BANG
The shot goes wide, missing its mark by a mile as it sails off into the thick underbrush. With a high-pitched squeal, the boar scampers away from the noise, thrashing through the foliage as it scurries off. Owen curses, looking as though he's moments away from tossing his gun on the ground, while in the background Jill laughs uproariously. Next to her, Duke chuckles a bit, trying not to embarrass his friend too much. Directly behind Owen, Trevor merely sighs.
"For Christ's sake, Owen," he grumbles, walking up next to his brother. "I've told you a million times, you're not a goddamn action hero. Hold the gun in two hands, like this."
He reaches down to gently take the revolver from Owen's hand, but his brother jerks it away.
"I know how to shoot a gun you dork," he says, giving Trevor an annoyed look. "I've been at this longer than you have, I think I can handle it."
Jill giggles, sneaking up on Owen's other side and swiping the pistol before he can react.
"Really Owen?" she asks, holding the revolver in two hands and taking aim at a random tree. "Last I checked, this was only your second hunting trip. Really, you should've listened to us and brought a rifle or something, instead of coming out here with your new revolver to play cowboy."
Owen tries to snatch the gun back, but Jill steps out of his reach, sticking her tongue out at him.
"It's a fine gun!" Owen retorts angrily. "I checked all over online before we came out here. A revolver is fine for hunting hogs. Besides, you brought a handgun too Jill."
Jill just rolls her eyes, while Trevor groans audibly. "Right, you checked online," he says flatly. "Good to know you consulted a reliable source."
"And for your information," Jill drawls, putting her left hand on her hip as she flips Owen's revolver around in her right, "I brought a Glock, not some old revolver. A big, hefty Glock 30, the kind of gun that'll put down a boar in one-"
Owen interrupts her by walking up and snatching the revolver out of her hand as she flips it over, surprising her. He begins to say something, but Trevor steps between them.
"Alright, alright, let's get back on track," he says with a sigh. "We're not just here to have fun, we're getting paid for every hog we bag, remember? And so far, we've got zilch."
Owen grumbles, but says nothing as he holsters his gun. Jill puts a hand over her mouth and chuckles, but also keeps her mouth shut.
As he faces the group, Trevor pauses. To his right, he can hear a rustling of some sort in the underbrush. He holds a finger up to his lips, indicating to the others to be quiet, and slowly pulls his shotgun from its case on his back.
"Our friend might still be around," he says softly to the others, pointing in the direction he heard the noise. He turns, flicking his hand in a "follow me" motion, and begins slowly walking through the path in the underbrush left by the fleeing boar moments earlier.
The others follow, drawing their own guns and slowly creeping behind Trevor. Side by side, Owen and Jill hold their handguns ready, while at the rear Duke hefts his lever-action.
"Y'know Owen," Duke whispers to the young man in front of him, "if you ain't comfortable with your revolver and all, we could swap for a bit. My rifle's got a bit of kick, but it shoots clean as a whistle when you get used to it."
Owen grunts in response. "Paws off my gun, grease monkey," he grumbles, not looking back at Duke. The younger man clicks his tongue in defeat.
"Ah well, just thought I should ask is all," he says, clutching his rifle and sighing. Jill shoots Owen a dirty look for his behavior, but keeps quiet as Trevor leads them through the woods.
Meanwhile, Trevor himself takes a moment to load his shotgun. He thumbs the release switch, allowing the break-action to open up, and pulls a shell from his ammo belt. He drops it into the chamber, then snaps the gun shut. He looks at the shotgun for a moment, nodding in approval, then looks forwards again at the rough trail through the brush.
Out of the four of them, Trevor's gun was the cheapest by far. Owen had picked up his Ruger Vaquero back when he still had plenty of money to burn, Duke's Henry .45-70 had been a gift from his parents, and Jill never would tell him where she'd gotten such a good deal on her Glock 30. By comparison, Trevor's single-shot shotgun, a 12 gauge Stevens 301, failed to impress. It wasn't a bad gun by any means. He'd wanted something affordable to fling slugs at hogs with, and it did the job just fine, but with its synthetic hardware and dull gray appearance it just didn't really catch the eye. Yet, in this case, function prevails over form, and Trevor isn't about to complain about a perfectly functional firearm.
