Casca's Glory

Zehara’s home was next to the small lake, with a good view of the water as it sparkled in the sunset. A simple place, just one large room, with a bed, a rug of reeds, and a table. Next to the table were pillows, the table bearing a few fruits, and one wall opened into a balcony where a chair sat.

Zehara went and tossed a few more pillows onto the mat, and then settled down on them, looking over at Dark.

Dark hesitated before following suit.

The two were silent for a moment, simply watching one another.

“Is it hard?” Zerhara asked, suddenly, and Dark started a little.

“…is what hard?” he asked.

“Being a batpony. You seem… well acquainted with differences.”

Dark huffed, thinking. “…It was. I told you; ponies don’t like batponies. Most of the time, that takes the form of distrust, the odd suspicious glance, maybe avoidance. Rarely, it turns into something worse, but not often.”

“You have no tolerance for it?”

“And why should I?” he asked. “There is no reason or purpose behind it. A batpony is no different from any pegasus, but just because of the wings, we are viewed as… as ‘night flyers’ and ‘omens of darkness’. I can shape clouds, and do weather, and most pegasi don’t know that.”

Zehara nodded, thinking.

“…For as long as it has been, zebra were apart.” She said. “Always. It… it defines groups, help us to survive.”

“How?”

“In a group, we are family. The same stripe, the same blood. Together, a group lives and works, everypony helping each other to survive and live.”

“A big group is better.”

“Not in the savannah. Good food and water are scarce. Large groups often find themselves unable to support new numbers. Too many zebra dry the lake, and the food becomes scarce.”

Dark hesitated. “…Then what? Zebra just wander off to live apart?”

“Sometimes. Not often. Groups are kept at a specific population through natural means.”

“…What do you mean by ‘natural means’?”

“When a group grows too large, the food and water grow scarce. When that happens, zebra are weaker, slower. Some might become ill. Those worst off, the weakest and sickest, begin to lag behind the group. We call them, ‘those given’.”

Dark felt a chill pass over him. “…Given? Given to what?” he asked, suspecting.

“When the group becomes too large, the lions hunt. Those too weak are taken. Food for the lion.”

Dark felt ill. “And you… just let that happen? Feeding them to lions?”

“Understand. The lion is not… they are a part of life. We zebra know that. When the zebra become too many, we suffer. The lion comes, and makes us stronger. They make sure that the group as a whole, keeps living. Those given know their fate, and are at peace with it. It is often that a zebra will intentionally fail to eat or drink. Those sick know that they cannot remain; illness can kill an entire group.”

She noticed Dark’s expression. A troubled, mildly horrified one.

“We live in a cycle, lion and zebra.” she said. “It is nature. Death is not something that can be avoided. Illness in the savannah is harsh, and deadly. The land is not strong enough to support large populations. And… when we are strong, the lions suffer.”

“…I… I don’t understand.” He said. “There has to be a better way…”

“Some zebra prefer the jungles. There, water abounds, and food cannot be reduced.”

“Then why not live in the jungle?”

“In the jungle, zebra kill zebra.”

“What!?”

“Many… strange and mythical things live in the jungle. Strange and powerful beings gather zebra to them, and command them. The jungle zebra live bloody lives at the whim of beings like Durnatra, Amanthul, Damar, Ahuizotl, and many more. Powerful beings that wage wars against one another, and jungle zebra are their weapons of choice.”

Dark stared. Zehara glanced at him, and sighed.

“It is our home. Our life. For generations uncounted, the zebra have lived like this. Our home is not your own. It is not fertile, or safe. The savannah and the jungle alike are not kind.”

“So zebra of old made these choices. Some, to the jungle, to take their chances with the beasts. Others to the savannah, splitting apart to stay strong. And a few simply left. Across the savannah, to try and find something else. I believe that they never made it.”

Dark was silent, and Zehara sighed gently.

The pair was silent, Zehara wondering what Dark was thinking, and Dark…

Dark was horrified. The zebra led lives nearly unthinkable, and somehow, they found it… acceptable. And worse; they didn’t chose it.

They had to. Or else something worse would happen.

