The forest flew by as Hazel Wind galloped.
She dug her hooves hard into the soft soil of a trail long forgotten. Loose dirt was flung into the air at each step, speckling her belly and darkening the fur of her legs.
Her gait was reckless, somewhere between galloping and stumbling. She breathed heavily, unevenly – sometimes panting, sometimes gasping. The dying light of a setting sun filtered through the canopy above. The rushing wind made her eyes water. She let them water.
As she galloped, Hazel Wind seemed to waver, as if her entire body was a mirage.
Normally, this would worry her. Were she out in public, she would have sought privacy, ducking into an alleyway or excusing herself to the restroom. She would have retreated from the eyes of polite company in order to sequester an errant patch of ebony skin, or dull an oddly sharp tooth.
Such a thing did not happen very often. Sometimes her attention slipped, but she usually kept excellent control of her appearance, a point which she prided herself upon.
In fact, Hazel Wind had thought it quite nice, having a soul of her very own. It was fun. It was invigorating. It was… well, it simply was, and anything else she ever had been, and anything else he ever could have been, simply was not. Until one year ago, she had not existed. She had never realized how much she would enjoy being.
Except, being, as she had come to realize, was difficult.
No, no. Not just difficult. Exquisite.
It was absolute joy, and utter heartbreak.
It was intense happiness one moment, and bitterness the next. It was delight. It was sorrow. It was hope. It was despair. Even the mundanity of routine life seemed to awe her. In all things there was a mania and a depression. There was no middle ground to being; everything was an exquisite form of itself.
In short, existence was exhausting.
Ponies didn’t know what they had – at least, the ones who had inhabited this wonderful, terrible world since birth. But Hazel knew.
The thought made her sob. But she did not slow down.
The trail began to grow less defined, less marked. Entire sections passed where she wondered if she was on the trail at all, only to pick it up again a minute later. Undergrowth reached out from the edge to grasp at her. They merely brushed her at first, but soon, branches and thorns reached out to rake cruelly at her sides. She accumulated a collection of cuts, some red and raw, some deep enough to bleed.
At first, Hazel thought she could endure it, the intense dichotomy of life. And for a while, she had. She had even liked it. No, loved, because she couldn’t just like anything. But in the end, it broke her. The vividness of it. The intensity of it. The absolute infinity of potential decisions to be made. The absolute infinity of consequences.
Creatures like her simply did not belong in this world.
Through blurry eyes, Hazel failed to see an errant tree root that stuck out into the trail. She tripped. It sent her sprawling to the ground.
For a time, she lay there, dazed.
And then, she cried.
Changelings weren’t meant to have souls.
She lay there sobbing, shivering, unmoving, alone. A green flash lit the trees as her disguise finally gave away, the sound of windswept fire briefly punctuating the forest’s silence. Startled wildlife fled at the sight of her; birds scattered, mice retreated into their holes, a small fox bounded into the wilds. They knew what she was, and they wanted nothing to do with the likes of her. She did not blame them.
A long time passed.
Slowly, Hazel Wind rose to her hooves, legs shaking. She wiped her eyes – her beady, shining eyes – with her hoof – her porous, clammy, pitch black hoof. Mud clung to the holes in her legs, and blood trickled down her sides. A quick scan of the area told her that she was exactly where she wanted to be. Right on the edge of the cliff of Ghastly Gorge.
Hazel looked around. The place was just as massive as she remembered. The gorge ran for miles in each direction, stretching like a great scar upon the earth. A perpetual wind swept the canyon below, and a river ran through it. It was beautiful in all its grandness, and deadly for the same reason.
She shuffled closer to the edge, and closer, and closer, until the tips of her front hooves were not touching solid ground.
Once upon a time, Hazel Wind did not exist. What would eventually become the pegasus named Hazel had once been a pliable mass of flesh and bone. She had been a single synapse, firing inside the hivemind of a vast, unknowable creature. She had been an insect. No, she was an insect.
Hazel had tried her hoof at sentience, and found it unbearable. She longed for oblivion once more. She peered over the cliff, and prepared to receive it.
She wondered if he would think about her.
Her insectoid wings, injured and ineffectual, lay folded on her back. She closed her eyes. Slowly, she began leaning forward. Then, she fell.
But she did not fall far. A sudden force gripped around her neck like a vice, yanking her out of the air and backwards onto solid ground.
Adrenaline and surprised anger coursed through her body. In reaction, she hissed and spat and bore her fangs – something she had not done in a long time – and flailed her limbs wildly against whoever or whatever it was that held her. It was to no avail. The life was being choked out of her, by somepony with a stronger arm than her.
“Calm down, kid!” a gruff voice said into her ear.
She gagged and responded with renewed effort.