The makeshift passage through the brush comes to an end, and the quartet of hunters find the boar from earlier in a clearing, digging at the base of a palm tree about twenty feet away. The late afternoon sun filters through the foliage, speckling the beast orange as it grunts and snorts in its search for food below ground. Trevor holds up a hand, halting the group.
"Duke," he whispers. "You have a good shot?"
"Yep," Trevor hears from behind. "Base of his skull, should do it in one. Y'all good?"
Jill and Trevor both nod, but Owen leans around Trevor with his Ruger raised.
"Dude, let me get this one," he says, already looking down the sights like he's made up his mind.
"Owen!" Trevor whispers sharply. "Wait a second, don't take that-"
BANG
"-shot," Trevor finishes bleakly.
The bullet from Owen's revolver strikes the hog on the back of its left leg. The beast squeals sharply, clearly in pain and enraged. It quickly does a one-eighty, turning to face the group.
"It's not dead?!" Owen exclaims, seemingly shocked.
"No you idiot!" Trevor yells, right as the hog lets out another squeal of fury and begins to charge.
Jill and Owen head left and right, respectively, while Trevor raises his shotgun. Behind him and a bit to the right, Duke takes a shot with his rifle. In his panic, the bullet goes wide right, just grazing the rushing hog's side. Duke lets out an exclamation of "damn hell!" as Trevor fires his shotgun. The hasty shot goes over the boar's head, and the heavy lead slug instead buries itself into the right side of the hog's upper back. The beast squeals in pain, forced to stop for a moment, but with its ability to run unhindered it continues its charge with renewed zeal.
Panicking, he backpedals as he reaches to his ammo belt again and pulls out another slug. He grasps the round and opens up the gun, the barrel pivoting forwards and the spent shell ejecting from the chamber, but in his unfocused state he fumbles to get the shell in place. Vaguely, he wonders why Owen hasn't already taken another shot, or one of the others for that matter.
BANG
Right on cue, a bullet from Jill's Glock buries itself in the boar's side, causing it to turn and search for the offender. Trevor turns, but while he can't see her from this angle the boar apparently doesn't have that problem. It charges, this time in her direction, but after a few steps it stumbles and crashes to the ground.
Confusion gives way to understanding, as Trevor realizes what happened. As he approaches, he sees the boar's back left leg is jerking uselessly as it tries to stand with its other limbs. He cringes at the pitiful display, and hurries up to the animal. Having finished loading the slug, he takes aim and puts the flailing boar out of its misery.
"Eugh, messiest one I've done in a while," he muses aloud. "Glad it didn't sit that way for long though, jeez."
The others group up around the slain animal. Jill gives a loud whoop of victory.
"Yeah! We're getting paid something, at least!" she exclaims holding up her hand for high fives. Trevor looks at his sister oddly, then rolls his eyes and gives her a high five anyways.
"Ah darn, sorry about that Trevor," Duke says in apology as he joins the group. "I'm just not used to 'em running right towards me like that. I just got a bit spooked I guess."
Trevor just gives him a playful bump on the shoulder and shrugs. "No big deal, it happens."
Owen steps up next to the rest of the group, eyeing the dead hog warily.
"So... who's taking it to the truck?" he asks, adjusting his glasses as he looks between the members of the group.
Duke pulls off his orange beanie to scratch at his hair for a moment. "Well," he eventually says, "I reckon I didn't help much putting it down, so I'll help haul it. I'll need someone else to give me a hand though. This one's a big sucker, after all."
"I'll do it!" Jill immediately offers, reaching into her backpack and pulling out some wound up paracord. "We can loop this under it to maybe help us carry it."
Duke grins, snapping his fingers. "Well now, not a bad idea Jill! I'll lift up his front so y'all can start getting it around him."
"Sounds fine to me," Trevor says, looking down at his watch to check the time, but Owen cuts in.
"Uh, sis... that thing looks pretty heavy," he says. "Maybe I should help... uh, Duke with it instead."
Jill gives him a sidelong look as she loops the paracord under the hog's torso. "What, you think I can't handle this? Last I checked I could lift more than you anyways."
Owen looks as though he's been slapped. "W-w-what?! No way, I can totally lift more than-"
He's cut off by Trevor jostling his shoulder a bit. "Settle down Owen, she's fine. You can stick with me."
