Author's Note

Hello, everyone. Skip down to actual story if you want action. Continue reading my note if you want to hear about my hiatus and the specifics of this chapter.

I know this was not supposed to be released until May, but I am doing so now for your pleasure. This means I am still on hiatus, and will remain so until said deadline in order to continue with normal life.

I am aware that I'm using a very limited variation of words, and that I'm probably portraying timberwolves incorrectly, as I haven't seen any of the episodes highlighting them.

Please enjoy the latest chapter. Updates will be more or less regular after my hiatus has run its course.

3. The Life of One Who Has Long Travelled

Chambya the changeling queen was built for long-distance flight, in order to travel far and wide to help her race thrive. Even so, the miles eventually took their toll on her hole-filled wings.

The sun was stretching into evening, sinking quickly. Luna's moon would take its place in the sky soon enough.

Why are you doing this? Cerise questioned.

She did not hesistate to answer.

"Because, I have burning questions, like you, but moreso, because I am on a quest."

We're almost there, High Queen, she thought.

The reply was prompt: Hurry up with it, I don't have all day to intimidate the weakling!

I shall.

That instant, she pulled into the cave that held the hive entrance. Everything was dark, wet and rocky, with strings of bioluminescent slime hanging on the walls. The light they cast revealed all that could be seen in a faint green, making Cerise sick to her stomach.

A scattering of drones possessing large, vivid purple jaws guarded the entrance. She had thought there'd be more than five. Two of them stepped forwards.

"What's your number?" said the one who looked more imposing.

"I have no need of an identification number," Chambya snarled, "I am a lesser queen, and the High Queen has called me here."

Does she, too, have problems with authentication?

If Cerise had been in control of her body right now, she would have raised an eyebrow.

"How do we know if you're supposed to be in another hive?" The guards were extremely stubborn.

Tell them I did send you, thought Chrysalis impatiently.

Chambya responded with a hiss.

That's not going to work, High Queen...

Sighs were inaudible during mental communication, but that certainly did not keep Chrysalis from exhaling a rather long one.

Then, the guards snapped to attention as she furiously yelled, "I COMMANDED HER TO COME HERE, YOU FOOLS! HAS CAPTAIN PHARYNX LEFT ONLY THE STUPIDEST OF HIS PATROL BEHIND TO PROTECT MY HIVE?!" into their minds.

They parted as quickly as if they had been struck by lightning and allowed Lesser Queen Chambya, who now held an air of proud indifference, to pass through the cave into the actual hive.

It was filled with catacombs, wide chambers, tunnels, rocky ledges, cliffs and gaps in the most innocent-looking places, all illuminated by the moist, sticky slime, which seemed to be strung everywhere, even on the floor, at times.

This was an extremely dangerous place for ponies, going far beyond the risk of bumping into a changeling, being drained and left to die (or worse).

Even though she had never set hoof in Chrysalis' hive, Chambya navigated it expertly, allowing internal instincts to guide her.

Changelings were incredibly resilient, but her already sore wings were getting worse from constant use. Flying was required to get across many sections of the hive.

On the way to the throne chamber, they passed several semi-translucent chrysalises, with the silhouettes of growing or moulting changelings inside.

Somehow, Chambya avoided the vast majority of the slime, her hole-filled hooves delicately yet effortlessly picking theur way through.

If changelings had the capability of such automatic daintiness, why did they not use it?

Up ahead stood another line of guards, blocking the open entryway to Her Majesty's throne room.

Ever heard of doors? Cerise commented, mostly to herself.

"Quiet," Chambya hushed.

For one awkward moment, the guards and they stared at one another. Then, Chrysalis' voice floated over from her vast room.

"I sense that she has arrived. Guards, allow her access! Now, if you value possessing every piece of your chitin!"

The guards stepped aside within the space of a single second. Chambya entered, acting quite highly and mightily for her rank.

The High Queen was not in the mood for this. She rose up from her throne, where she had previously been reclining.

"Remember that you are imprisoned with the weakling, fool. Before I deem you fit to rule your own hive, you must get rid of it. Until then, you will stay somewhere in the Morphax network. Is that understood?"