Stars began working their way in from the edge of her vision as she struggled to function without oxygen. Her limbs grew weaker. Her writhing settled. The stars continued to creep in until she could see nothing but red, then grey, then black. Her hissing quieted into a strained, throaty gasp, and finally, into silence.
**********
Hazel regained her senses one at a time.
The first thing she noticed, oddly enough, was taste. A bitter, metallic flavor clung to her tongue, which itself felt huge and swollen inside her mouth. Her throat was dry.
This led her to her next sensation, which was the persistent pain that throbbed up and down her body in waves, particularly lingering around her throat. It hurt to breathe. A pitiful groan escaped her, and she shifted her limbs. She became aware that she was resting on her side, on top of a solid but surprisingly soft surface.
Pop. Hazel’s ears twitched and perked up. She heard the crackling of a small campfire. She felt its heat on her belly, too, which was a welcome sensation considering the cold night wind at her back.
She opened her eyes to a squint, and sure enough, there before her was the pleasant orange glow of a small fire.
Weakly, she raised her head and looked around. Night had fallen. She still seemed to be in the Ghastly Gorge forest, but the cliff was nowhere in sight.
Memories began to return to her. The trail, the tears, the cliff, the fall that never was…
And then, Hazel noticed him. A pony sitting close to the fire, only a few feet away. The pony had not yet noticed her.
Her eyes went wide, and a flush of hot panic shot through her. She looked down at herself. Her sleek black skin shone in the firelight, undisguised. White bandages were wrapped around her torso and the ends of her hooves.
Out of reflex, she changed.
The pony noticed, and glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.
“You’re awake,” the pony said in a grumbling voice.
Hazel Wind only sat there, quivering, looking with fearful eyes upon the stranger. She could not seem him clearly in the flickering light. What to do, what to do? Was this the pony who choked her? Was he dangerous? And, more importantly, had this pony… seen her? But who was she kidding – of course he had. Her facade of brownish fur and light-greenish mane was not fooling anyone.
Her body seemed to lean back and forth as she contemplated her only two options – fight or flee. Her gaze swiveled from stranger before her, to the forest, and back.
Her muscles were tense to the point of seizing. She could not seem to follow either impulse. Her body remained rooted to the ground, petrified by fear and indecision.
The pony’s gaze lingered for just another moment before he huffed, and stared back at the fire.
“Well, go back to sleep.”
She blinked. Huh?
Hazel began to stand.
“Don’t even think about it,” the stranger said.
Hazel visibly recoiled. She took a step away, glancing into the woods, then back at the pony, then back at the woods again.
Perhaps hearing his own harshness, the stranger said in a slightly softer tone, “Look, kid, you’re not going anywhere like this. It’s pitch black. You’re just as likely to find the gorge as you are the gates of Tartarus. Don’t waste your time. And would you stop squirming around like that? You’re tearing your bandages!”
Hazel looked at her side. Some of her bandages had indeed begun to tear. Her pegasus body was slightly bigger and fuller than her real body. She looked back and ceased her retreat, though fear and mistrust were still etched into her face.
The stranger grumbled. “I try to have one moment to myself… can’t even get away from the craziness out here in the middle of nowhere…Matilda was right, this trip was a dumb idea…” After a few more moments of muttered expletives, he stood up.
Hazel took a sharp breath.
“Oh, don’t give me that,” the stranger said, scowling. “I’m going to get more firewood. By the time I get back, you’d better be sleeping like a foal on that bedroll – which is my only one, by the way.”
Without waiting for a response, the stranger turned and began walking towards the woods. As he went, the firelight hit the broad side of his body, and Hazel saw he was no pony. He was a donkey.
“If you’re thirsty, there’s water in a canteen next to the bedroll,” the donkey said as he trotted into the darkness.
Hazel looked, and saw the canteen.
“But don’t drink all of it!” the donkey called back, voice fading. “And don’t touch anything else!”
Hazel merely stood there and watched him go, not quite knowing what to do. Now that she was alone, albeit temporarily, she took another look at the camp. A padded bedroll was spread beneath her hooves; she had slightly muddied it by standing on it.
On the edge of the makeshift camp stood a small, single-pony cart carrying various supplies and, to Hazel’s surprise, a canoe.
Hazel gazed around at the woods. She couldn’t see anything beyond what the flickering fire illuminated. Not even the moonlight helped; the clouds overhead made for a dark night indeed.
Back and forth she looked, considering her options.
The donkey returned to his camp, bearing a load of wood. He let the logs slide off his back, and rolled and massaged his shoulders. He looked at his bedroll. Hazel Wind was there, taking small sips out of the canteen.
From the corner of his eyes, Hazel meekly caught the gaze of the stranger.