Owen stares at his brother for a moment, then sighs and shrugs. Trevor nods, then looks at Duke and Jill, who have each grabbed one end of the paracord and are lifting the hog together.
"Owen and I are going to look ahead a bit," he says to them. "Meet us back here in..." he pauses to look at his watch, which reads 6:48 PM, "...fifteen minutes? Around 7:05, alright?"
They both nod, and Duke offers him a wide grin. "You got it, Chief," he says. "We'll be back here in a jiffy."
They trot off back towards the truck, with the hog in tow. Trevor turns back to Owen, who has a scowl on his face.
"I don't trust that cave man with our sister," Owen says sourly. "He's going to try putting the moves on her, or something."
Trevor fails to hold back a laugh, audibly chuckling at the idea. "Duke? Owen, he's been my best friend since before he or I could walk. I can guarantee you he'll be downright gentlemanly with Jill, okay? Besides, they've known each other for years now too, it's fine."
Owen crosses his arms, looking nearly like a pouting child. "He gives her looks."
"You're imagining things," Trevor retorts, still chuckling. "Hey, anyways, let's look ahead a bit. I think I see a game trail on the other end of the clearing."
He motions for Owen to follow as he heads towards the narrow trail, reloading his shotgun as he walks. They come to the tight opening in the foliage and Trevor looks down.
"Yeah, ground's all rough," he mutters. "Hogs have been walking here. Let's go."
They push the brush to the side and head along the trail, Trevor first and Owen behind. As they creep forwards, Trevor whispers some small talk.
"Not a bad shot on that boar," he says back to Owen. "Should've waited and let Duke take it, but hitting it in the leg was a good call."
"Oh, that," Owen replies absently. "I uh... honestly bro, I was just shooting. I... don't know as much about this stuff as you do, admittedly."
Trevor clicks his tongue and chuckles. "Yeah, I figured. Still, it's a good lesson to learn, and you'll get better the more you come hunting with us. Just remember, shoot with two hands."
"Yeah, yeah," Owen replies. After a moment, he sighs. "Man I just... shouldn't I be the one teaching you this stuff? Isn't that like, a big brother's job?"
"Psh, you taught me plenty of stuff growing up," Trevor says. "You just weren't really into hunting until recently. Dad taught Jill and I everything we needed to know, and now we get to teach you. We don't mind, really."
Trevor falls silent for a moment, as if he were contemplating something. After a moment, he asks, "what's something I taught you then?"
"French Toast," Trevor quickly replies. "You taught me how to make damn good French Toast."
They both giggle a bit, each remembering days in the kitchen making breakfast for the family. It seems to assuage Owen's sour mood, and the two continue forwards in comfortable silence.
After a bit more walking, the duo breaks through the tree line onto a long stretch of coastline. Before them, the grass stretches for a few more feet, then gives way to mud which in turn gives way to a massive body of water, stretching as far as the eye can see. The evening sun hangs low, the bright orange sphere not quite touching the horizon just yet.
"Damn," Trevor mutters, shading his eyes. "I didn't realize it was getting so close to sunset. Where the hell are we anyways? I didn't think this land bordered on the beach."
"Oh!" Owen exclaims, coming up next to him. "The lake! We're at Lake Okeechobee! Remember, the guy's property is on the east side of the lake, he was telling us about it before."
"Oh, yeah," Trevor says, remembering the conversation vaguely. "I forget how big this mud hole is sometimes."
He whistles, impressed by the view. "Damn," he continues, "this isn't a bad spot at all. Sun sets right over the water and everything. It'd be a nice place to put up a cabin or something."
"Did he say what he's going to do with it?" Owen asks, raising an eyebrow.
Trevor scoffs. "Wants to tear all the trees out and move his cattle out here. Says his old pasture is getting over grazed. It's a damn shame, with how nice this place is and all."
Owen nods, appreciating the view for a moment. However, suddenly he perks up as though he remembers something.
"If it's getting kind of late, shouldn't we hurry up and find more hogs?" he asks. "We've been out here all day and we only bagged that one."
Baring his teeth, Trevor bites back a curse. "Damn, that's right. We need to find more if we want any decent pay."
