actually be in labor. The stallion looked quite odd, his chest looking raw and ragged, as if his pectorals had been recently burned by fire or acid. There was also blood still sticky and shining around his mouth.

“It's time! I can't wait any more! It's been too long since I did a proper schlongbortion, and this is too perfect! But I need that worthless meat inside you. Your husband wasn't enough. The pink goo will cook up nice you will after that!”

The three wanted to stop the deranged monster but were too late to be fully effective. A bloodstained knife cut into the mare's belly, making her scream into the gag shoved into her muzzle. The pegasus struck first, taking a heavy brass hammer out of one of his packs and cracking down hard on the lower leg of the stallion, crushing that part of the limb, making him scream in fury and shock, turning to see the trio.

“You bastards! No one hurts me and gets away with it! I did too much to get what I want!” The crazed stallion turned and leaped out of the tent, wielding the huge knife. His chest and belly looked raw and scabby, still suffering the effects of the fire or acid that had mutilated him. “I gave up important things to be this free and have all my desires come true! Two old men and some little asshole aren't going to stop me!”

He lunged at the donkey, knife low and slightly to the side, ready to strike. The unicorn's magic jerked it just out of the way of a good strike, allowing the jack to lay a solid punch to the burned, painful chest muscles. That tore out another scream, and the pain seemed to feed the beast, as he turned on the older stallion and only missed because he thoughtlessly stepped on his crushed leg, throwing off his aim. He still managed to hurl his body into the stallion, his awkward dodging steps sending him off-balance and to the ground.

He placed a hand on the older unicorn's throat and sneered down at him. “Valle Lacrimum the reborn master always wins, is never hurt and can never d-” The boast died with him, his head falling with his body and settling just slightly away from it. The pegasus was standing there, panting, holding his steel sickle in both hands, slightly trembling.

“False gods learn their place. Every master thinks he is god over all the flesh he surveys. Brass and steel know no mercy and no fear...” he said, with a slight tremble.

The older unicorn pushed the headless body off of himself, wiping at his face to try and get the blood off of it. “The taste and the smell... I promised myself, I would never be bloodied again...”

“War is bloody, Viejo. Be glad it's not your own. Quickly, we must see to the mother.”

The trio rushed into the tent, finding the mother raggedly breathing, hands over the stab wound, her body trembling with every contraction. The pegasus rushed in first, giving the wound a check and looking around for anything. “I think I still have something in my rebel aid kit. There should be gauze and some emergency sutures!”

“It's too late, Niño... you cannot help, not here, not like this...” the donkey sighed, coming in to observe the birth in progress. “Only one life leaves this place...”

“No! We have to help, we need to help, to give some hope to the future!”

“The child is hope now. I'm sorry, ma'am. I'm so sorry that we cannot do anything else. Princesses... how sorry I am that this ever happened...” The older stallion took her hand and gave it a squeeze.

“We thought he was another refugee. He was disguised as a woman...” the mare whispered her words, occasionally screaming or huffing as she tried to keep the delivery going. “My husband made the carriage but that monster sabotaged it... we only... we wanted to go to Gaskinwich.”

The pegasus perked at the name and looked to her face. “Gaskinwich? We heard it was out there. Where is it?”

The mare struggled to point out a bloodied crumple of paper, before her hand fell and she started to shiver. “Please take care... my foal...”

“Sí, señora... nosotros juramos...”

“The baby has to come out, and not at all cleanly. You were right, only one life leaves here,” the unicorn sighed. “Bring me the knife or your sickle, it has to get done.”

“No! I can't! I won't! Not like this! You can't-”

“¡Cállate! If you have no stomach for hard choices you have no business being in the business of them!” The donkey snorted roughly and grabbed the sickle from the pegasus' hand. “Leave now. Or help keep her calm.”

The pegasus took one of her hands, squeezing it tightly but averting his eyes as the donkey brought the diamond tip of the sickle to the mare's belly and began his grim task.

A short while later all three of them emerged, bloody, haunted, and holding a small bundle wrapped in torn clothes. The foal within was oddly quiet, but they had made sure, several times, that she was alive and breathing.