The cycle of predator and prey. The bloody jungle, and the dangers within. Sacrificing oneself to strengthen the whole. Dying, to save others from illness. Pawns of strange beings in a war they fought with each other…

“…Zehara?” he asked softly.

“Yes?”

“… Those that left everything… why do you think they didn’t make it?”

“This is the savannah’s heart. To the south and east is the edges, the jungles to the south, the moutnains to the east. The savannah they tried to cross has much, much more than lion.”

“There is a beast called a hyena.”

“A hyena?”

“Small things. Half a zebra’s size. But where a lion will hunt for the weak, hyenas attack the strong. Packs of dozens, endlessly hungering, laughing as they slay. They lie in the deeper savannah, and they will not stop killing until they are dead. Not even the lions are safe from the hyena, and the lions keep them from coming to find us.”

Dark nodded slowly, and Zehara hesitated. She didn’t like the way he seemed so… distressed.

“…But… there are tales.” she said.

“Tales?” he asked, his voice a little worn. “Tales of death and laughing monsters?”

“No. Some say that perhaps, past the lions, and the hyena, and worse, there lies a land like no other. A paradise of water and food. A place of safety and power.”

“…A fairytale.”

“Mayhap. But, if you are to look at the right time, or watch during the correct moment…”

“The clouds to our west sometimes, rarely, shine with light during the night. As if something below glows like the sun above. Stand atop our tallest hill, and you may see mountains to the west, so far they seem tiny. And one stands taller than the rest.”

“So very far, some say that it is paradise. The light of salvation, the place of perfection. Green grass, flowing water, fruits to make one weep for the flavor. Waterfalls that spill from peaks that rise taller than the clouds. Rainbows in the sparkling mists, mystery and wonder behind each plant. Some even say that to drink the water, and eat the fruit would renew the body. Cure any illness, heal any wound.”

“…We can find that place.” Dark said, perking up again, and Zehara smiled seeing his spirit renewed.

But she hesitated. “…Even with wings, the trip would take weeks. To walk all the way to the hyena in a journey of weeks on hoof. And farther still to reach that place, past dangers not known, lands not explored.”

“But what if it is real Zehara?” he asked, growing more and more excited. “Imagine. All of the zebra, walking together. No lion or hyena could stop so many, water and food pointless; either stored in preparation for the journey, or foraged during the trip.”

“And if the story is false, and all that lies beyond is a desert?” she asked pointedly, and Dark paused. “A place where there is nothing, and the light is nothing more than an act of the sky we do not understand? And for us all to take that chance that we can even survive the trip?”

“…Moon take it.” Dark muttered, lowering his head, frowning again.

Zehara frowned. Why was it that she could not stop being… upset at his being upset? She didn’t want to see him that way, but everything she knew was something that upset him it seemed. And if something did inspire him, it hurt her to hear of such things.

The paradise was a dream she knew. To hear him be so… his words made her heart sing, but her mind knew it to be false. And in saying so, she only upset him again.

She spent a moment in concentration, seeking some way to cheer him again. Then it came to her, and she looked at him.

“Tell me of your kind.” She said, and Dark hesitated, glancing at her in mild confusion.

“…My kind?”

“Ponies. Unicorns, and pegasi. I have only heard the faint tales. Where do you live, why do you live the way you do? I told you of zebra. Now, you tell me of ponies.”

Dark hesitated, and Zehara waited. Then he nodded.

“Well…”

“Captain?”

They both started at the call, Dark turning to see another batpony looking in.

“Captain, the scout is back.”

Zehara sighed gently as Dark got to his hooves. It seemed their time was over.

But as she moved to stand, Dark touched her with his hoof, holding her down, and she looked up at him.

“I can be done in a moment Zehara. Just wait for me to return; then I will tell you as much as I know.” he said.

She stared at him for a second. “…I will.” she said, slightly stunned.

She kept staring at him, and in turn, Dark seemed loath to stop looking at her.

“Captain?”

He gave the faintest growl as he turned, and Zehara noticed the… mild aggression he had. As if the other was dragging him away from something he desired.