“Thank you,” she whispered with hoarse voice.
The stranger merely grunted, and fed wood to the flame.
**********
The next morning, Hazel woke and, rubbing the bleariness from her eyes with a porous, black hoof, discovered she had accidentally dropped her disguise in the middle of the night. She yelped and immediately changed back. The sudden sound woke Cranky up. Slowly, he sat up, rubbed his face, and squinted at her with tired, grumpy eyes.
They ate a modest breakfast of oatmeal and apples. An unspoken agreement seemed to call for mutual silence neither person spoke.
It was a brisk springtime morning, the chill of a late winter still clinging to the breeze, making the fur on Hazel’s back stand on end. The sound of the gorge’s rushing river could be heard, distant and ever-present. The forest around the camp was full of wildlife, usually hidden from sight but always audible, chirping and skittering and calling, like a secret orchestra playing a morning lullaby.
They were both sitting around the burnt out campfire spooning mouthfuls of oats when the stranger interrupted the ambience.
“I saw you almost trip over the cliffs yesterday.”
A cold wave of shame came over Hazel, who merely nodded.
“Lucky I was there to catch you. You should watch where you’re going.”
Hazel said nothing.
“What’s your name?” the stranger said.
For a moment, she hesitated.
“Hazel Wind.”
The donkey grunted in what sounded like approval. He spooned another mouthful of oats. A moment passed.
“Well?” the donkey said.
Hazel looked up, cheeks puffed full of oats. “Hm?”
“Aren’t you going to ask my name?” he said, annoyed. “Kids these days. No manners at all.”
“Oh, um…” Hazel swallowed and cleared her throat. “What’s your name?”
“Cranky Doodle Donkey,” he said, “but it’s just Cranky to you.” He took a huge bite of his apple, as if to prove his point, whatever that was. “Where are you from, Hazel Wind?” he said, mouth still full of apple.
Hazel winced. “Oh, just… some place. You wouldn’t have heard of it.”
Cranky swallowed. “Try me.”
“Well… Macintosh Plains,” she said quickly, as if she had to spit the words.
“Macintosh Plains, huh?” Cranky said, tapping his chin. “Macintosh Plains… yeah. Small town. South of here. West of Appaloosa. The houses are made of that grey stone they get from the rock farm across the river. Does Sweet Tea still sell those apple spice tea bags on the corner of Mane Street?”
“Y-yeah,” Hazel Wind said, stunned. “You’ve been there?”
Cranky gave a humorless chuckle. “Kid, I’ve been everywhere.”
Hazel eyed the donkey with renewed interest, really looking at him this time, her curiosity overcoming her shyness. His body sagged with age; he was obviously far past his prime. His face drooped. His tan coat, duller than any pony’s, was short and unkempt, as if he himself were fraying. His eyes bespoke exhaustion.
His golden mane, however, was luscious.
Cranky caught him staring. “What, never seen a donkey before?”
Hazel blushed and looked away. “Once,” she mumbled. “At a distance.”
“Hum. I guess we both got to see some new things yesterday, huh?”
So the donkey had seen her when she was… well, when she was… herself. Hearing it confirmed, if only subtly, somehow made it more real. Hazel wasn’t really a pegasus; she knew it, and she knew Cranky knew it. Her thoughts turned towards escape.
“So, Hazel,” Cranky started, “what’s a lone pegasus doing in a place like this?”
Hazel stood suddenly. “I need to go.” She turned, and began to trot away.
“Whoa, whoa, okay, hold on there kid!” Cranky said, also standing and trotting towards her. “Stop!”
The word rang through her mind like a bell.
With almost supernatural suddenness, Hazel stopped, freezing with one leg still in the air. It took Cranky by surprise, and he bumped into her before stopping himself.
“Oof. Sorry.” Cranky took a few steps back. “I get it, kid. Wrong question. How about this: how’s your wing?”
Hazel turned around, eyes narrowed. “How do you know about my wing?”
Cranky gave her a withering look. “Who do you think wrapped you in those bandages, Princess Luna? Of course I know about your wing. Just answer the question.”
Hazel’s eyes closed, her brows rose and drew together, as if Cranky’s words pained her. “Okay,” she said.
She looked back at herself. Gingerly, she tried to flex her feathered wing. A sharp pain shot through the joint at her shoulder. She hissed.
“Still broken,” she murmured.
Cranky scoffed. “Okay, no need to milk it, kid, it’s just a sprain. I’ve seen broken wings before. I give this a four out of ten on the injury scale, at best.”
“So?” Hazel said, drawing away. “What’s your point?”
