The World Turned Upside Down

Chapters

1.1 | Alone
1.3 | The New Moon
1.4 | Deep Cuts
1.5 | Stone-Cold
1.6 | Echoes
1.7 | Judge and Jury
1.8 | Relapse
2.1 | A Strong Word
2.2 | A Tell-Tale Heart
2.3 | Games People Play
2.4 | Molossoi
2.5 | The Third Wheel
2.6 | What Lies Beneath
2.7 | A Price to Pay
1.2 | Signs of Life

1.1 | Alone

Throbbing.

That’s the first thing I feel as I wake up — a terrible, unrelenting throbbing in my head. I can hear it too, and see it, pulsing in painful flashes of red and white. If this is anything like a hangover, I swear I’ll never drink another drop of alcohol again. Not that I ever have.

My face scrunches as I try to sit up, only to groan and fall back down as the pounding doubles in strength. I bring my hands to my head and cradle it as best I can, but I know there’s not much I can do; time is the best remedy for this sort of thing. Or at least, that’s what I’ve always told myself.

I’ve never been a huge fan of medication. It’s not that I don’t trust my GP, because I do, it’s just that I’ve always preferred to do things my own way, without help. Even if it’s just a tablet.

That being said, I could really do with some meds right about now.

With nothing to do but wait, my eyes open, then slam shut as the sun meets their gaze, burning a large, bright dot into my sight. I hate those little things, whatever they’re called, and this one will probably take half an hour to clear up. So, on top of the splitting headache, I’ve been temporarily blinded. Perfect. What a lovely way to start the day.

But this wasn’t the start of the day. Otherwise I’d still be in bed, instead of…

I shield my eyes and look to my left. There’s grass. A lot of it. I can feel it on my cheek. Under my back. Brushing against my legs and arms. There are flowers too, and a few rocks and pebbles. Some way off in the distance is a forest on a hill, which… doesn’t look too inviting, for some reason. I swing my head to the right and grimace as the throbbing strikes once more, then open my eyes to find more of the same, but this time with a few mountains blocking the horizon.

I try sitting up again, struggling to ignore my aching head, but I’m stopped by a sharp pain from my knee and slump to one side. For a while, I wait there, panting as I build the courage to examine myself, then wince as I lean forward and stare at my leg.

My ankle’s red and swollen, but not nearly as much as my knee, and neither of them like being touched or moved. They’re not broken, though, because I’m sure the pain would be a lot worse if they were — fractured, maybe, but I don’t have any experience to draw from. I hope I still don’t.

I squint and look around. A little bird hops and chirps through the grass, and a pair of butterflies chase each other across the meadow. The sky is clear and blue, but the sun doesn’t beat down as it usually does — it feels… amiable. There’s a cool breeze too, swaying the grass in long, gentle waves, and the air smells clean. Cleaner than I ever thought it could. There are no buildings, no roads, no anything. Just rolling hills and wilderness.

Where in the world am I? And how did I get here?

I was walking. I think. No, I was. I can’t remember where to, or why, but I was walking. Along a footpath. And then I was falling. That explains the busted leg, except… I didn’t trip. At least, I’m pretty sure I didn’t. It’s hard to tell. It’s like I was falling forward, but being pulled back at the same time.

But that doesn’t make any sense, and it doesn’t explain why I fell for as long as I did, or the rainbow-whirlwind thing I saw, or think I saw, or… where I am now. Or why this stupid headache won’t leave me alone for ten seconds.

Whatever happened, it all feels too real to be a dream, and there’s no way anything’s going to happen if I stay here and twiddle my thumbs. I need to get up and pick a direction and start walking — or limping, as the case may be — and hope that I’m lucky enough to find someone or something that can tell me where I am, and, preferably, where home is.

My phone’s lying on the ground a little way off to the left, and my backpack just a little further. I hobble over, pick it up and switch it on, and wait as it boots up in its typical fashion of taking forever, slinging the bag over my shoulders. It’s an old hand-me-down from Dad, and I’ve been meaning to switch it out for a newer model, but never got around to it, mostly because of all the mobile plans and extras. Of course, that was before I found myself in the middle of nowhere.

I stop when I think of Dad. Mum too. And I suddenly remember why I was walking.

The phone buzzes and brings me back. It shows the date and time and offers me a keypad, on which I type my passcode. No signal, predictably, and I’ll bet there’s no internet either. I switch it off and put it back with a huff. It was worth a shot at least, but telling myself that doesn’t make me feel any better.

Scanning ground again and triple-checking my pockets, all I find are my house keys and wallet, along with my credit card, learner’s permit, student ID, a chilli stand coupon, a few coins and a twenty dollar note. What use they’ll be out here, I’m not sure, but something’s better than nothing, I suppose. But what I really need is food and water. Dad’s fascination with the whole ‘man against nature’ narrative never rubbed off on me, but I don’t need to be a survivalist to know the essentials.

I just hope I won’t have to pull off a Bear Grylls.

The headache’s starting to fade. It’s strange. Granted, this whole situation is strange, but as well as causing me the most pain, it’s raising the biggest question: why? I mean, I don’t remember hitting my head as I fell, and it doesn’t feel like it either, so… why? And why is it so strong? It’s like the time I stubbed my big toe against the fireplace, but in my head instead of my foot.

Is it a migraine? I’m too young for those, aren’t I?

Best not think about it, in case I make it worse.

I take a deep breath and start heading for the mountains.

My mind wanders as I travel, and I begin thinking about how bizarre this all is. I feel like I should be angry, or scared, but I’m not. And I don’t know why. There I was, going about my business, and then I suddenly find myself far away from home with no food, no water, no tools, no training, and no connection to the outside world beyond how far I can shout. If that’s not a reason to get mad, I don’t know what is.

If anything, I guess I feel… bothered. Like it’s some minor inconvenience — another chore on a Sunday of housework. Maybe the gravity of the situation hasn’t sunk in yet. Or maybe, somehow, that’s how I really feel.

I blink and shake my head. I can’t change what’s happened, only my response, and those thoughts were the wrong response. Now is the time for action.

So much action.

Miles and miles of action.

Nothing but sunshine and rainbows from here on out. Minus the rainbows, of course.

…Maybe it’s better if I stop thinking for a while.

The terrain makes a sudden dive and I stop at the edge. It’s an overgrown riverbed, by the looks of it, and it’s a steep drop. Too steep, perhaps, but I don’t see another way around, and the rest of the bank doesn’t seem any more forgiving.

What’s really catching me up, though, is the tall grass in the centre of the trench. I’m no wildlife expert, but I know that a hidden ant nest is the least of my worries, and I can’t risk a bite without first aid. Snakes and spiders don’t really scare me, but what they’re capable of does. Still, this is the only way to the mountain, and seeing as I have to choose between wandering aimlessly and wandering slightly less aimlessly…

Well, the question spoke for itself.

Sitting down and shuffling forward, I descend the slope, wincing as I try to keep my bad leg straight. The going is slow and methodical, keeping with the journey up to this point, but I eventually reach the bottom and stand back up, dusting myself off as I do so. Then I pause, inspecting the way ahead. I don’t see anything, nor do I hear anything, so I suppose it’s safe to cross. If I really wanted to. Which I do. Unless…

I hobble over, pick up a stone and toss it in.

No reaction.

I pick up a larger one and throw it as hard as I can.

Still nothing.

I limp a little closer and examine the channel one last time before I take the plunge.

What’s wrong with me? Of course there’s nothing — I’m just being paranoid, aren’t I? If I don’t see anything and I don’t hear anything, it means there’s probably nothing.

I mean, I can’t be that unlucky, can I?

I grit my teeth and begin to cross.

Three metres. That’s all it takes. Three metres of ankle-deep mud and I’m beat.

That’s sad.

I don’t care if I’m injured; that’s just plain sad.

I know for a fact my old PE teacher would be disappointed, even if she’d hide it behind a box of sliced oranges. Sure, she was crazy, but Miss Bishop was a special kind of crazy — the irresistible kind. At least, that’s how I remember her. Every Friday she’d tell the class about where she’d been and where she planned on going, the places she’d seen, the people she’d met…

It was like story time in kindergarten all over again, but better.

In retrospect, of course, most of her stories sound a bit fanciful, but I like to think they’re true, like the time she spent eight weeks in the jungles of Borneo, befriending and nesting with wild orangutans.