The pair left, and she remained behind. Recalling the strength Dark seemed to have when he touched her, and the sparkle of his eyes. She fell into a thoughtful mood, and glanced at the fruit she had.

Then she stood, and walked to the balcony, overlooking the lake. Looking out, she could see a few dark shapes flying in the setting sun’s light.

The guards around their goddess. Such power and majesty all in one being, and simple, mortal ponies given the honor of guarding her. At first, she had only been consumed in awe, and a slight fear of the goddess, but now, she was curious.

Dark Flight was mortal. Nothing like the vanguard a goddess should have; the stony implacable ponies that would have matched her in some fashion. No, Dark was soft. Gentle. Strong, and yet soft hearted.

She wanted to know more, both of the Goddess and the ponies...

And of Dark.

Casca’s Tale

I stayed in my den for a few years. Eating the things that came to feast upon my fallen den. I buried my own family, and practiced hunting rats and mice. I chased them, stalked them as they bit and chewed. Even the birds that ate death, I hunted. Racing to them, trying to reach them before they flew too high.

I became fast, and silent. Able to race a hundred lengths to kill a bird before it had a chance to fly more than a few feet. I grew on the rats and mice, fat from the fallen.

But they soon ran out of their food, and the rats became less. I didn’t leave at first. My den was the home I knew, and I knew nothing beyond it.

But when I was eight summers, I heard it. My mother had spoken to me about it, my father warned me of it.

The laugh of a hyena.

I was terrified, and ran. I went all the way to the edge of the den, but then I turned back, unable to resist my curiosity.

I saw them. A pack of twenty or more. Small brown things, walking on paws, jaws open, giggling at nothing as they went for the bones. Each seemed diseased, their fur matted and disgusting, even from a distance.

They yipped and bit at one another viciously, fighting over the bones. The biggest claimed the best spots, and many were left with open wounds as they chewed upon what they had claimed. Others waiting nearby, in case one might throw them something.

And then one, the smallest, turned, and saw me.

I ran then, and it chased me, but without a sound. Maybe so it could have me for itself, but I heard it gaining on me, and turned to see it rushing forward, faster than a bird could.

I stopped to meet it, and when it came closer, I tried to pounce upon it.

Which was the only thing that saved me, as it ducked, and tried to race under me, trying to rip at my belly. If I had tried to bite or claw, it would have had me.

As it was, I landed, and it turned and bit my hind leg, near the top. I managed not to scream, and turned, trying to get it off of me.

Its jaws kept chewing, the pain strong. But I bit it, and ripped at it. And it wouldn’t let go, not even with so many wounds that anything else would have. In my desperation, I ripped one of its legs off, and then it finally fell.

To give one last yip. A piercing, loud sound, as it laid bleeding and dying.

I heard the others yip back, and laugh. I saw them spot me, and begin to chase.

I ran, but I was slower, badly hurt. They would have had me if not for their madness.

The fastest of them stopped, and began devouring their own. The one I had felled.

Those behind them tried to do the same, and the whole group fought, snapping and ripping and growling until only a few ate their kin, and the rest turned to follow me.

I made it into the tall grass, and kept going, bleeding. And they began tracking me, following the scent of my blood through the grasses.

For four days, I moved, my wound slowly growing worse with use and exposure. I had no time to tend to it; each day, I could hear the hyena’s laughs behind me, relentless in their chase.

I grew weaker and weaker, slowing. Until the fifth day, when I collapsed. I laid there for some time, thinking I was done. Food for the hyena.

But then I remembered the zebra. My family’s death. I felt hate. I knew I couldn’t die there, to the hyena. I stood up, and the moment the first came into view, I lashed out, and tore its face off.

It still yipped, blind, and the rest called out. I killed the first, and with rage, met the next one. It managed to bite at me, but I killed it as well, and then I ran.

I was hurt, and weak still. They would have me in the end. I hated having to run; I wanted to be stronger. Tougher.

I wanted to kill them all.

I kept running, only to suddenly exit the grass, and see a lake. But I didn’t see what was next to it until I had run headlong into one.