“Slow down, kiddo, I’m getting there. See my cart over there? See how it’s lopsided?” Cranky pointed a hoof towards his wagon. Looking closer, Hazel did see that it was not sitting straight. All of the supplies inside, and the canoe strapped on top, were leaning towards the right.
“My cart is lopsided,” Cranky continued, “because whoever is supposed to maintain this trail is an imbecile who couldn’t keep a path smooth if it was made out of cake frosting. So now my wheel’s broken.”
She took a step towards the cart, sizing up the damage on the wheel. “I don’t think I can fix it…”
“If it was possible to fix, I would have done it already,” Cranky snapped. “That’s okay, though, because there’s a switchback nearby that leads down into the Ghastly Gorge. Come with me, and I’ll let you ride my canoe down the river, which just so happens to run right next to Macintosh Plains.”
Hazel’s gaze lowered towards the ground. “Your kindness is too much.”
“There’s nothing kind about it,” Cranky said matter-of-factly. “I need help carrying my canoe down into the gorge. I can’t do it on my own.”
Hazel shuffled a hoof in the dirt. “I don’t know…”
“Look, kid, you want to know what my ‘point’ is?” Cranky said evenly. “My point is that you’re not flying out of here, and neither am I. You need to get to the nearest hospital, and I need to reach civilization before my food runs out. I can’t just walk back the way I came. It took me two weeks just to get here. I’ve got plenty of food, but without a cart to haul it in, I’m stuck here.
“Now, I don’t know what fool errand brought you here in the first place, but I’m assuming you flew. From Macintosh, right? Right, and now, you can’t fly back. Maybe it took you a few hours to get here on your wings, but over the kind of terrain between us and Macintosh Plains? You have the same weeks-long journey in front of you that I do. So, pardon the pun, you’re in the same boat as me.”
Hazel considered his offer. Cranky was right. She was stuck here. But did it really matter, even now? It was not as if the river would float her away from her problems. In fact, it would deliver her right back to them. Nothing had changed. She just wanted this donkey to leave. She just wanted to be alone, now and forever.
Hazel bit her lip. And yet…
Cranky really was stuck here. And without help, he would remain that way. Who else would find him, here in this vast wilderness? Hazel wasn’t a bad pony, no matter what anypony else thought.
Silence passed, punctuated by Cranky impatiently tapping his hoof.
“I-I don’t know…” Hazel meekly mumbled.
“You don’t know?” Cranky said, raising an eyebrow.
“I mean…” Hazel said, trailing off.
“What? What do you mean?”
“I mean I could. Should. Or… should I…?” Hazel gave Cranky a questioning glance.
“Are you asking me?” Cranky said, his annoyance deepening.
“No…?” Hazel said. It still sounded like a question.
Another silence passed between them.
“Would you make up your mind?” Cranky demanded.
“I-I’m sorry, I don’t know!” Hazel buried her face in her hooves and sank to the ground. “I can’t decide!” The muffled voice coming from behind her hooves sounded as though it were on the verge of tears.
“You can’t-” Cranky repeated incredulously. Then, “Okay, kid. Look. No need to get excited. Why don’t you help carry my boat to the river, and then you can decide once we’re down there.”
His proposal hung in the air for a moment.
“I don’t have to go farther than the river bank?” Hazel said, her face still buried.
“You don’t have to do anything,” Cranky grumbled.
Eventually, Hazel looked up. “Okay. I’ll do it. No farther than the river bank.”
Cranky gave her a long, hard look. Hazel withered under his gaze, avoiding eye contact.
“Okay,” he finally huffed. “Celestia have mercy. You may be the most indecisive pony I’ve ever met. How you managed to even get here without someone telling you exactly what to do is beyond me.”
“I was told,” Hazel muttered, a little louder than she meant to. “And I’m not…” She trailed off.
Cranky raised an eyebrow. Then he said, “You have something on your chest.” He turned, and walked back to finish his breakfast.
Hazel looked down. Among her brownish fur was a little patch of bald, pitch black skin. She flushed with heat, and quickly sequestered it.
They finished breakfast, and began packing immediately. They lifted the canoe out of the lopsided wagon, and loaded it with supplies. Then, heaving it onto their shoulders, they set out. Cranky led the way and carried the front of the boat, and Hazel carried the back.
Only five minutes had passed, and Hazel was already red in the face. The combined weight of the canoe and the supplies inside made for a heavy load, and her shoulder was already aching. The chilly morning breeze, which had been so uncomfortable before, helped to keep her cool, but even that small comfort was beginning to fade as the sun rose higher in the sky.
Had the path been smooth and clear, the walk to the cliff would have been a quick twenty-minute jaunt. Instead, rocks and trees and bushes hindered them at every step, and with the canoe in tow, every small obstacle became a huge problem. Hazel’s body screamed out in protest, as she worked every muscle to maneuver the canoe into whatever position would allow it to advance. Ahead of her, Cranky seemed to have no trouble at all. Did all donkeys have this kind of endurance? Hazel was a pegasus, she had no business carrying loads like this.