Or when she crossed the Swiss Alps from east to west, camping in caves, on mountain tops, dangling from cliffs.

Or when she scaled and skydived from the Burj Khalifa.

Or when she met with the people of North Sentinel Island, after negotiating with the Indian government for several months.

Or when she walked from the North to South Pole, passing through every capital city in the Americas.

She was a living legend. A schoolyard hero. My hero.

And then she was gone.

Slipped and fell as she was climbing Mount Everest.

Some students started rumours that she was actually a secret agent, and her disappearance was a plot to send her deeper undercover.

I wanted to believe them. For the longest time, I desperately wanted to believe them… but when the rescue teams found her climbing gear… that kind of shut everyone up.

I remember the service in the assembly hall not long after. It was horrible. Not the service itself — that was fine — but sitting down and listening to everything the staff and councillors had to say… it just didn’t feel right. I didn’t know what it was, and I still don’t, but I didn’t want to be there.

I’m not going to end up like her. Not now, not ever. I’m going to climb this mountain, find my way home and everything will be fine. All I need to do is push.

I reach the base of the slope and begin my ascent. It’s gradual enough that I won’t stumble, but it seems to go on forever, and the terrain’s impassable halfway up. But I remind myself that I don’t have to climb the whole thing, just high enough. I check my phone again and discover that I’ve been walking for a grand total of three hours, twenty-seven minutes, and if I wasn’t sweating before, I am now.

The rocks are a little loose up here, so I have to watch my step. I can’t tell how far I’ve climbed, and I’m not going to check just yet — the moment I stop, the exhaustion will hit me like a sack of weights. I know because I’ve missed the university bus a few times and had to run the whole way, and that’s one of the reasons I never leave home without the Walkman. The first plateau I find, I’ll have a rest, but not a second earlier.

Soon, though, the adrenaline wears off, and all I’m left with is an arduous hike. The only way to cope is to break it down; one more step, one more boulder, one more patch of dirt, and if I can make it that far, I can drag myself a little further. And after a while, that’s basically what I’m doing.

If I’m supposed to be proud of my effort, I don’t feel it — I always imagined my greatest adversary being a masked thug in a downtown alley at night. Something physical. Tangible. Something with a face.

But no. As it turns out, my greatest adversary is chance.

A wall of rock blocks my path. The edge is too high and it appears to span all the way around the mountain, and I’m in neither the condition nor the mood to climb it, so I sit down, turn around and collapse. And when my breath is caught, I sit up and wipe the sweat from my face, then shield my eyes and look to my right.

The landscape is not nearly as bland as it first seemed — grass covers everything, but there are ridges, knolls, shallow valleys, and pockets of trees scattered all throughout the range. The same can be said for the terrain in front of me, though it seems to even out somewhat in the distance, but on my left, snow-capped mountains sprout from the horizon… and the moment I see them, I’m enthralled.

They are massive. Unnaturally so. I can tell because they’re far enough away that the sky and the earth fade into each other, and even there they stand like towering pyramids of freshly cut marble. In fact, what’s grabbing my attention more than their size is how pristine they look — no crags, no blemishes, no sign of erosion. I’ve heard about the beauty of the natural world, but this is something else entirely. This is… simply… mesmerising…

But it won’t solve the problem at hand.

I pull out my phone and turn it on, then select the camera function and zoom in as far as it will go. There’s too much contrast and the image quality’s horrible, but it’s twenty times further than I can see on my own, and that’s what matters. I hold it up and begin my search anew, and after about fifteen minutes of constant checking and rechecking, I conclude that I am, in fact, alone. And despite the lush environment, there’s not a single drop of water.

Except… there was.

Sometimes I amaze myself with my own stupidity.

I slap my forehead and look down at the riverbed; where there’s mud, there’s water, so if I follow the trail, I’m bound to find something. Uphill, it melts into a forest — the same forest, I realise, that I didn’t like the look of. From up here, though, it seems harmless enough, and when I zoom in on the trees closer to its centre, I see a clear, circular gap in the canopy.

Whatever grudge I held towards it has suddenly vanished — it could have been a jungle of thorns for all I care and it’d still be the most beautiful thing I’ve seen all day.

It’s wrong to get my hopes up, but it’s hard not to.

I switch my phone off and put it away, but just as I’m about to heave myself to my feet, something stops me.

A sound.

A very quiet sound — almost unnoticeable if it weren’t for a dip in the wind.

I sit frozen on my side, waiting for it to come again so I can pin its direction, and my patience is rewarded with a slight crack and a soft rumble.

A bulbous mass of clouds creeps over the horizon on my right. It’s not particularly dark, nor does it seem any more malicious than the average afternoon shower, but it’s so tall and vast that I’m surprised I missed it until now.

Another streak of lightning gives me pause, but I soon reject the thought; I know I’m not supposed to stand under trees in a thunderstorm, but I really don’t want to get wet, especially with my phone at stake.

Besides, there are hundreds of trees in that forest alone, and thousands in the surrounding landscape.

Really, what are the odds?

I can’t be that unlucky.

As always, it begins with a single drop.

I wipe the back of my neck and inspect my fingers to make sure it’s real, then look up and wince as another dashes against my cheek. They’re tiny — no bigger than grains of rice — but when it rains, it pours, and when I turn my head round, I see a wall of water approaching.

Bumping my stride up to a lopsided skip, I turn back and force myself onward, tailing the trench with a renewed sense of urgency. Of course, after about seven hours of travelling with a dodgy limb, it isn’t as easy as switching gears in a car; it’s a little too heavy on my foot, and I feel the headache threaten to resurface, but it gets the job done.

A flash flickers in the corner of my eye, followed by a thunderous growl so powerful, so… raw, that I feel it through the earth. It rattles me. Shakes me to the core. Makes me feel cold and hollow. And vulnerable. Like I’m a mouse fleeing a tiger — I know I can’t, but I still try, because I must. Granted, the consequences would be less severe, but in all my life, I’ve never been more than an arm’s length away from anything electronic, and I’m not about to lose the one thing that separate me from a caveman.

Lone droplets become a steady drizzle. It’s not enough to dampen anything — in fact, it feels more cool than wet, which is somewhat of a relief — but it’s a signal for what’s to come and how close it is, so I swing my arms harder and leap a little harder. I’m still pretty far away from the forest, and the pain in my leg is building, but if I can curb the urge to collapse for just half an hour more, I might make it.

Might.

The drops grow larger, heavier, more numerous, and the wind blows in short, ferocious gusts — so fierce that I almost lose balance the first few times. Over the racket of the gale and the soft pitter-patter of the rain on my skin, I can hear the steady drumroll of the coming deluge, and the crack of thunder as bolts of lightning tear across the sky and illuminate the earth. Try as I do, though, I can’t run any faster.

Ten minutes. Just ten more minutes. That’s all I need.

It finally arrives — a torrential cascade, so sudden that I barely have enough time to register the fact before my clothes are drenched, and so heavy that it feels like I’m standing against a waterfall. There’s not much I can do for my phone, except try to keep my trousers under what little shelter my back provides. But doing that slows me down, and every moment spent being soaked to the bone is a moment too many.

I let out a long and overdue roar of frustration and force myself to sprint the last few metres, and then fall to my hands and knees when I’m safely inside.

I stay like that for… I don’t know how long. Ten, twenty minutes, maybe? A bit more, a bit less? I don’t care anymore. I just want to get this whole thing over and done with. And if every other day is going to be like this, the sooner the better.

It’s dark in the forest. Darker than I thought it would be. But at least it’s dry, relatively speaking. Droplets trickle from the leafy canopy, some landing in my hair and on my shoulders, but imperfection is a small price to pay for the safety it offers. There aren’t any paths that I can see, which I should have expected, considering the isolation, so I limp around bushes and continue following the empty riverbed, leaning against a tree every so often to make sure I’m not being followed myself. By what, I don’t know.

I’m suddenly reminded of a similar incident from grade seven, barring a few obvious details, of course. I’d said something nasty to someone I didn’t like in English class, and, naturally, Mister Walsh had heard everything. He was normally just the Vice Principal, but he was acting as our substitute for the day, and he was notorious for his hard-line approach to bullying in all its forms.