"Yes, High Queen." She reluctantly lowered her head in submission.

A few minutes ago, Cerise had begun straining for control over the other part of herself, thinking as hard as she possible could. She would have been perspiring in streams from the extertion as she poured her very soul into fighting.

It paid off.

Surrounded by a burst of living, glowing color, the appearance of the lifeform standing at Chrysalis' hooves suddenly reverted to that of the dark brown pegasus. In her mind, Chambya gave a loud cry of shock, inspiring a headache.

Cerise could almost see the lethal queen transform visually, but not literally. Her mind was shifting approach and tactics. She had not remained High Queen this ling for no reason - she was cunning and knowledgable, an ideal leader. The changeling looked down at her prey, a cruel smile of mirth coming to her fanged face.

"You want answers, foolish weakling, do you not? You long to know what makes you the creature you have lately been becoming?"

Cerise gulped nervously and nodded, causing her turquoise-and-red mane to rustle.

"Your mother is situated in thus very hive of mine, Morphax, though you are not ready to meet her yet, I fear." A wicked expression vanished from her monstrous features as quickly as it had come. She took a deep, content breath, comprehending that she was fully in control of the situation.

"I shall give you two choices, imbecile: surrender to Lesser Queen Chambya and live freely here, with the chance to see your mother when I deem you ready, or stay in your current form and suffer at the hunger of my subjects."

"I'll never surrender!" yelled Cerise, stamping the floor with one hoof. The sound echoed through the room. Her decision had been made.

"Very well, I see you have chosen the latter." The queen promptly exited the chamber, having spent all the time she needed with her prisoner. As she left, she mentally gave all nearby members of her kind several commands.

Feast, my little grubs and nymphs! When you are finished, prevent her escape with fresh mire. Watch her, and let her go free if she yields to Chambya. If she does not, put her in a chrysalis for some time.

With that, Cerise was left screaming, as the starving swarm hastily opened their mouths and extended their tongues to drain her love.

Far away, in the wild and untamed depths of the Everfree Forest, Woodland Canopy was searching for a certain thing. The forest was a dangerous place to live, if one didn't want to fall prey to hungry timberwolves, but it allowed him to be elusive to society. He never left his house without bringing fire or checking his wings to ensure they were fit for flying. If he didn't he would have had no means of defense or escape.

His bright green coat and faded whitish blue mane didn't help. They were like a blatant invitation through the night, saying, "Hey, fresh pony here!"

He nimbly lunged through the dense undergrowth, clenching a bright torch in his teeth. Every root was a new problem his mind was pressured to solve in mere seconds.

But he couldn't keep it up for long.

The next one was his downfall, literally. He tripped on the bothersome thing, which left a bleeding scrape on his leg as he sailed through the air. When he landed headfirst in the thorny brush, his torch extinguished immediately.

Pegasus feathers.

He could practically feel the wolves drifting toward him.

When he tried to fly out of their range, he discovered that his wings had been caught up in the spiky tangle of exotic plants they called the "forest floor." There was no escape this time.

Surrendering to fate's whim, he hung his head.

My family's dead and Equestria hates me, he thought, so why do I even make an attempt to go on living anyway?

As his hooves scraped through the mess of roots, searching for the solid ground, he suddenly noticed an ominous glow of light blue underneath them.

Whatever was down there was better than getting eaten alive, he decided. He struggled against the throns, ignoring the terrible pain it was causing him. He must escape!

The pack had appeared from the gloomy dark of the forest, and they were hungrily closing in.

Back, forth, right, left. He could feel entangled feathers dropping from his wings and releasing tension. It wasn't too late.

Not yet, if he fought for it.

Before he had time to notice, the stallion fell through the thin layer of weeds, landing with a terrific splash. He was deep underwater, cloaked in the eerie light of a fathomless pool.

He desperately flapped his damaged wings, even though they were useless when submerged.

Air. Is what I need. He forced himself into doing an unnatural sort of paddling with all four hooves. It was a fight against the bright turquoise water. It was invisibly putting pressure on his lungs.