Except, no, she wasn’t a pegasus, was she?
Two hours passed. They reached the rim of the gorge.
“There’s the switchback,” Cranky said, nodding towards it.
Hazel looked up and saw the beginnings of a road that snaked down into the deep canyon below. It was twice as steep and three times narrower than she had imagined it.
Hazel spoke in between labored breaths. “You… were going… to take… your wagon… down this?”
Cranky shrugged. “I’ve done it before. You up for a quick break, kid?”
Hazel practically dropped the canoe in response.
“Careful!” Cranky growled.
For another twenty minutes, they sipped on the canteen and nibbled on oat and honey granola bars. “Made by my fiancé,” Cranky said, a hint of pride in his voice.
“Careful now,” Cranky called over the wind.
“You be careful!” Hazel called back.
“Oh, found your nerve, did you?” Cranky said. “Well why don’t you put it to use and keep the boat steady!”
“I’m trying!”
The weather had turned from calm to blustery almost as soon as they started descending the switchback trail into the gorge, and the boat seemed to catch every gust of wind as if it had sails. Twice she had nearly lost her footing, and in those moments, she could imagine the boat slipping out of her arms and tumbling over the cliff, shattering on the rocks below.
Hours had passed like this, and they were only halfway down.
In truth, the weather was not as stormy as it felt – it was just a normal, windy day. But the wind felt much windier when it was pushing her around on a path that was only a few body lengths wide. And the cliff felt much taller when she was practically hanging off the side of it.
“Watch it, watch it,” Cranky said. “To the right. Keep it to the right. Hug the wall.”
Hazel’s legs wobbled with exertion. She was not sure how much longer she could keep it up. She felt like she was tipping.
“Hug the wall, Hazel. Keep close to the wall. You’re tipping, you need to- need to pull it back… Hazel, would you- no!”
By degrees, the canoe began tipping out of their hold and towards the cliff. It had not yet fallen, but as Hazel grunted, trying to shift herself upright, she knew it was past the point of no return. The image of a shattering canoe played in Hazel’s mind.
“Don’t let it fall!” Cranky called.
Immediately, Hazel shifted her weight. Instead of trying to fruitlessly pull the boat back, she stepped left and put herself underneath it. Using that leverage, she shoved it back onto the trail – and in doing so, shoved herself towards the edge.
“Kid!”
Wide-eyed and gasping, Hazel stood on with her rear hooves on the edge, windmilling her arms in an effort to keep her balance.
The canoe clattered back onto the cliff. Cranky dropped it and rushed back towards the pegasus.
She called out desperately, “Cranky!” before plunging over the side.
Cranky dove, his hooves stretched out in front of him. He caught something, and let out a groan as his chest slammed to the ground. Then, his eyes widened as he felt himself being dragged over the edge of the cliff.
He looked down. Hazel was over the side, dangling by a single hoof from his own grasp, locked in a death grip. He was being pulled down with her.
In a panic, Cranky planted his free hooves into the ground as only a donkey could. They stopped moving.
The wind whipped wildly around them. Cranky grunted as he shifted his weight around, but couldn’t get into a position to pull Hazel up – the ground here was too hard and gritty to find any leverage. All he could do was hold on.
“I can’t pull you up, kid!” he shouted. “Find a hoofhold somewhere! Anywhere!”
Hazel hyperventilated, her eyes wide and full of panic. “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t!” She looked towards the ground. It was a long drop.
“No, hey, kid, look at me, just look at me! Yeah, that’s right, right at me! Now, take your left hoof, and put it here, right there on that root. That one, the one that’s jutting out.”
Slowly, Hazel brought her hoof up, and found the hoofhold. It seemed to be taking her weight...
“Good, great, now just-”
A crumbling noise, quiet but dreadful, interrupted Cranky as the root slid its way out of the cliff face. Hazel screamed. Cranky grunted as the Hazel’s full weight tugged on him. The cliff dug harshly into his chest.
Hazel was reduced to tears. “I can’t, don’t let go, I can’t do it!”
“Hey, kid!” Cranky growled with gritted teeth. “Look at me! You’re fine! Stop whimpering, it’s pathetic!”
Hazel quieted, but her eyes were wide and teary, and her breathing was rapid as ever. At this rate, Cranky knew it would be only minutes before she panicked himself into unconsciousness.
“You’re fine!” Cranky repeated. “I won’t let go! Just find another hoofhold!”
“Where?” Hazel cried.