To be fair, that’s what I was doing, and the more I think back on it, the worse I feel, but everyone knew he often mistook friendly banter for insults, and that soured the mood with a lot of kids. Or the kids I hung out with, anyway.

My punishment, he decided, was to stay after school and clean up the main undercover area. Every square inch. Including under the benches and tables.

There were food wrappers, crumbs, bits of leftover lettuce, carrot shavings, tuna, a slice of cheese so mouldy one could hardly call it cheese, and plenty of other rancid goodies hiding in the corners for me to find. And then I had to scrub the floor clean with a steel brush and a small bucket of soapy water, and I knew I couldn’t let a single stain pass, or else Walsh would have one of his talks with me the next morning.

I really hated those. Even now, hearing the phrase ‘strong word’ makes me cringe. I can’t remember anything specific about them, which may be for the better, but none of them were pleasant.

When I finished, it was about half past six in the evening, three hours after closing; the sun had set, the entire school was locked up and the carpark was empty. My parents, as it happened, didn’t get off work on Thursdays until about eight o’clock, which meant I had to run all the way across town in the dark.

Suffice to say, it wasn’t fun. I’d walked around on my own before, fetching groceries, running errands, so I knew my way well enough, but things change at night. Rumours about all the creepy stuff happening after sunset didn’t sound so silly when I was the only one on the streets.

After a full hour of nonstop jogging and looking over my shoulder, keeping to the middle of the road when I could, I finally made it home, and Mum and Dad arrived shortly after. Walsh must have forgotten to call them, because they didn’t say anything, so I didn’t say anything either. It was a good idea at the time, but it made things a little awkward in the next parent-teacher interview.

I think Walsh was fired shortly after graduation — something about overstepping his bounds as a caretaker. I’m still not sure how I feel about it, because, sure, he was uptight and bad-tempered, but I deserved it. And if nothing else, it taught me that being a janitor should be one of the highest paid jobs in the world.

If I were to guess why he was the way he was, I’d say he was bullied when he was younger, and thought it was his duty to set teens like me straight. And he succeeded. Sort of. He set me on the right path, at least.

But it took something a little closer to home to do the trick.

A shrub I thought I’d cleared catches my foot and I stumble a few steps, before finally losing balance and landing hard on my shoulder. Punching the ground, I take a look around to see where my carelessness has brought me.

To my surprise, a small lake lies just a few metres from where I’m resting, its surface dancing as the storm rages overhead.

A sigh of relief escapes me and I crawl to its edge, sitting beneath the shelter of an oak on the bank. The soil here is damp and sticks to my pants, but I’m well beyond caring at this point; all I want to do is drink.

After a quick inspection, I determine the water is sufficiently clean, then dip a hand in, bring it to my mouth and take a sip. It’s surprisingly cool, and maybe… a little… sweet? Or is my mind already playing tricks on me?

Whatever the reason, there’s a whole reservoir of fresh, clean water staring me right in the face, and it’s all mine. I plunge the same hand in over and over and over again until my throat’s no longer dry, then drag myself a little further and wash my face. Chilly, but refreshing. It’s no hot shower, but it’ll have to do.

I pull away from the water’s edge and sit against the oak, head back, legs straight, arms resting in my lap, watching the storm go by.

It’s actually quite peaceful when I don’t think about anything, and instead let my senses fill the void. There’s the rain, of course, mixing with scent of damp earth, wood and foliage. Thunder comes in gentle rumbles far off in the distance, and while they don’t have a smell, they’re strangely soothing. I remember lightning can strike anywhere, anytime, but I’m either too relaxed or too drained to care. Probably both.

Besides, it’d all be over before I knew what hit me.

I chuckle, then realise what a dark thought that was and my smile wilts.

It’s not healthy to be thinking like that, is it? Especially less than a day into this odyssey I’ve found myself on. Who knows? Maybe I was never sane to begin with. It would certainly explain a lot about my younger self. For all I know, it might even explain how I got here; I could have blacked out on my way to… wherever I was heading, and then sleepwalked myself to oblivion. To another dimension. To another plane of existence.

Yes, that’s it: I am ascendant — a guru who achieved nirvana on his daily walk, and this wonderful land, this boundless paradise, is my cosmic reward. Every leaf, every blade of grass, every grain of dirt, every drop of water… All mine. All for me.

All for my lonesome self.

I heave a sigh and droop my head. Even when I stop thinking, I can’t.

That’s when I notice a little blur in the corner of my eye.

I look up and my head turn left, and freeze when I see… something sitting on the edge of the lake. It has a short, scaly body, a long, stocky tail with red spines, batlike wings, birdlike feet, and the head of a fluffy rooster with a fleshy crest. It’s not too scary, though — I’m more shocked than anything — but I still have no idea what it is, or what it can do.

I set my palms by my sides and slowly begin to lift.

It looks up from its drink and peers in my direction.

I freeze again. Maybe it hadn’t seen me.

It jumps to its feet with a startled cluck, then charges at me, flapping its wings and screeching hysterically.

I stand up and back away. I can probably take it in a straight up brawl, even in my injured state — it’s not that big, anyway; about waist-high — but the sheer gall surprises me.

But it doesn’t attack. Or at least, not in the way I thought it would. Instead, it comes to a halt about three metres away and stares at me with wide, freakishly red eyes. So red, in fact, that I don’t see any pupils. It’s still not scary, but it is disturbing.

I stare back, not really sure how to react. If this is a way of dealing with predators, it’s a pretty poor one, and the longer it stares, the less creepy it seems. I almost feel sorry for it as I lean forward and try to shoo it away. Almost.

The creature blinks, I suppose in shock, and then rears up on its tail like a stool, reaching as high as my shoulders. It spreads its wings, doubles the intensity of its stare and shrieks, revealing a row of needle-sharp fangs just behind its beak.

I shuffle a step backwards and wait for it to pounce. But again, nothing happens. It just stands there, feet dangling in the air, glaring at me. Almost judgementally. I glance behind me in case there’s something over my shoulder, but see nothing.

It begins to waver, as if it were surprised that, unlike every other danger in its life, a meteor hadn’t come crashing down on me. Its tail relaxes and it slithers to the ground, then backs away with… a sheepish look?

Before I have the chance to pinch myself, the creature dashes through the underbrush and vanishes.

I stumble after it a few steps, but stop and simply gawk at what I think I just saw. But I couldn’t have seen it. I mean, the creature itself was believable enough, and there are tracks in the dirt to prove it, but… since when could birds emote?

Then again, seeing is believing. And my eyes have never failed me before.

I look about, re-establishing myself. Curious though I am, there are more important matters at hand, like finding a safe place to sleep, and building a fire in the rain. Besides, I’d be provoking it if I try to follow, and I can’t afford to make enemies out here, especially with teeth like that.

I dust myself off and start limping my way around the lake.

As I leave the clearing, the reality of what I witnessed finally sinks in, and the question of my whereabouts becomes that much more important. I can’t be that far from home if I recognise the types of trees, but then why haven’t I seen any planes in the sky, and why doesn’t my phone have a signal? I check to see if that’s still the case, and, predictably, regrettably, it is. I’m also pretty sure I would’ve heard about a weird dragon-chicken hybrid a lot sooner than today. A chigon? Dracken, maybe? Or… drag-hen?

The thought makes me snicker. It’d certainly be a sight, with a sparkling ruby gown, nails painted hot pink, turquoise eyeshadow, lashes full as the moon, and a headdress of peacock feathers. Too much of a sight, perhaps, because I’m laughing out loud now. I don’t really know why; it’s not even that funny, but I’m laughing all the same. At least, until the headache threatens to return.

I tone the cackling down to a giggle and lumber onwards.

But the feeling doesn’t go away, and instead follows me like a shadow. It starts off small, barely noticeable — little more than an ounce of pressure at the base of my skull — but with every passing second, the pressure grows. And grows. And soon I’m no longer smiling.

This headache is different to the one I had before. The last one throbbed and felt worse the more I moved, like it was angry. But this one… sits there, calmly and quietly, no matter what I do, like it’s waiting for something special but doesn’t know what. All the while, it continues to swell — not because it wants to, but because it doesn’t know any better.

I stagger to a tree and lean against its trunk, cradling my head. It feels heavy — so heavy that I’m afraid the slightest tilt one way or the other will leave me face-first in the dirt. I take slow, deep breaths, in through the nose and out through the mouth, just like Dad in his yoga lessons, but it doesn’t seem to do much. Maybe I have to be at one with myself first, or something like that. If so, there’s no way that’s happening when my head feels like it’s about to explode.