Up he went, into that blessed direction - the opposite of death and mire and depths and drowning. More loose feathers detached from the unrecognizable appendages on his back as he swam.

Would he live, or not?

Just as the green pegasus was about to break the surface, he glimpsed the wooden jaws of those ravenous predators hovering above the pool. Waiting.

He rapidly allowed himself to sink.

Under the water, one found thinking to be almost spontaneous. It was because of this that Woodland Canopy realized he had found what he was looking for: The Pool of Oblivion.

This pool was an obscure legend, fabled to consist partially of the Mirror Pool's water (for it was an offshoot) and partially of the raw, wild, untamed magic openly present in the Everfree.

The waters of this pool were rumored to have the extraordinary power of erasing your existence - or, at least making everyone else forget it.

As he saw it, it was a way to start over. But a little quick thinking never hurt.

The stallion was absolutely certain he had identified the pack's alpha. Even in the night's jet, it was easy to tell. The brute was enormous, with jagged, thorny branches poking out from his back, and hardly a leaf to balance it all.

Fast as lightning, he jumped from the pool and splashed its enchanted water right in the alpha's unsuspecting face.

After he had done this, the other timberwolves instantly turned to the now new stranger, crowding around him. Thinking they were playing, the former leader snapped at them. He started a fight.

Woodland ran, taking advantage of the diversion. He ran for miles, where he normally would have flown. He was sturdy and tough, if a bit cross (losing his family was not a particularly joyful thing).

Who would have expected he'd accomplish his goal by accident?

Now, he could go back and start his life anew, for, in the world, no memory (and therefore, no hatred) remained.

A long time ago, Woodland had been a happy, reckless carefree young stallion, but that was before he fell in love with a changeling. He was devastated to have lost her to the bond of her hive.

The pegasus stopped running once he reached the makeshift "home" he had created for himself. It could be described as down-to-earth, but certainly not in a literal manner, for the large, organic structure had been hoisted into the treetops using his own strength.

Consisting mostly of twisted branches and the dried fibers of wild, possibly dangerous plants, it resembled a gigantic weaver bird's nest. He put extra care into strengthening its complex braided masses, created for holding the dwelling in place every single day.

And he had made a living in that forest for a number of years, all by himself.

Even he hadn't quite convinced himself that this nightmare was most assuredly reality.

Finding his once fine wings rendered useless, Woodland proceeded to clamber up the trunk of the aspen nearest to his "nest."

Which, of course, was not easy with hooves.

Big, round, smooth hooves clashing against both the papery thin and rough, wrinkly sections of bark. Sweat streamed down his neck as he gradually realized his own security measures were too much for him. He slid back down, scraping his fetlocks.

What to do now?

He'd planned on leaving the Everfree after gathering his few possessions up, but that route was blocked off now. The door was closed.

He would just have to go on, wouldn't he?

Sighing in defeat, he glanced back up at the suspended structure which would never be reached again. It held the only thing he really wanted - the one and only family picture.

It would be frivolous to say he lived for a picture, but that small print was his physical treasure to remember them by, a minute thread reaching through the hazy, sparkling dust in the vast caverns of time to connect two drastically different eras.

He squeezed his eyes shut, mentally going over the image that had frozen a moment long past for all eternity.

Maxilla, beloved Maxilla, with her beautiful, translucent turquoise mane and her gentle, tranquil eyes. One might claim there was hardly any genetic variation in changelings, but, if you really got to know one, you'd be able to tell them apart from the swarm by one infinitesimal quirk.

And the tiny filly, such a queer thing (ugly by the standards of some), yet beloved all the same. It was a pity they hadn't gotten to name her before the last meeting.

Then, he thought of how he looked in that picture. Younger, more carefree, and probably a whole lot more civil. He didn't know what his appearance betrayed now - there was no time to go searching for clear pools of water, and sitting, staring at a mere reflection was a terrible way to waste a life.

Maybe he'd do it for a mirror of Maxilla, safe and living and well, but not himself. Never himself. Vanity was a disease of pride, he thought.

The chartreuse stallion tore himself from the musings he had been making over the past.

He must pull himself forward and start anew.

This night, it was the night of the embarkment upon his journey back to real life.