"How much do we get paid for each one?" Owen asks, pulling his Ruger from its holster and spinning the cylinder a bit.
"Not enough to be worth it if we don't bag a couple more," Trevor replies bitterly, shifting his grip on his shotgun to get it comfortable. "Might be some around here though, they must come here to drink. We need a place to hide and wait for one to show up."
"Wait!" Owen exclaims suddenly, putting a hand on Trevor's shoulder. He kneels down, bringing Trevor with him, and gestures with his revolver to the left.
About thirty feet to the left of them, a long, narrow peninsula juts out from the coastline. It extends about twenty five feet into the lake before stopping. It was an odd formation, almost looking manmade, but neither of them were concerned with that at the moment. Standing on the peninsula, drinking from the lake, was a good-sized wild hog.
"Damn, good eyes Owen," Trevor says. "I can't get a good shot at its head from this angle. I'm going to try to get closer."
He leans forwards, but Owen's grip on his shoulder tightens.
"Let me," his brother urges. "I think I can take it."
Owen begins creeping forwards slowly. Trevor reaches out to him. "Hey, wait, are you sure?"
"It'll be fine," Owen assures him. "Besides, can't you like, cover me from here or something?"
"I..." Trevor begins. "I... guess that's fine."
He hunkers down, raising his shotgun and keeping it trained on the hog. "Try to get around to where you can see its head," he says to Owen. "If you can place a shot in its neck, or on the right part of its head, you'll down it in one."
Owen nods, giving a thumbs up, then continues creeping towards the peninsula with his revolver brandished. Despite being unable to shake that this is a bad idea, Trevor keeps his shotgun ready and doesn't complain as Owen makes his way closer to the target. The hog is thankfully taking a long drink, and doesn't raise its head as Owen inches nearer. Eventually, Owen is at the point where the peninsula meets the mainland. He raises his revolver to take a shot...
...then lowers it again, visibly frowning.
Trevor tilts his head in confusion. Could Owen not make the shot from here? He briefly considers calling out to him, but then Owen continues, walking out onto the peninsula itself.
"Owen!" Trevor whispers sharply, trying to get his attention without alerting the hog. "Owen, go back! You need to stay on the mainland!"
Either unable to hear or simply not listening, Owen draws closer to the hog, going out further onto the peninsula. Desperately, Trevor draws closer and calls softly again.
"Owen, get back here!" he whispers, not daring to get much louder. "If it rushes you, you need to be able to dodge to the side! Come back!"
Owen still doesn't indicate that he can hear Trevor at all, and draws ever nearer. Eventually, he stops only fifteen feet from the hog, and raises his revolver again. He thumbs the hammer, drawing it back and priming the old school gun to fire.
Just as he is about to shoot however, the hog finishes its drinking and looks up, staring right at Owen. It squeals in shock, and in his surprise Owen stands from his crouching position. The hog, likely feeling cornered on the peninsula, does the only thing it can do.
It charges.
Owen, in his panic, fires immediately. The bullet goes left, taking a hole out of the hog's ear and merely serving to anger it. The hog sprints closer and Trevor tries to draw a bead on it, but between the animal's speed and its proximity to his brother he freezes up, unable to muster up the nerve to take a shot.
Time seems to slow down just before the moment of impact. Trevor can see Owen fumbling with the hammer of his Ruger, trying to ready another shot. The boar, eyes wild with fear, barrels into Owen's legs. Shaking its head side to side, it flings Owen to the left through the air.
In the background, the sun finally touches the horizon, signaling the beginning of sunset. If one were to look closely, at just the right angle, the whole lake would appear illuminated in its orange glow.
Owen lands in the water with a loud splash, and the boar continues onto the mainland. Squealing, it turns to Trevor and digs its hooves into the ground, seemingly ready to charge him as well.
BANG
Unfortunately, the boar finds itself with a slug planted firmly between its eyes. It falls over instantly, with a brand new hole in its forehead for all its trouble.
Trevor quickly slides his shotgun back into its case as he runs over to where Owen had fallen.
"Owen!" he yells. "Owen! Where are you!"
He runs out onto the peninsula, to the spot Owen had been standing, and crouches down to peer into the water. Owen had fallen in right here, Trevor had seen it plain as day, and yet...