And then, as slowly as it crept in, it slinks away, receding like the tide on a beach. It leaves me drained, dizzy, and frankly rather worried, because I have no idea what triggered it or made it go away, and I’ve a sneaking suspicion that I’ve yet to hear the fat lady sing.

I push off and continue trekking through the forest, albeit at a more sluggish pace. If I’m right and this becomes a recurring thing, finding shelter is now top on my list of priorities.

The terrain rises, and I rise with it. There aren’t as many bushes here, and the trees are spaced a little more generously, leaving the soil soft and soggy. I slip and stumble as I move from trunk to trunk, but despite my condition, I never fall.

That’s when I feel it again. The pressure. The dizziness. The heaviness. More sudden too. I should have seen it coming, really, but… there’s something else. Something irritating. Tingling. Tickling. Like an itch between the ear and the mouth, but at the front of my head instead, and far more intense. Painfully so. More than an itch, actually; it’s a thorn, and then a bee sting, and then a rusty nail. And then a hammer drives the nail home.

Pain screams down my spine the with the fury of a thunderbolt and I yelp and collapse, writhing on the ground in agony. Something cold and sharp rakes against my nerves, and I can’t stand it. My heart races. My breaths are short and shallow. I want the pain to go away. I need it go away. But all I can do is curl into a ball, hug my head and rock back and forth, hoping, begging, pleading for the suffering to end, all the while shivering and whimpering as my pleas go unanswered.

But then it stops. Suddenly. Without warning. And I’m left panting like I’d run the university campus a hundred times over.

This isn’t a simple headache anymore — this is worse. Far, far worse. Dangerous, even. If something big, bad and hungry had popped out from the shadows, I wouldn’t have stood a chance. I need to find safety and I need to find it fast.

I crawl over sodden dirt and grass and bumble to my feet at the top of the slope, almost falling again as I stand. I’m exhausted in every sense of the word, but I can’t let that stop me. I won’t let it stop me, because I am the master of my own fate, and if I want to survive, I will.

I have to. I must.

My heart skips a beat when I stumble for a second, but quickly recover and press on. I must have nearly tripped on something, but I’m not looking back to check. A pause, no matter how small, could make all the difference.

It’s strange, though, because it hadn’t felt like I’d bumped against anything, and I don’t think I’m so worn out that I’d be losing control of my body. But now that I think about it… my feet don’t feel as cold or as raw as they used to, nor do my socks feel as damp. In fact, it’s almost like I can’t feel the pain in my ankle anymore. Which is good, I suppose, but… doesn’t make much sense.

Unless…

I start running again, but no more than ten steps later, my knee folds and I flop on my face, skidding across the ground.

I spit the dirt from my mouth and pick the leaves from my cheeks, then lie on my side and look down at my legs. They’re filthy and drenched, but that’s not what’s bothering me — it’s the fact that I can’t move my foot anymore. Even as I clench my teeth and pour in all my will, the most I can do is wiggle a toe, and even then, I can barely feel it.

I scream. I lie on my backpack and thrash at the rain, slam my fists into the dirt, scream until I run out of air, then take a deep breath and scream again, and I keep screaming and thrashing until my shoulders ache, my hands throb and my throat hurts.

Nothing — not one thing — has gone my way today, and I am absolutely livid about it. I’m sick and tired of wandering through uncharted wilderness with no idea where I’m heading or what I’m doing. I want to go home, where I can have a nice hot bath filled with bubbles, followed by a week-long marathon of all my favourite movies and TV shows, eating blueberry pancakes with maple syrup, drinking apple juice from the bottle, wrapped in the warmth of a freshly dry-cleaned quilt.

But that won’t happen unless I make it happen.

As soon as my strength returns, I roll back onto my stomach and shuffle away on my elbows, growling with the effort, legs trailing behind me.

I drag myself around trees and plants, over mounds of earth and moss, across ditches and trenches, and through small clearings where the storm pelts my back. A story I once heard comes to mind, about a frontiersman who won a fistfight with a bear, and had to crawl back home over two hundred miles away. He probably had it worse, though, but I want to think I’m faring just as well as he did.

Eventually, everything becomes a blur; there are no new smells, no new sounds, and I don’t pay attention to where I’m going, only that I’m moving. Time slows. Or speeds up. It’s hard to tell. It’s hard to focus on anything, really, because I feel… strangely… at peace. Calm. Tranquil. Tired. So very tired… Sleepy. So… very…

There’s a tug on the back of my neck as I slump forward, and the feeling brings me back with a jolt. I shake my head vigorously, trying to wake myself up even further, but I can only do so much. Sleep lingers at the back of my mind now, distant, yet imposing, like an overhanging boulder.

Slapping my cheek, I look up and peer at the world around me. It’s more of the same: trees, bushes, moss, twigs, leaves, dirt, mud, rain, and a flash of lightning. There’s a dip in the terrain ahead, granting me a view of a clearing that was far larger than all the others I’ve passed, including the lake. A number of stumps and saplings form its border with the forest, and nestled at the far end… on the peak of a gentle hill… is a cottage.

I stare at the dwelling with wide eyes and an open mouth for a good, long while. It’s a humble abode, with stone foundations, white walls, and a thatched roof. It’s also fairly well-kept, as far as little shacks in the middle of the woods go, which I can only assume means — and I’m quite willing to believe — that someone lives there.

I laugh. It’s a stuttered, breathless laugh that makes all the hardships of the day slip away. After almost nine hours of nonstop travel, I’ve finally done it. With a huge smile on my face, I wave my arm and shout at the top of my lungs.

But then I stop, and the good feeling goes away. Frowning at myself, I try to speak again.

Just like before, the words come out in a slurred, garbled mess.

I scramble forward and stop at the edge of an earthen cliff. It’s a sheer drop, punctuated with exposed roots from top to bottom, left to right, and the only sign of it ending is a hundred or so metres directly away from the cottage.

My insides sink as I whine miserably, knowing that if I don’t cross here, I’d run out of energy and fall asleep long before making it to safety. Even now, as I come to terms with the fact, the drowsiness comes again.

With a despondent groan, I turn as far as I can on my side and push my legs into place, then roll on my bag so I lie parallel to the edge. Having no feeling or control below the waist is a very odd, very unnerving experience, but I can’t afford to dwell on it.

I don’t want to. It’s scary enough as it is.

I hesitate, staring at the sky, wincing as droplets fall on my brow and cheeks from the maple above. I’ll only get worse with every moment I waste, but I can’t help but dread the next part.

Still, there’s no time like the present.

I hug my arms around my head, take a deep breath, and slide off the cliff. Just over a second later, I land face-down in a puddle with the wind knocked out of me and a few new scratches and bruises, gasping and cursing through my teeth because, by some unfortunate miracle, I’d bumped my knee on the way down.

At least I’m not as numb as I thought I was.

I look up with a squint and find, to my relief, that the cottage is still there, and is still in mint condition. From this distance and this angle, and without the forest blocking my view, there’s more detail to see; it has a chimney, rounded corners, a small timber shed, a simple door, and two shuttered windows hiding a faint orange glow.

It’s not a hallucination. It can’t be. I’ve come too far to be shot down now. Someone definitely lives there and that someone is definitely home.

My arm swings out so I can start dragging myself again, and I try to swing the other. But I can’t. It’s stuck under my body. I look down and struggle to tug it free, then pull, then heave, all to no avail.

But… that’s okay. I still have the other arm, after all, and besides, the cottage isn’t that far away, relatively speaking. I can make it.

Probably.

I hope.

Slowly but surely, I waddle out of the puddle on my shoulder and elbow and drag myself into the clearing proper. It’s only slightly less flooded than where I was before, and the heavy rain isn’t making it any easier, but it’s a start. One metre down, two hundred to go.

And then my shoulder goes limp.

I turn my head and stare at it with wide eyes, and something in me snaps. It’s been threatening to snap for quite a while now, and I’ve been trying my hardest to keep it hidden and keep it together, but I can’t help myself anymore.

My breathing becomes frantic and my jaw trembles. Something’s happening to me and I don’t know what and I don’t know how to control it and that scares me. Terrifies me. More than the freezing rain, more than the searing pain, I feel terrified.