“I don’t-” Cranky stopped as Hazel’s hoof slipped a little bit farther out of his own. He closed his eyes and growled, tightening his grip. “I don’t know! Maybe…” He opened one eye to a squint, and looked around. “Maybe right there to your right! See it?”
“I, I-” Hazel stammered. “I, I think so!”
“Don’t tell me about it, just do it!”
Hazel’s tried to swing her hooves that direction, but in her panic she only accomplished a flailing motion that strained hers and Cranky’s grip further.
“It’s not working Cranky! It’s not working!”
“It will work! Try it again!”
She tried again, to no avail.
“I can’t!” Hazel cried, her voice wavering. “What about that branch right there?”
“It’s-,” Cranky wheezed, “It’s too small for your hooves!”
“Or… or I… I think I can feel another one near my left leg…”
“Just use the holds to your right!” Cranky shouted.
“But I can’t-”
Hazel yelped as she slipped further out of Cranky’s grasp.
“Tell me what to do, Cranky!” Hazel bawled, fear thick in her wavering voice. “What do I do?”
“I don’t know, kid-”
“What do I do?”
“I don’t know!” Cranky shouted. “Something!”
Hazel eyes widened. She let out a fearful sob.
“You’re not making it any better by just dangling there!” Cranky shouted. “Do you wanna live, kid?”
“I- I-”
“Well?”
“Yes!” Hazel shouted.
“Then make a choice! I don’t care what it is! Whatever you think is best! We’ll figure it out as we go!”
Their hooves slipped further away from each other.
“The sooner the better!” Cranky said.
Hazel took deep breaths – which ended up sounding more like louder, gaspier versions of her already rapid breathing – and tried to calm herself.
But it was all so overwhelming. The adrenaline, the biting fear, and the wind – the wind, howling and fierce and never-ceasing. Throughout her short life, she had always heard it blaring. A natural force that swept over the whole face of the earth, touching the face of a million million places and bringing a sampling of the riot directly into her ears. Sometimes, windstorms. Typhoons. Tornadoes. And sometimes not. The unpredictable, unknowable squall of actions and consequences never ceased to blow. And, in Hazel’s experience, it brought only doldrums and windstorms.
But maybe, at least for now, she could weather another storm…
Hazel’s disguise dropped, falling off of her with a whoosh of green fire. Gone was the brownish fur and light green mane. She was a changeling.
Hazel bared her fangs and tried to blink away the tears. Mentally, she steeled herself. Then, she grabbed the cliff where she could, and pulled.
“Yes!” Cranky shouted as Hazel began to push herself up. “That’s it, kiddo!”
Cranky seemed ecstatic, laughing as Hazel gained ground. He abruptly stopped when she slipped a little bit.
Hazel shut her eyes and yelped in fear.
“Hey, kid! Look at me!” Cranky said. “Look at me! Look- You’re doing good, okay? Just keep going, okay?”
Hazel looked at Cranky, then back at the ground, then back again.
Then she began again to pull herself up, shouting with exertion. Cranky returned the gesture with his own, final burst of strength. Hazel dug her hind legs into the cliff, and with her left hoof, she found another hoofhold.
And then, with one final effort, she released it, and flung her hoof over the higher, more stable ledge.
“Yes!” Cranky shouted triumphantly. He reached down with his other arm. With the new height, Hazel was able to push up with her hind legs, finding Cranky’s outstretched arm and latching onto it with her own.
Cranky began pulling her up. Hazel’s hind legs scuffled frantically against the rocks, finding whatever leverage they could. The edge of the cliff scraped painfully against her belly as Cranky managed to drag her over.
They stumbled back onto solid ground. Cranky was panting, and Hazel was somewhere in between sobbing and prayers, switching between thanking Cranky and whatever gods might have helped them.
“Cut it out with the praying stuff, kid,” Cranky said in between heavy breaths. “It’s embarrassing.”
Hazel did quiet down somewhat, but could not help but whimper with residual terror. She curled up on the ground with eyes shut tight.
Cranky sat down beside her, patting her back. “Hey, shhh. You’re alright,” he said, in as soothing a voice as he could manage. “You’re alright now. You’re alive, you’re young, you’ve got your whole life ahead of you. That’s more than some of us can say.” He chuckled at his own joke.
Hazel opened her eyes, looked up at Cranky, then back down at herself to see pitch black skin. She was still undisguised. She shut her yes again, and curled up tighter, whimpering.
“Kid…” Cranky said, voice tinged with pity.
In between breaths, Hazel made strained noises of concerted effort. Her body seemed to flash and flicker in response, but nothing happened.
“I-I… I’m sorry, I…” Hazel mumbled. “I can’t ch-change…”
“Kid.”