The water was clear, illuminated by the setting sun, and no more than a few inches deep here, but somehow Owen was nowhere to be found. In his sheer confusion, Trevor reaches into the water, simply baffled as to what is going on.
His fingers break the surface, and soon his hand is fully submerged. Trevor is about to stand up and call for his brother again when he feels a tugging sensation.
"What?" he asks aloud, looking down into the water at his hand. He tries to yank it out, and is met with an even harder tug against it.
"What the hell is going-"
Before he can finish, the force yanks him completely into the lake. Then, just like that, Trevor is gone.
"Bwah!"
Being forcefully ejected from the water, Trevor cries out in surprise as he soars through the air, landing hard on the rocky ground at the water's edge. With a groan, he stands and stretches, joints popping as he rises to his full height.
"The hell was that all about," he mutters, opening his eyes and surveying his surroundings. His eyes go wide immediately as he takes in the view.
Gone are the trees and greenery around Lake Okeechobee. Somehow, Trevor now finds himself surrounded by impossibly tall, sheer rocky spires, which form a wall around him that seems to stretch for miles. He himself is in a clearing, which is home to a moderately sized pond. A river, coming in through the only gap in the craggy spires, appears to be the pond's source. The earth on which he stands is not soil, but rather tough, uneven stone, not unlike shale or slate.
"Christ almighty," he says breathlessly. "Where the hell am I?"
"Trevor? Anyone? Hello?"
Clutching the gash on his thigh with his left hand, and his Ruger revolver with his right, Owen trudges through a dark and hazy swamp. His mind was on the verge of panic. How had he gotten here? They'd been on the shore of the lake before, but ever since that boar attacked him he'd managed to get lost and end up in this crappy place. For God's sake, this was more like the Everglades than Lake Okeechobee. Heaven forbid an alligator were to show up. He'd probably have a heart attack.
He hears a rustling behind him and freezes. Thumbing the hammer of his revolver, he slowly turns.
"Trevor?" he calls. "Is that you? Jill, maybe?"
The rustling continues, drawing nearer, but he hears no response.
"Oh God, I'd even take Duke at this rate," Owen whines, on the verge of tears. "Guys, please, I just want to go home. This day's just been awful."
The rustling continues, and eventually something else can be heard as well. It takes a moment for Owen to process it, due to the sheer absurdity, but he soon realizes that what he hears is laughter.
Raising a shaky hand, Owen points his revolver at the source of the cackling, unseen though it may be. In his fear he backpedals, only for the horrible laughing to rise in volume. The noise comes to a crescendo as more and more voices join in, all seemingly finding his pitiful state hilarious.
"S-s-s-stay back!" He shouts feebly, not really knowing why. "I'm... I'm w-w-warning you! I'm armed!"
He suddenly stops, having backed into something solid. Slowly turning his head, his pupils shrink in sheer terror as he comes face to face with...
...with something.
"My, my," it coos in a disturbingly feminine voice, its green eyes boring holes through him. "Aren't you just precious."
Author's Note
Never written an MLP story before, or really used this site for that matter. Naturally, I start with the genre that has perhaps the most stigma attached to it of all the kinds of MLP fanworks out there. I barely have an idea where I'm going with this. Forgive me.
Also I'm noticing that posting the text from a word doc left me with 3 line breaks between my paragraphs instead of just one. Had to manually delete all the extra breaks. Can someone tell me how to avoid that?
Prologue 2: Down By The River
"Thank you kindly for all your help today, Big Mac!"
Looking up from the cart he's unhitching himself from, Big Mac eyes his cousin Braeburn for a moment, before simply nodding.
"Eeyup, it was no problem," he replies as he finishes unhooking himself from the cart. He doesn't take his eyes off of Braeburn, noting just how weary his cousin looks. For a moment he considers asking about his troubles, but forgoes it. He knows Braeburn well enough to know he'll start spilling his guts about what ails him on his own soon enough.
True to form, Braeburn gives a sigh, idly watching as Big Mac circles around the cart to start unloading the baskets of apples held within.
"It's just gettin' so stressful round these parts," he begins, "y'know what I mean? Few weeks ago we up and lost contact with Dodge Junction, and anypony who heads that way doesn't come back. Now within the last two weeks, it seems like someone in town's plum gone missin' every few days or so."