Terrified by the fact that I might actually…

But… I can’t be that unlucky… I just… can’t…

I snap my attention to the ground in front of me and claw at the grass. Roots tear, dirt moves, a hole forms, water collects; I go nowhere, and yet I keep trying, because I have to. Even as I feel my arm slacken and the sweet promise of sleep fill my head, I try.

I shout at the house on the hill. Yell at it. Scream at it. Beseech its owner to come outside and help me, or at least open a window and show me they care.

When pleading fails, I insult it.

When insults fail, I plead.

When my body fails, I cry.

But I never stop trying.

Not for a second…

I never… stop…

Trying…

1.3 | The New Moon

For the second time tonight, I’m woken by a white flash, ringing ears and a sharp pain through my body. At first, I thought the headaches were coming back, but just like before, my vision clears, the ringing stops, and the pain — a shrill, chilling, paralysing pain that plucks at my nerves like a harp — it all fades away as soon as I open my eyes. It’s like waking up from a nightmare that I can’t remember, which has happened before, but rarely, and never this intense.

I hug myself and glance about the room. It’s quiet and dark, but I can see the details well enough; there’s my bag, the table, the cup of water I still haven’t touched, the armchair, the hearth, the bedroom door, the kitchen archway, and the open window. No monsters in the rafters, no malicious figures in the corners. Everything is where it should be.

Except for me. No, I’m a long, long way from where I should be.

I heave a ragged breath and lie down again. I’m beginning to think I shouldn’t have glossed over any details in my story, no matter how crazy I’d have seemed, because she’d know a lot more about what’s happening to me than I ever could. Or at least, I hope she would.

That being said, she’d probably knock me out cold if I woke her up, so I keep quiet and try to calm myself as quickly as possible. In her words, she doesn’t do therapy, and I doubt she’d be willing to start her career now.

I look back to the window and the sky outside. How Amber can tell the time without a clock, I don’t know, but I’ve a feeling that it’s nowhere near midnight. A watched pot never boils, but I might not have much of a choice; unless I find something to do for the next… umpteen hours, I’ll simply drift off again. And when that happens, I bet my sanity that I’ll have another episode.

Maybe some fresh air would do me some good. I’m not sure how, but it’s worth a shot, and if it works for lengthy car rides, why not a remote cottage in a parallel universe?

With another sigh, I fling the blanket off and try to stand, only to find out that the bench is actually a bit lower than what I’m used to. I guess that makes sense, considering it’s meant for someone that much shorter than me, but it makes standing up without bending my bad knee that much harder.

Eventually, though, and with no small amount of pain and hissing, I haul myself to my feet and limp for the kitchen. Amber must have closed and locked the door at some point while she was cooking, but with a slide of the latch and a pull of the handle, the problem is remedied, and I can step outside.

Surprisingly, the night air is cool, but not chilly. It’s… amiable, like the sun, and the fact that I’ve never seen a night with such clarity only makes it feel even more so. Sure, the colours are darker, but I can see the gentle sway of trees in the distance, the petals of a dandelion by my foot, the slight bumps on the house’s exterior, even the wrinkles of my knuckles, and the hairs on the back of my hand. The moon is full and bright, and twinkling dots pack the sky.

I marvel at them. I’ve never seen stars like these. Never so many. Never so clear. Never so bright. And I’ve never seen them twinkle before, in spite of all the story books and nursery rhymes. Granted, I’m not much of an astronomer, so I can’t say for certain, but they’ve never twinkled for me. Never. Some were bigger, some were smaller, as they are now, but they never twinkled. Not like this.

It’s fantastic. In a literal sense. To me, it’s…

What’s the word?

Estranging, I think.

Did I get it wrong? Had I lied to Amber again? Is my theory of another dimension false, and instead, I’d fallen through a wormhole that sent me untold billions of lightyears away? Is my Earth up there, somewhere? Out of reach to all but the brave few and a thousand litres of rocket fuel?

How do I know? I’m just a dumb kid with a busted leg.

I cover my mouth as a yawn interrupts me, thankfully, and I use it as an excuse to shake myself down, then stretch my back, my shoulders, my arms and fingers. When that’s done, I crack my knuckles, my wrists, my elbows, my neck, and then, finally, my good knee, and I groan with relief. Bad habit or not, it feels good, and I’m much more relaxed because of it. So relaxed that I actually want to do something, instead of contemplating the reality in which I find my miserable self. I could go for a walk, or… go for a walk.

So, a walk it is. Just a short one, though — I’ve had enough hiking for one day.

I turn to my right and start making my way around the cottage, taking it slow, both for my sake and the sake of wasting time.

Everything seems louder when it’s quiet; the dry grass underfoot, the chirping of crickets and cicadas, the clothes rubbing against my skin. It feels like Amber could wake up any second with all the noise I’m making. I know she won’t, but the thought of facing her in all her fury gives me cause for concern, and I tread lightly. More than I am already, at any rate — I’ve stepped on enough bees and burs to know I shouldn’t be walking outside barefoot. But if I go back inside and search for my shoes, I’d have to move some things, and that’ll surely attract unwanted attention. And pain.

I pause for a moment. How did she get my sneakers off, anyway? With her mouth and… hooves, obviously, but still, how? I mean, laces are thin and floppy, requiring finely tuned motor skills — to which my five-year-old self could attest — and I always use a double-knot, meaning twice the challenge. I can’t imagine those feet being easy to see past, especially if she was focussing on something so small, and using her teeth seems counterintuitive, being so close to her eyes.

Then again, she could have just pulled them off. That sounds like her style.

I blink and continue walking, keeping a watchful eye on the grass for any thorns, insects, spiders, or who knows what else that would love to make their mark on my list of grievances. I glance up every now and then to check my surroundings. I’m not looking for anything in particular; I’m just bored. It’s like how I check the pantry every five minutes when there’s nothing to do at home: I know there’ll be nothing new, but there’s always the slim chance a stack of my favourite chocolate chip biscuits will have suddenly appeared.

In this case, I don’t know what I’m hoping to find. A car? A phone booth? A five-star hotel? Silly little things, perhaps. Things I’m not lucky enough to have. Not anymore.

And that’s when it hits me. Why I feel the way I feel.

It’s not because I’m far away from home.

It’s not because I might never see my family again.

It’s because, somehow, deep down…

I thought I was special.

Protected.

Safe.

…How wrong was I…

And then, suddenly, the world tears itself apart. The air vibrates like I’m standing inside a giant bell as it tolls, but there’s no sound. I can feel it in my hands, my feet, my stomach, my heart, my lungs, my ears, my bones… Everything. Every part of me. It shakes me to the literal core. And it feels like an anvil is falling into me. Squirming into me. Drilling into me. Ripping into me. Like a volcano in reverse.

And all of this in the blink of an eye.

I drop to my hands and knees and retch uncontrollably. Nothing comes out, and yet I cough and gag and lurch, snatching breaths if and when I can. And when I finally regain some semblance of control, I rest my head on the grass and shut my eyes, desperately gasping for air.

Something’s not right. Something is most definitely not right. Not just with me, but this condition I have, if I can even call it that. It doesn’t feel natural — it’s too… temperamental. I mean, first headaches and now severe vertigo, or whatever that was? Why couldn’t this sickness make up its mind? And where’d it come from anyway? I haven’t had anything before Amber’s soup, or since, and her cooking wasn’t that bad. I haven’t been bitten by anything either, or…

I rub my neck, belly and back, just in case, but find nothing. I’m not sure if that’s good or bad, but I’ll take it at face value and say it’s good. It’s all I’d have going for me at this point. That, and the fact I have a place to stay.

The pain in my knee returns and I roll onto my back and straighten my legs, gazing up at the sky as I catch the rest of my breath. I doubt the stars are the same here, but I wish I knew my constellations, just so I could… I don’t know, waste time trying to find them. Find some new ones instead. Name them. Have Amber correct me in the morning. Keep using my names for the heck of it. Probably not that last one, though, no matter how light-hearted I try to be.

After a while, my breathing returns to normal, and I feel happy. I don’t know why, but I do. Even as I hear footsteps approaching, I stare up at the sky and grin. “Sorry to wake you,” I say airily, knowing full well that no apology would ever curb her wrath.

“Oh, hardly,” comes an older, smoother, more refined voice.