“I’m so sorry, please don’t look…” Her face screwed up as she made another effort, but still nothing happened. “Don’t tell me to go… I’m trying to, to-”
“Kid,” Cranky said, a little more forcefully. “It’s fine. Now knock it off. You’ll rip your bandages even more.”
Hazel did as he said and stopped, focused on simply lying there and breathing. Minutes passed, and gradually, Hazel’s whimpering died down. After a while, she opened her eyes, uncurled herself, and looked up at Cranky.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“Don’t mention it.”
A few minutes passed, and they lay there, resting.
“Cranky?” Hazel said.
“Hm?”
“Where’s your hair?”
Cranky’s hoof flew towards the top of his head, which was now completely bald. He grumbled, and gave her a stern look.
“Don’t mention it.”
They took a break after that, and waited for the wind to die down before proceeding. In the excitement, the canoe had turned onto its side and spilled most of its contents. Miraculously, nothing had been lost over the cliff, but they did have to repack everything into its proper place.
Eventually, Hazel regained the strength and self-control to re-disguise herself. Cranky did not say anything, but did spare a glance to watch as emerald flames engulfed her. A moment later, where the insectoid creature had once been standing was a perfectly normal pegasus mare. She swept some dust off of her chest, and continued to help Cranky pack.
“Cranky,” Hazel started, saying his name slowly, cautiously, “Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure,” Cranky grunted.
“Why… did you come here in the first place?”
“Oh, I’m supposed to tell you, but you’re not going to tell me?” Cranky said, yanking on the knot that kept the foodstuff crate secure in the canoe.
“Oh, I didn’t mean to- I mean, sorry…” Hazel fell silent, and continued packing.
Cranky grumbled under his breath.
“Oh, fine,” he said. “Not like it’s a big secret anyways. I did this a long, long time ago, you see, when I was young and reckless. I was just about as young as you are. On a dare, I took a canoe to the Ghastly Gorge, and as it turns out, I had the time of my life. It was a better time for me, because after that, I… well, I wasted many years after that because of a silly mistake.”
“So you’re here to remember better times,” Hazel ventured.
“Oh, no,” Cranky said. “My best times are now. I’m happy as can be. Don’t you give me that, kid,” he said, seeing Hazel’s raised eyebrow, “I’m as happy as a pegasus in an open sky. I’m getting married soon, and my fiancé is the best thing that ever happened to me. My friends at home think this trip is my last hurrah before marriage ‘ties me down’ – feh, what a stupid thing to say – but why I’m really here is because I’ve been… thinking about things.”
“Like… what kind of things?” Hazel asked.
“S’not your business,” Cranky grumbled, but a moment later, he continued regardless. “What would it have been like, had I decided to just be content earlier in my life? Would I have met my fiancé sooner? Or not at all? Were the friends I made along the way worth the toil? I don’t know. Not everything in life is clear cut happiness and sadness.”
But as Hazel looked at him, she saw a rare smile on the old donkey’s face; nostalgic, perhaps bittersweet, but a smile nonetheless.
“What’s her name?” Hazel dared to ask.
“Matilda.” The old donkey breathed it with an air of reverence.
Hearing the tone, Hazel was struck with a sudden envy. “You’re lucky you found her,” she said quietly.
“Lucky?” Cranky drew back. “I suppose so. But I worked for it too. Made a lot of decisions. Made a lot of mistakes. But after everything, I got my happy ending.”
“But what if you hadn’t?” Hazel asked.
“Well, then I suppose I wouldn’t be happy,” Cranky said, shrugging. “But I would never have regretted playing the odds.”
Together, they continued packing. The wind was beginning to weaken as they secured the last few things into the canoe. The sun was beginning to droop in the sky.
“Uhh, Cranky?” Hazel said, holding up an item and looking at the donkey pointedly. “What is this?”
Cranky looked up.
“What does it look like?” he scoffed, “A bundle of climbing rope.”
A moment passed. They exchanged a meaningful look.
They both began to grin. Then, Cranky burst out into boisterous laughter. Hazel could not help but laugh along with him.
By the time they reached the bottom, the sun had nearly dipped below the horizon. The chill was beginning to set in, and the bottom of the gorge was dark, wet, and rocky. The rushing river filled most of the bottom of the canyon, leaving little room for land on either side. What land there was was populated by rocky shores or thick brush, fed abundantly by the rapid waters. They lit a lantern and hung it on the bow of the canoe, and searched around until they found a patch of land that was flatter and softer than the rest.
“It’s getting late,” Cranky said, as they lowered the canoe to the ground. “I’ll have to make camp before shoving off tomorrow. You’re welcome to stay with me if you like.”
Hazel nodded. “Yes, please.”