"Eeyup," Big Mac offers, just after he stacks another basket in the back of the large barn. He'd already heard all about the problems going on in the area, from Braeburn and from others, but Braeburn liked to explain things and needed to blow off some steam. Big Mac was content to let him ramble.
"Just this mornin' Dixie Whistler up and vanished," his cousin continues, exasperation clear in his voice. "I'm worried half to death about everypony, and about the state of this here town. With so many missin', I didn't think we'd finish buckin' apples on schedule this season."
Big Mac nods as he sets the last basket of apples on the pile, and turns to head out of the barn. He eyes Braeburn, and offers him a reassuring smile. Braeburn smiles back, albeit weakly.
"What I'm tryin' to say, cousin," he continues, "is thanks. We couldn't have done it without you."
Big Mac just shrugs. "Don't mention it."
Braeburn puts on the biggest grin he can muster and slings a foreleg around Big Mac's shoulders as they leave the barn.
"Now I know you need to head back early in the mornin'," he says to Mac, "what to get back to your orchard and all, but have no fear! The folks and I are gonna fix up a grade-A meal as thanks for your help, cousin!"
Big Mac rolls his eyes, but smiles all he same. He'd been happy to come help when he'd gotten Braeburn's letter. They didn't need to make a big deal about it, but it'd be insulting to try and stop them.
"Now hold on just a second here," Braeburn says as they approach his house. They stop near the front porch, and Big Mac can see Braeburn take a bucket over to the water pump.
"Just need to bring some water in," Braeburn explains, placing the bucket beneath the pump. Grasping the pump handle with both hooves, he begins to work it up and down. They wait a few moments, but for all of Braeburn's effort, not a single drop comes forth from the pump.
"Ah horse apples," the yellow pony mutters, tapping the pump with a hoof. "This dang thing's busted again. Oh, I'd hate to bug the neighbors over somethin' like this..."
He picks up the bucket with one of his forelegs, walking towards Big Mac on three legs with practiced ease. "You can let my folks know that I'll be right back. Just need to grab some water from the river, is all."
Big Mac looks down at the bucket for a moment, then puts a hoof on Braeburn's shoulder.
"Let me," he says, looking Braeburn in the eyes.
"Huh? Oh, no need for that Big Mac," his cousin insists. "You're probably tuckered out from buckin' apples all day, and besides, you're our guest!"
It was true, the long day of apple bucking had left Big Mac fairly weary, but one look at Braeburn tells him that his cousin is in far worse shape. There are visible bags under Braeburn's eyes, and his shoulders sag as though he's close to being completely spent. The disappearances were clearly weighing on him even more than he let on.
"Braeburn," Big Mac says, his voice firm and stern. "You're tired. Let me."
Braeburn blinks, surprised by his cousin's tone, but sighs. "Yeah... sure thing. Thanks Mac."
He drops the bucket, letting Big Mac take it in his own hoof, then turns and slowly trots inside. Big Mac nods, then heads down the street. He turns west, squinting his eyes as he faces the setting sun, and follows the dusty road out of town towards the nearby river.
By the time Big Mac reaches the river, the sun has just about set. The various boulders and rocky formations in the area west of Appleloosa cast long, intimidating shadows across the landscape. Being so late in the evening, one would think that anypony else would be in their homes getting ready for supper right around now. Yet, as Big Mac approaches the river, it seems somepony, or rather somebody else is already there.
Getting a closer look as he approaches, it becomes apparent that the other person at the river is one of the buffalo from the local tribe. By their stature, Big Mac guesses they're rather young, though probably older than a foal. There is a filled bucket of water next to them, and they appear to be in the process of filling another one.
Content to leave the buffalo to its own devices, Big Mac silently approaches the river a few feet away and dunks his own bucket into the water. The bloop noise the bucket makes when it hits the water catches the buffalo's attention, causing her (by the sound of her voice Mac guesses she's a "her") to give a startled yelp and nearly drop her bucket.
"Oh!" she exclaims, regaining her bearings. "I uh... didn't hear you walk up. My apologies."
"No problem," Mac says idly as he fills his bucket. "Sorry for frightening you."