“Blood. Always more blood. An ocean of it and more. It's always blood...” the unicorn mumbled to himself.

“We should have... tried...” the pegasus said, in a breathy, disbelieving tone.

“In a hospital, in the old days, we would have. Not here. Not now. The baby... necesitaba ahorrar. It had to be done.”

“We have a map now, and some idea of what we're doing...” the unicorn sighed, looking at the bloodied paper and then looking out at the distance.

“They had supplies at least, some containers of formula, bottles. It's only a few days. We can manage a baby a few days. ¿Sí, princesa?” The donkey gently tickled the stomach of the pale green earth pony foal, and lightly flicked her cornflower mane. “Sí. Sí...”

“Let's move. If we saw this, those bastards will see it. We can douse the flames but it's hard to say how close behind they might be.”

“No...” the pegasus huffed.

“What? We need to leave, and now!” The unicorn shouted, setting the baby to crying at last.

“¡Cállate la boca tambien, Viejo!” the donkey brayed, softly patting the foal on the back and rocking her to get her to calm down. “If you plan to yell, do it quietly. The baby needs silence.”

“We're not leaving here until we bury them. All of them,” the pegasus insisted, making his way into the tent again, searching for a shovel.

“Fine, you stay and bury them, and we'll keep going. Hope you catch up,” the unicorn snorted, confronted all of a sudden by the donkey.

“Juntos para siempre, Viejo. We're all marked men,” the donkey said, pointing to the rune cut into his forehead. “He has his reasons.”

“The rebellion is not just a physical force. It's a mental thing, a propaganda thing. We must prove ourselves superior to our enemies in every possible sense. We show them real superiority at every possible chance. It's about the future, about hope and how we are remembered. Bloodstained and vicious in the pursuit of duty, but always in service to a better purpose, a brighter day. Help me or don't, but it's getting done.”

The pegasus dug the graves, after the other two had cleared away debris and pulled out any scrubby plants. They were shallow but deep enough that they would rest beneath the surface, if not very far. They buried the partially-eaten stallion in a wide grave with his dead wife. The slain monster was thrown into a hole far removed from the two, his head tossed onto his body.

Rough stones were dragged up to the two graves, the one over the murderer left blank, the other one scratched with the words, Unknown Stallion and Mare. Wedded to the end. Semper Concordia, Salvae Reginae, Delendam Cervae.

The pegasus stood over the grave of the pair, holding a small red book, open to a bookmarked portion. “These words are from the Maquis, the Black-Verreaux who have set themselves at the defenders of the high mountains around Tara, the capital aerie. Altered and translated, for applicability in these matters.” He cleared his throat and read. “This land is for the caring, the working, like these fallen innocents. These parasite aliens, how much of our flesh, blood, hopes and treasure have they eaten? One day these carrion-eaters will vanish, and the sun and moon will shine forevermore.”

The other two nodded slowly to the words, and then looked at the map. “If we keep running, we can make it with our supplies, even with the baby requiring the formula and water we just picked up. This little delay... well, maybe they won't kick up too much fuss for us...” the unicorn started.

“They'll send more than before. Maybe even a few caribou. Brainwashed, true believers, the butchering bastards themselves. All they can. All for us,” the pegasus flatly stated. “Lesson one of the rebellion training. Their egos are tiny, naked, fragile and fake. They take slights with the same calm rationality as someone swatting a fly with a two-handed sword. They'll send more than necessary for the task, because they're cowards and have no real sense of honor. They were already intent on going over the top with our punishments. Now we bloodied their noses and they know it. We're all dead men. They want to take us back for processing, but they'll lay out our burned corpses in the sun if it comes to it because even above making a spectacle of us, is erasing the slight by erasing us from the world. So let's get running. Because with all I just said... what do you think they'll do to the foal that is now in our care?”

A moment of silence passed between them all, before the trio broke into a run, aimed, laser-like, in the direction the map had told them. To Gaskinwich and the hope of freedom.

Author's Note

It's the ultimate question, isn't it? What will racist, sexist, detached- from- the- veil- of- ignorance, immoral and casually disdainfully monstrous fascists do to a female baby of a race they consider inferior? Clop fodder?