Creatures, the smallest the size of a lioness, and the largest four times the size of any male. Dark, thick skin covered them, and a thick bony plate was on their heads, ending in two sharp points. They stood on four legs ending in hooves, and just by looking, I could see the strength and power each had.

I stared up in shock, and as it glared down and snorted, I felt numb. It could have crushed me like a falling boulder with ease.

“…What creature was that?” Sion asked, interrupting, confused. “There is no tale of such creatures.”

“I do not know. I called them Strength. And they saved me.” Casca told him, almost thoughtful. Her gaze softened for a moment.

“What?”

“Listen, and be silent.” she snapped, and a flicker of fire flashed in her jaws in her sudden instant of anger. Sion fell silent, and she resumed.

I heard the hyenas come, and all of them stopped looking at me, and looked at the hyenas. I saw the monsters stop, panting and glaring.

Then the one I had hit, the biggest of them, looked back down at me. I stared up at him, sure of my death, wishing that I would live.

And it… reached with a hoof, and shoved me behind it, into the mass of them, and then the outer ones charged.

I saw one step upon a hyena, its hoof not even slowing down. They smashed and crushed, their heads lowered to stab and toss hyenas. I saw one thrown fifty feet high before it was impaled upon one of the spikes.

And I saw the remaining ones, the hyenas, the insane, fearless monsters, run.

Another Strength pushed at me with its head, and I turned to look at it in shock. I didn’t know what to think or do.

It pushed me toward the water, and I allowed myself to be pushed. And three of them, using hooves and heads, managed to wash me of blood, and sooth my wound, strength unparalleled controlled with near perfection. One chewed on a plant, and spat it on my leg, and the pain stopped. Another somehow wrapped my wound in more plant, and stopped the bleeding.

Then they just… stayed there. I was amongst them, and they didn’t care. Not really. Sometimes one would glance at me, and I am fairly sure at least one was always watching me, but they didn’t attack me.

The time I was with them was strange. Only a few days, but living amongst creatures of such… power was not anything I knew. I took to staying atop them, to avoid the crushing hooves. Eating the mice that swarmed around the group, not daring to try to harm a single one. As time passed, I grew familiar with them, more at ease amongst them. In their numbers, I was safe and even eating fairly well.

Four days passed, and then, with some ceremony, they ordered themselves. The biggest looked at me, and pointed elsewhere. Then he turned and left, and the whole group followed after him.

For a moment, for a day or two in fact, I had forgotten my hate. Amongst the strength was almost like being in a den. Without a family, but much the same.

I had been happy.

I ran after them. And each and every time I was firmly pushed away. They didn’t hurt me, but the message was very clear.

‘You are no longer welcome.’

I didn’t accept that message for some time, until one nearly killed me with a stomp. Then and only then did I know it.

I watched them go off. Dark lumbering shapes in the grass, heading to places I didn’t and don’t know.

I never once met the Strength again.

At the time, I was hurt. I felt outcast, thrown from them, and I dearly wished to know why. What I had done, what was wrong?

Now, I know. I was lion, and they, big and strong as they were, were prey. They ate plants, and I did not. They might have spared a hurt and desperate cub, but they would never have accepted a lion as part of them.

But then, I didn’t know. It was like one family had been taken, and the other had rejected me. It seemed I had nothing…

Nothing but hate.

Hate kept me living. Raised me past the sorrow and desire to stop.

I hated the zebra. I hated the Strength. Not in the same way I hated zebra, but I did. I accepted that hate with eagerness, using anger to wash the pain I felt away.

I felt angry, angrier than I had ever been. Hate beat in my heart, my lungs, my being. Hotter and hotter.

Then I heard them.

The sounds of zebra behind me, toward the lake.

I do not have the words for what I felt then. But in my hate of them, I knew one thing.

It was their fault. Zebra had taken the Strength from me as well. They were why I was alone twice over.

I stalked back to the lake, slowly, purposefully. The feeling I felt goes beyond mere words. I cannot describe it, but, perhaps, it is this:

I felt like a raging sun was within me, and I and it were smiling as I went.

I was singing the grass that brushed against my sides.