They set up camp, which included a two person tent, and a single bedroll, a few thick blankets, and a lantern in place of a campfire.
“You know what, kid?” Cranky said, “I think I’ll sleep under the stars tonight.”
“Me too,” said Hazel.
And so the tent went unused. They ate a cold dinner of dry oats.
“There will be more wood for fire further down the river,” said Cranky. “I’ll have the chance to cook pancakes yet.”
When it came time to sleep, Cranky gave Hazel the bedroll, to which she objected.
“I had it last night,” Hazel said, offering the roll back to him. “It’s your turn.”
“You’re my guest,” Cranky said, scowling and pushing it back. “If there’s one thing I learned wandering, it’s that you always treat guests with honor. Good grief, they really don’t teach young ponies manners these days, do they?”
“Are you sure?” Hazel asked, hesitantly withdrawing it.
“Yes I’m sure,” Cranky growled. “Do I look unsure to you?”
Hazel shyly looked away from his scowl. “N-no, I… guess not.”
Cranky’s expression lightened a bit. “And here’s a blanket.”
He dug into the canoe and produced a thick, blue blanket, which he tossed over her. It sank through the air and enveloped her completely with a soft whump.
“Now get some sleep,” Cranky said. “We both have a big day tomorrow.”
Hazel wrestled her way out of the blanket and looked back at Cranky, who was already wrapping himself up in his own blanket and trying to find the softest patch of grass near the lantern. Hazel spread the bedroll onto the ground, laid upon it, pulled the blanket up to her chin, and laid her head back. After shifting around a bit, she found herself perfectly comfortable, her muscles afflicted with a dull but pleasant ache after the day’s exertions.
Minutes passed. The babbling of the nearby river played like a persistent lullaby, and Hazel allowed it to lull her into repose. Her mind swam with thought. It was pleasant – and that surprised her. So often, Hazel was driven to conniptions by her daydreams, regardless if they were positive, negative, or anywhere in between.
Anxiety, unbidden, especially arose in her whenever she thought of… him. But, for no reason in particular, it did not pain her now. Perhaps she was simply too tired.
She closed her eyes and saw him, standing in the meadow where they first met, his wings outstretched… and in a scene that was half-reverie, half-memory, he was calling to her, telling her to come over… and, at least in her imagination, she had the courage to go to him, instead of the other way around…
A deep breath escaped through her nostrils. She wondered if he even knew she was gone…
“I know that face,” Cranky said, cutting through her daydream. He was propped up on one elbow and looking her direction. “Missin’ somepony special, huh.” It was more a statement than a question.
Hazel flipped onto her other side, facing away from him, and tugged the blanket tight over her shoulders.
“No,” she said.
“Mm hmm,” came Cranky’s reply.
Another few minutes of silence passed.
“Cranky?” Hazel eventually said.
“Mm?”
“Thanks for letting me use the bedroll.”
“Keep it,” he grumbled. “It’s got your blood all over it anyways.”
Hazel’s eyebrows furrowed. She sat up and twisted around, and was embarrassed to see deep splotches of red spotting the fabric here and there like a macabre camouflage. He lay back down.
“Sorry.”
“Mm hmm.”
There was a pause as Hazel pondered something else.
“Cranky?”
“Mmm.” He sounded annoyed.
“Thanks for… what happened at the cliff.”
He chuckled. “Which one?”
Hazel squirmed uncomfortably in her bed, but continued. “I’m serious. You were great. If you hadn’t helped me climb back up, I’d be dead right now.”
“Yeah. Wouldn’t want that, would we?” Cranky said flatly.
“Uh… well…” Hazel paused. “No, I guess not. Anyways. Thank you.”
“Mm hmm.”
Cranky reached out of his makeshift bed and flicked a switch on the lantern. The flame was extinguished, and all was dark. Above, the stars twinkled in the heavens, brighter than Hazel had ever seen them. She hoped they would shine like this tomorrow night.
Tomorrow night, Hazel repeated in her head. Tomorrow night. Tomorrow night.
She stared silently into the sky for a long time.
“Cranky?”
“You’d better be sleep talking, kid.”
“I’m not sleep talking.”
Cranky groaned. “What is it?”
“I think I will go with you. If the offer is still open.”
Cranky took a deep breath, and exhaled. “Sure, kid. You bet.”
Hazel smiled. She closed her eyes, fell asleep, and dreamt.
Author's Note
This is just something I wrote just to try and shake off the writer's block. I originally intended it to be a short little oneshot, but as always, I couldn't stop myself from going overboard. Now I'm thinking it will probably be two or three chapters in total. I hope you enjoyed it.
P.S. I can not find the artist of the cover image. If anyone knows, please PM me. I'd like to actually ask permission to use it.