My grin fades and I sit up, and I find that, indeed, the footsteps don’t belong to Amber.

Another ‘pony’ stands before me, with a long, flowing mane and tail that defy explanation. It’s like they’re invisibility cloaks for everything that isn’t the night sky, carving a window through the mountains behind her, held aloft in a calm, constant breeze that doesn’t affect the physical world. Even stray hairs shimmer with light of the stars they brush over.

The pony herself looks nothing like my host. Sure, there’s the same… cartoonish look, for lack of a better word, but this one’s taller, leaner, with a longer snout, pointed horn, cyan eyes, and a coat a shade of pale pink. She also wears a crown upon her head, a decorative collar over her shoulders, and four metal slippers, all a bluish silver in colour, and embossed with floral art. Central to the collar is a purple gem in the shape of a winged heart.

She watches me with a cool, gentle expression, and beams a small, sincere smile. “I appreciate the sentiment, though.”

“…Sorry, I… thought you were someone else.”

“Oh, there’s no need to apologise — it’s my fault.”

“Yours?”

“I shouldn’t have snuck up on you like that.”

“You were trying to sneak up on me?”

“Not intentionally. Again, I’m sorry.”

“…Who are you, anyway?”

“My name is Selene Flurry Heart,” she heralds with tempered pride, shifting her weight back and bowing, spreading two massive, splendid, radiant wings with her head low to the ground. “Princess of Love and the Night. Ruler of all Equestria. At your service.”

I widen my eyes and draw my head back as my mind scrambles for something to say. I’m not sure whether to believe her or not, but… she does seem regal enough, so far as my knowledge of this world’s culture goes. But at the same time… Flurry Heart? Really? First Amber Dart, then Trail Blazer, and now Selene Flurry Heart? Why couldn’t they just use normal fantasy names, like Conan, or Xena, or Furiosa?

At this rate, finding someone called Horsey McHorseface would be a footnote.

Naming conventions aside, there’s still a conversation to be had, and Selene rises from her bow and folds her wings. “What might your name be, stranger?”

“Adam. Mackenna.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“You think it sounds weird, don’t you?”

“Perhaps. But on the other foot, I suppose my name sounds odd to you too, doesn’t it?”

I pause for a moment, and then I grin again. “More or less.”

Her smile returns in full force, and a little wider. “Then it seems we have much to discuss.”

My grin fades once more.

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” she says playfully, “it’s nothing serious. All I want to do is talk — better acquaint myself with you. You are, after all… a very unique specimen. If I may be so bold, that is.”

This time, I raise an eyebrow. “Unique how?”

“Well, there are creatures that resemble you in one way or another. Some dragons, for instance, and minotaurs, and plenty of tribes in Abyssinia, now that I think about it. But none of them are quite so… plain, so to speak. Meaning no offense, of course.”

“No, no, plain’s good.”

“Ah. Well, if you say so.”

“Trust me, being plain is… better than standing out, in my experience.”

“Really?” she asks with genuine fascination. “Perhaps you could enlighten me over dinner.”

“Dinner?”

“Dessert, rather. And something light. Tell me, does ice-cream pique your interest?”

“Uh… Yeah, I guess. But Amber doesn’t have any, and… Actually, I should go and wake her up, shouldn’t I?”

“No, thank you.”

“No?”

“No. I’d like to keep this just between us, if you don’t mind. For the time being, at least. And don’t worry about dessert; I’ll take care of everything.”

“You? How?”

She smirks, “Like so,” and closes her eyes as a yellow aura forms around her horn.

Space twists and coils on the grass before her, as if someone is using an eggbeater on the fabric of reality, and when it unwinds, it does so with a golden flash and motes of sparkling dust. In its place is an elaborately patterned picnic blanket, perfectly spread, with a glass goblet in the centre, filled with chocolate, vanilla and strawberry ice-cream, drizzled in sprinkles and caramel, and topped with a cherry for good measure.

The spectacle is over in less than half a second, and I’m left astonished.

The aura dissipates and Selene opens her eyes again, continuing the smirk. “Care to join me for a midnight snack?”

I wait a moment longer before responding, processing what I’d just witnessed. “…Wow…”

“You’re impressed?”

I dumbly nod.

“I don’t see why.”

I look up and meet her eyes. “No?”

“Summoning spells are hardly remarkable.”

“They are to me.”

“Because you’ve never seen them before?”

I shake my head.

“…Interesting…” she says, raising her chin slightly and giving me a curious look. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen any unicorns in your travels, have you?”

“Besides you, no.”

“Me?”

“You’re a unicorn, aren’t you? A… winged unicorn?”

“…In a manner of speaking. But that’s enough chitchat for now.” She strolls onto the blanket with practiced poise and sits in a familiar doglike posture, then beams at me again and waves me closer. “Come, sit.”

I obey, though not nearly as gracefully, and take my place on the opposite side of the goblet. As soon as I finish making myself comfortable, I notice an ornate spoon levitating in front of me, held in the same aura that I’d seen before, and I look back to the owner.

She holds an identical spoon in a similar aura and smiles kindly. “Just because I’m away from home doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten my manners.”

I pause. Something seems… off about this. I’m not sure what, though. It’s probably nothing — leftover jitters from the vertigo, I guess. I return the smile and reach out for the spoon I’m being offered. “Thank-yah!”

“What’s wrong?”

I massage my hand, staring down at the silverware in my lap, the aura already fizzled out. It felt like I’d been zapped by static electricity, but it didn’t exactly hurt, and it went deeper than just the skin — I can still feel the tingle in my fingers. I think I know what the problem was, but I don’t want to raise suspicion, so I glance back and mumble, “I’m not sure.”

“Hmm. Strange.”

“Strange indeed,” I quietly agree, retrieving the spoon and slowly turning it over. The handle isn’t very practical, full of yet more floral embellishments and inset gems, but I have to keep in mind that this probably isn’t meant for manual use. And there’s no denying the craftsmanship. “It’s been happening a lot, recently. Strangeness.”

“How so?”

I pause again, but shake my head and scoop out some vanilla. “Never mind.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Because, as princess, it’s my duty to listen.”

“Really, it’s fine.”

“…If you say so,” she concedes, herself to a serving of strawberry. “But I must say, denial never solves anything.”

“I’m not denying anything, I’m just… Let’s talk about something else first, at least. Please.”

“As you wish.” She pops the spoon in her mouth, and hums contentedly. “Ah, Sugar Swirl, you’ve outdone yourself.”

“Sugar Swirl?”

“My head chef. Please, try it.”

I pause for a moment, caught on yet another bizarre name, but eventually comply. And when I do, I almost melt as the ice-cream touches my tongue, and the aroma is simply delectable.

“So, what would you like to know?”

I break out of the stupor and look at Selene. “What’re you doing here?”

“Bidding you welcome, of course.”

“No, I mean… how’d you find out about me? I haven’t met anyone else besides Amber.”

The smirk returns. “Let’s just say… I have my methods.”

“…What kind of methods?”

“Methods I daren’t discuss with just anyone, however charming they may be,” she quips, treating herself to another mouthful. “Speaking of which, where do you come from, to have never heard of me before?”

I hesitate. I’m glad I was already staring at my lap, because if she’d seen my face the moment she spoke those words, I’d have been caught out. Still, I can’t just sit here and say nothing, or she’d know something’s wrong just as easily.

Using a pensive mask to hide my anxiety, I quickly run through the options in my head. I could tell the truth — or what I think the truth is — but knowing how well that went last time, I’m not too keen to try again. I could lie instead, but what would I say? The only two nations I’ve heard of so far are Equestria and Abyss…something-or-other, and I doubt I’d get away with claiming I come from either one. And even if she believed me, I’d be lying to someone who had, if not royal status, the ability to levitate and teleport objects at will.

I don’t want to risk getting on her bad side, but I don’t have much of a choice. “Humanistan,” I say, hoping it fit into this world’s frankly childish way of naming things. “I come from Humanistan.”

Selene pauses, then looks away in thought. “I don’t believe I’ve heard of your country before. No relation to Yakyakistan, by any chance?”

I catch a snicker in my nose and turn it into a cough. She looks serious, but I could be wrong — it’s hard to take anything seriously anymore with all these names. At least that Abyss place sounded pretty realistic. I clear my throat. “Sorry, excuse me. Uh… No. It’s a little… further west.”