"Oh no, don't worry about it," she insists, dipping the bucket back into the water to fill it. She looks at Big Mac for a moment, as though thinking of something, then asks, "I don't recognize you from Appleloosa. Are you new in town?"
"Just visiting," Big Mac replies simply. "My cousin needed help bucking apples. The disappearances have them short-hoofed." He pauses, mulling something over, then adds, "I'm Big Macintosh. Folks call me Big Mac."
"Nice to meet you!" she replies jovially. "My name's Little Strongheart. I'm from the Buffalo Tribe, in the hills just north of here."
She pauses for a moment, looking a bit upset. "I've heard about the disappearances. No one from the tribe has gone missing yet, but hearing about everything that's happening in Appleloosa is just awful. I hope someone does something about it soon."
Big Mac raises an eyebrow. "You hear from Appleloosa often?"
The buffalo's eyes perk up a bit. "Oh yes! Ever since we made peace with the town, Appleloosa and the Buffalo Tribe have had great relations. We've started doing a lot of trading, and every so often there are community potlucks where all the townsfolk and buffalo get together for a great big communal dinner. We hear a lot from the Appleloosans about what goes on."
Big Mac nods. "Sounds nice."
Little Strongheart casts her eyes down again. "It was," she says, "but lately with all the disappearances everyone in Appleloosa has been on edge. The last potluck was called off, since some of the usual organizers went missing. I think the Appleloosans might be starting to suspect us, if only because nobody else lives in the area."
"Don't think so," Big Mac replies, shaking his head. "Seems like you've got a good relationship with the town. That kind of trust doesn't go away without a good-"
He stops suddenly, his ears perking up and swiveling about. He thought he'd heard something. Was it just the wind? No, it sounded like...
"Is something wrong, Big Mac?" Little Strongheart asks, stepping towards him. He puts out a hoof towards her, gesturing for her to be still.
"Somepony's here," he says. "Thought I heard the sound of-"
From the shadow of a large boulder, a chain shoots out and wraps itself around Big Mac's foreleg. In his surprise, he stumbles as a force on the other end yanks him forwards. Little Strongheart yelps in surprise, unsure what to do as Big Mac digs his other three hooves in to stay in place. He skids to a halt and the force on the other end tugs harder, but Mac grits his teeth and yanks back, causing the chain's owner to stumble into view.
A minotaur with a light gray coat and a dark brown mane appears from the shadow of the boulder, glaring at Big Mac with its beady yellow eyes. "Yeesh," it says in a deep bass voice, "I didn't think ponies could get this strong. What are they feeding you mongrels these days, huh?"
"Who are you?!" Little Strongheart yells, the steadiness in her voice surprising Mac a bit. Perhaps she was used to fighting?
"Not your concern," the minotaur replies, flicking the chain so that it unwinds from Big Mac's leg. "Just sit down and shut up, alright? Make this easier on all of us."
"You think I'll listen to somebody like you?" she asks incredulously, lowering her stance and getting ready to fight. "You've got one chance to turn around and leave us alone, before I-"
A whooshing noise can be heard overhead, and Big Mac turns just in time to see Little Strongheart leap away as a pegasus lands hard on the spot she'd been standing on moments before. Its striking orange coat is nearly the same color as the setting sun, and if Big Mac were to guess was probably how it avoided their notice for so long. The pegasus looks up, grinning eerily at the young buffalo.
"Hey, you're pretty quick," he says. "Heh, not bad. Fast reflexes will help you out when you're working for us."
"Working for you?" Strongheart repeats, confused. "Why would we ever do that?"
"Because you have no choice!" a shrill voice responds. Suddenly, a diamond dog of short stature hops up from the shadows onto the minotaur's shoulder.
"Think of us as... 'recruiters'," the diamond dog says. "We go around looking for able-bodied ponies to work for us, and then we snatch 'em up! Hehehehehahahahaha!"
Casually, the minotaur reaches up and flicks the diamond dog off of his shoulder. "Get off of me, Rodent, and stop explaining things to them. It's a waste of time, they don't need to know anything."
It seems apparent to Big Mac that these three are the ones responsible for the disappearances happening recently, or at the very least they represent the larger group behind it. Frowning deeply, he snorts and rushes the pegasus.