“Across the Northern Ocean?”

“Yeah.”

“Where there is nothing but ice and water?”

“…No, there’s land there.”

“Further south.”

“Yeah, that’s… That’s what I meant.”

“And yet, I have never heard of a ‘Humanistan’ in the Land of the Hippogriffs.”

“…Well… that’s… where I’m from.”

“So, you do not, in fact, come from a land where pegasi are myths, and ponies do not talk?”

My insides sink.

Selene watches me with a grave, but not unkind expression. “I hold no love for deception, Adam Mackenna. My life has been riddled with it for far too long.”

“…How did you—”

“I have my methods.”

I swallow and turn away.

“I don't believe that you simply appeared out of nowhere,” she states, finishing another mouthful of ice-cream, “but I can’t deny that no one in Equestria, pony or otherwise, has seen you until yesterday. Else you would have sailed over a thousand miles of ocean, crossed over a hundred by land, passing one of the largest cities in the kingdom, and yet never seen a pegasus, a unicorn, an earth pony or crystal pony, or magic of any kind. And I find that highly unlikely.”

“…So, what do you believe?” I ask ashamedly.

“I believe, Adam Mackenna… that you don’t trust me. Perhaps that’s my fault, perhaps it’s yours, but until you can be honest with me… I can’t trust you. Is that fair?”

I hesitate again, but slowly nod.

“I do not wish us to be enemies.”

“Enemies?”

“In a purely melodramatic sense,” she soothes, relaxing her tone and posture. “You don’t have to tell me now, or tomorrow, but I expect the truth from you at some point in the future. For now, though, let’s eat.”

For a long while, we eat in silence. I relish the flavour and the aroma of every spoonful, each more delicious than the last, but they’re soured by an air of guilt. It feels like a treat I don’t deserve — a luxury I’m being forced to enjoy. Maybe that’s what she wants, but she seems too easy-going for that. Besides, it’s not like she made a point about it, and she’s eating from the same dish, taking larger portions, and more frequently.

If this is supposed to be a punishment, she has an odd way of making sure I know it.

In fact, I’m having a hard time imagining her being a princess. Sure, she has the lavish jewellery and a voice as sweet as honey, but none of that really counts when she’s a pink caricature of a horse with hair like something out of a special effects extravaganza. What I mean is that she doesn’t behave like I imagine royalty would. I’m not really sure what I expected, but definitely nothing this lax. This casual. This… tolerant. Not in person, at least.

“Don’t you have bodyguards, or something?”

“Yes.”

“…Well, where are they?”

“At home, in Canterlot.”

“…You mean Camelot, right?”

“No; Canterlot.” She looks at me and raises an eyebrow. “You’ve heard of it?”

I blink, then close my eyes and gently shake my head into a waiting palm. “Yes and no,” I murmur, dragging my hand down my face.

“In myths and folklore?”

“Sure.”

“Hmm.” She dips the cherry in a pool of chocolate and eats it whole, pip and all. “Well, to answer your question properly, I can handle myself well enough. Besides, your sudden appearance is a very… delicate matter, and I’d rather as few people know about it as possible. Your host is already one too many.”

“…Was that a threat?”

She stops and stares at me. The ethereal wind blowing through her mane and tail wanes, leaving her hair floating as if submerged in water. The air around her darkens, figuratively and literally. The grave look returns, and this time with no compassion. “Careful what you say, Adam Mackenna,” she warns, voice on the brink of malice. “You’ll know a threat from me when I make one.”

I widen my eyes and lean away.

Suddenly, Selene puts a foreleg to her chest and bursts out in laughter, and everything goes back to normal. Or as normal as normal can be around here. “Oh my word!” she cackles, pointing at me with the other foot. “You should have seen your face! Oh, that was priceless.”

“Y-y-yeah,” I stammer with a nervous smile. “Good one.”

Her laughter fades and both forelegs return to the blanket. “I’m sorry,” she says between giggles, “I didn’t mean to scare you. Well, I did, but… you know how it is — I can get a little carried away sometimes. You understand, don’t you?”

“…Sure…”

She clears her throat and takes a deep breath, and looks at me earnestly, although with a faint of smirk. “I’m sorry, Adam Mackenna, that was… in poor taste. You’re new to this place, and me. I shouldn’t have treated you like that. I know I can be intimidating sometimes, even when I don’t mean to be.”

“It’s… not you, per se… it’s more that I don’t want to be… you know… obliterated.”

“Yes, well,” she laughs again, but it’s more restrained, “you’re not the first, I will admit.”

“Please don’t tell me it’s a regular thing with you.”

“Joking or obliteration?”

“Either.”

Her smile widens. “For you, I’ll make an exception.”

Hesitantly, I smile back. I can tell she’s being sincere, but I can’t shake the feeling that she can be quite dangerous when she needs to. A wolf is a wolf, after all, no matter how tame. I’m not trying to say she’s evil, but not knowing the extent of her powers doesn’t help me in the slightest.

“I doubt I’d be able to anyway, if your tales of valour ring true.”

“Sorry?”

“The creature you saw in the woods yesterday.”

“The… cockatrice?”

“Yes,” she replies, sipping a spoonful of strawberry. “Can you describe it for me?”

“Yeah, um… Chicken’s head… scaly body and tail… two wings… red eyes, red crest, red spikes. Stared at me a lot, but I guess you knew that. Uh… That’s pretty much it. Oh, and it, um… may or may not have looked a little surprised when it didn’t scare me off.”

“So, you already know?”

“Know what?”

“It should have turned you to stone.”

“…Excuse me?”

She gives me a serious look. “The stare of a cockatrice is a potent thing. None but those of the strongest resolve can resist its power. If what you say is true, then you are one of a very select few to have looked one in the eye and survived. All others turn to stone.”

“…You’re joking, right?”

Silence.

“…Right?”

“Would that I were,” she says quietly, watching her spoon as it gathers the last dregs of vanilla. Then she looks at me again. “This coming from you, I must admit, I have my doubts… but I can think of no other creature you could be describing. I’ll investigate the matter when I return home. In the meantime, I recommend you stay close to the house. And if anything should happen to Trail Blazer, I will hold you responsible.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you. As much as I care for my people, I can’t be everywhere at once. So, against my better judgement, I’m entrusting you with her safety.”

“But I don’t know how to fight. And even if I did, how could I with this leg?”

“That did not stop you fighting a cockatrice.”

“But I didn’t fight it! It just stared at me and ran off!”

“And why should I believe you?”

I try to defend myself, but stop, and slowly close my mouth.

“Prove me wrong, human… and then we can discuss the terms of your stay.”

I sag and look away. I feel horrible. Not just because I’ve made a fool of myself, but because… I don’t have a choice anymore. Princess or not, she has powers I thought I’d only ever see in the movies, so I can’t exactly disagree with her on anything. And besides, what else can I do? Leave and hope to make it on my own? With my knee like this? When there are dragons, minotaurs and Medusa-chickens running about, and who knows what else? Of course not.

I always thought I knew what’s best for me, but this is far more than I can handle on my own. And it’s scary… unnerving… almost sickening, to have my whole world flipped upside down twice in less than a day. I’ll get over it, sure — I always do — but still… I don’t want things to change any more than they already have.

“…So, what now?”

“Now, we part ways,” Selene declares, though in a far more cordial tone. “I’ll attend to my duties in Canterlot and return within the next few days, and you’ll stay here, resting and recuperating. And I hope with all my heart that you’ll keep Trail Blazer safe.”

“…I’ll… try,” I mumble shakily. “And she prefers Amber, you know.”

“Amber Dart, to be precise. But she is who she is, wherever she goes.”

“…What’s that supposed to mean?”

Her face brightens, but faintly. “Perhaps you should ask her yourself,” she says, as if it were nothing more than a whimsical idea. “On that note, there’s one final thing I must ask of you.”

“What’s that?”

The look fades, but there’s still a certain gentleness in her eyes. “It may seem like an odd request… but if you were to keep this meeting private, I’d be most appreciative.”

“You… don’t want me telling Amber about this?”

“Indeed.”

“…Why?”

She waits a moment, and then smiles. “Call it a test of faith.”

I’m still confused, but I know there’s not much I can say to change her mind, and I don’t want to push what little luck I have left. I fold my arms and glance away. “If you say so.”