Hearing the thumping of hooves, the pegasus turns at the last moment. "Hey, the heck is thaaaaaAAAAT?!"
The last word becomes a shout as Big Mac bowls him over, knocking the pegasus to the ground and pinning him under hoof. "Where are the others you foalnapped," he growls.
"Heh," the orange pegasus chuckles. "Back at the hideout, doing their new jobs. Like you'll soon be doing, heheh."
Big Mac prepares to question him further, but he feels the minotaur's chain wrap around one of his back legs. With a grunt of astonishment he is flung back, hitting the ground near the minotaur.
"You're a good find," the hulking bovine says, putting a hoof on Big Mac's back to keep him pinned. "Real strong, though it might take a while to break you. You'll get a lot done once we get you to work."
"Big Mac!" Little Strongheart yells, rushing towards the minotaur to free him. The diamond dog jumps in front of her, cackling madly.
"No can do missy! You're going to end up like he is, trapped and unable to... AUGH!"
The tiny canine fails utterly to stop Little Strongheart's charge, getting casually knocked aside by the young buffalo. However, as she draws near the minotaur keeping Big Mac pinned, the burly biped merely slaps her away with his free hand.
"Hmph, lousy pest," the minotaur complains, as Little Strongheart stumbles from the hit. She tries to regain her footing to give it another go, but the orange pegasus springs into her view.
"Hope you didn't forget about me, sweetheart," he says, then raises his forelegs and shoves her hard. Strongheart staggers back, eventually smacking into a small tree on the edge of the riverbank. The old, wizened tree creaks under her weight, and she groans as she tries to right herself again.
"Quit toying with her and let's finish up here," the minotaur orders, before turning back to Big Mac still struggling under his hoof.
"Sorry pony, but between my muscles and my sheer weight, you're outclassed. Now hold still."
The minotaur picks Big Mac up by the scruff of his neck, but this gives the farm pony ample room to lash out. Turning forcefully, he drives a hoof into the minotaur's jaw. His captor lets out a grunt of pain and surprise, dropping Big Mac to clutch his mouth.
Big Mac hits the ground hooves-first, and turns to survey the area. The diamond dog is still sprawled uselessly on the ground, but the pegasus is standing over Little Strongheart with a hoof raised to strike her. Not hesitating a second, Big Mac rushes towards her, but to his dismay he feels the familiar sensation of the minotaur's chain wrapping around his leg once more.
Jerking to a halt with a grunt of pain, Big Mac turns back to see the minotaur still clutching his jaw with one hand, the other outstretched and holding the chain.
"A good hit, pony," the minotaur growls, "but I won't let you get a second one. Now come here."
As the minotaur begins dragging him closer, Big Mac turns just in time to see the pegasus strike Little Strongheart in the chest with a hoof. He tries in vain to scramble towards them as the young buffalo cries out in pain.
CRACK
For one horrible second, Big Mac thinks the cracking noise is one of Little Strongheart's bones, but to his simultaneous relief and terror he sees the small tree she rests on give way and fall into the rushing river behind them. With a gasp, Little Strongheart falls with the tree, dropping into the water and gripping onto the floating tree for dear life as she is carried downstream at an alarming rate.
"Big Mac!" she yells again, unsure what else to do as she is carried away. The orange pegasus leaps into the air, ready to pursue, but looks first to the minotaur. The minotaur, it seemed, was the one in charge.
"Leave her," the bovine says bluntly. "I'll be telling the boss about your ineptitude when we get back."
He looks down at the unmoving diamond dog, who can be heard snoring. To Big Mac it would've been comical, were the situation not so dire.
"Collect Rodent," the minotaur says to the pegasus, before turning its gaze back to Big Mac. "We're heading back. At least we've got something to show for our trouble."
Author's Note
The Neil Young song, not the Milky Chance one.
And that's the second half of the prologue. This was going to be Chapter 1 and it would've cut back to Trevor after the scene with Big Mac, Little Strongheart, and the "recruiters", but the transition felt jarring and I decided it would be better to let this be a second prologue thing. So this is what you get.
I was worried about having Big Mac actually speak in complete sentences. I wanted to have him still be curt and minimalist with his speech, but without sounding stupid. I think I found a good balance, but I'm not sure.