“I understand your scepticism, but to gain my trust, you must first prove your worth.”

“Isn’t protecting Amber enough?”

“Protecting her will prove that you’re a good person. This will prove that I can trust you.”

“…Isn’t that the same difference, though?”

“To the inexperienced. But in my line of work, subtlety is everything.”

I pause, and then give a small, soft, genuine laugh. “Well then, I’m glad I’m not you.”

“Nor do I envy you.” She grins with similar sentiment, and then floats the goblet towards her and downs the liquid remains of our dessert.

“You sure love your ice-cream, don’t you?”

“Mm,” she agrees, licking her lips and replacing the goblet, auras dissipating when she drops her spoon inside. “Yes, you could say I’ve something of a sweet tooth, but… ice-cream is a childhood favourite. One of my aunts would make a tub just for me every birthday, as well as the cake.”

“She was a cook?”

“An artist,” she corrects wistfully, “whose talent lay in making others smile.”

“…She meant a lot to you, didn’t she?”

“As did many others…” she mumbles, lowering her ears slightly. And then she looks up at me. “But I’d rather leave the conversation there, if you don’t mind. My past… though public knowledge… is a very sore topic.”

I pause again, but slowly bow my head.

“Thank you,” she says, her face brightening once more as she stands. “I think I’ll take my leave now. You’ll want to stand back for this.”

I heave myself up and step off the blanket.

“Leave the spoon, please.”

I glance down at my hand, “Oh, sorry,” and lean back in to put it in the glass cup.

“Quite alright, quite alright. But I can’t have my staff wondering where the last piece in the dining set has gone, can I?”

“No,” I agree, stepping off the blanket again, “I guess you can’t.”

She nods, and then angles her head. “Before I go, what are your responsibilities again?”

“To keep Amber safe, and to keep this meeting secret.”

“Good.” She nods. “Well, if there’s nothing more to say and no more questions to ask, I shall simply say… until we meet again.”

I bow. It’s a very strange action, almost embarrassing, but I get the feeling that it’s what she expects. “Good night, Selene.”

“Your Highness, if you will.”

“…Good night… your Highness.”

“Good night, Adam Mackenna.” She smiles. “Sweet dreams.”

The aura forms around her horn, the distortions reappear, and as soon as the flash clears, I’m left alone in the cool night air. I blink and look around to make sure, and find no trace of her by the edge of the clearing, on the mountains, on the roof, or peeking around the corner of the house. She has indeed, along with the blanket and goblet, vanished.

I lock the door behind me and sit on the bench.

I feel empty. Unsure of myself. I mean, I know what I’m supposed to do now, but… it’s…

To be honest, I don’t know what my problem is. Maybe everything was just a little too… inconclusive for my liking. Like… I don’t know. Maybe I thought that if I met this world’s leader, or leaders, they’d be able to help me out somehow — that is, if Selene is who she claimed to be. And maybe I was being naïve, but… being told to wait here and do nothing was not what I expected.

But who am I kidding? I’m not that lucky anymore.

I reach for the cup on the table and drink, only to gag in surprise and cough as much as I can back in, then limp over to the window, throw the contents out and lock the shutters.

That wasn’t water. That was alcoholic. And I’m guessing I already know what kind.

…What the hell have I gotten myself into…?

1.4 | Deep Cuts

I sit with my arms folded in my lap, staring at the floor as the room fills with the pale grey tinge of the morning sun. I haven’t had a wink of sleep all night.

And how could I? Never mind the fact that, in less than forty-eight hours, I’d found myself in the middle of nowhere, locked eyes with a creature that was supposed to turn me to stone, dragged myself through mud and water until I passed out, and met a talking pegasus that looks nothing like a pegasus — that’s all dust in the wind.

No, what’s really shaking me up is that I’d come face to face with this nation’s leader, who had not only proved that magic is a real, tangible force in this world, but also given me a task that I didn’t really want, nor was I ready for.

Responsibility and I are like Pepe le Pew and any of his hapless love interests: wherever possible, I avoid it like the plague. I can be responsible when I need to be, but… more often than not, I just can’t trust myself to live up to everyone else’s standards. So, when a weight this heavy has been dropped on my shoulders, with no warning, no chance of opting out and no one to complain to, what else can I do but sit here and brood?

But I’m not worried, or anxious, or anything like that. Instead, it’s that bothered feeling again. Whether that’s good or bad, I don’t know, but in less than an hour, I’m sure that’ll pass too. Or sooner, if there’s a distraction.

The bedroom door opens and out steps Amber, who, upon seeing me, gives me the same bitter glare from last night and continues through to the kitchen.

I’m tempted to say good morning, just to see how she’d react, but I know she’d take it as a provocation. Which it would be, now that I think about it. Her patience with me is thin enough as it is — she doesn’t need me pretending like nothing happened. That would be crossing the line.

She returns a few seconds later with two potatoes. “Fhin’ fash,” she mumbles past the one in her mouth, and throws the other at me.

“Hey!” I shrink away and shield my head instinctively, but it hits the back wall instead and I shoot her a scowl. “What was that for?!”

“Being there,” she replies matter-of-factly, after spitting the first into a waiting foot.

I stare at her with an incredulous sneer and shake my head. “You are…”

“Insufferable?”

“…A real piece of work.”

“Makes you want to leave, doesn’t it?”

“Frankly, yes.”

“Then go.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re supposed to help me.”

“Give me less sass and maybe I will.” She takes a bite from her potato. “Fair’s fair, no?”

“You were touching my stuff.”

“So?”

“So, you were being a hypocrite.”

She swallows and deepens her frown. “It’s my house; I can do what I want.”

I gesture to my bag. “And these are my things.”

“In my house. I have a right to know what you’re bringing inside, don’t you think?”

“Then ask.”

“After you tried to pull the wool over my eyes yesterday?”

“I… wasn’t doing that.”

“Oh, so you were telling the truth?” She exchanges her frown for another one of her unimpressed looks. “It never occurred to me.”

I weather her gaze a little while longer, then let out an aggravated sigh and hold my head in my hands. There’s no changing her mind, and I don’t have the energy to argue anymore, so it’s best to just throw in the towel and hope she doesn’t hang it over me any chance she gets. Even though I know that’s exactly what she’d do. I look up and meet her eyes again. “Look, I’m… sorry about last night. Alright? That was… I don’t know what I was thinking. I was tired. Really, really tired. I was stupid and tired and… things just… got out of hand.”

“I’m sure they did.”

“Can we start over? New game? Clean slate?”

“Don’t think you’re getting out of it that easily, you dolt.”

“Then can we at least drop the subject?”

She leans a little closer and slowly snarls through clenched teeth, “Not on your life.”

I fling my hands up in defeat and sit back with an exasperated huff. “Then what do you want me to say? If it’s not an apology, what? Or are you just going to stand there and grill me all day?”

Her eyes narrow. “Shut up and eat your breakfast.”

“But what do you—”

“Rule Two,” she snaps, “or I could throw something heavier, if you’d like.”

Resentfully, I look away, and I can’t help but think that maybe letting her off easy wasn’t the best call. I pick up the potato beside me and inspect it front and back, searching for imperfections, but it’s clean of dirt and I find nothing other than the bruise where it struck the wall. “This is all I get?” I ask, sounding a little harsher than I’d meant to.

“It’s all either of us get,” she replies, taking another bite. “Believe it or not, food takes time to grow, and I never planned on having guests. So, if you want to live like royalty, go outside and dig your own garden. Otherwise, eat.”

“A raw potato?”

“Eat.”

I put the spud back down and fold my arms. “I’m not hungry.”

Her face sours. “Fine. I guess you don’t want lunch or dinner either.”

“What?”

“Well, if you have the strength to fight a cockatrice, I’m sure going a whole day without food shouldn’t be a problem for you, should it?”

“That’s… What? No, that’s—”

“I bet you don’t even know what a cockatrice does, do you?”

“It… turns people to stone.”

She raises her brows and slowly nods. “Ah, so you don’t need my hoof to jog your memory.”

“Well… No…”

“Then maybe you can tell me where you actually come from, and what that… thing on the table was, and why you’re dressed up all the time.”

I frown in confusion. “Dressed up?”

“Yes, dressed up. Or don’t you classy types understand the concept of modesty?”

I pause, and then baulk and try to hold back a wide, snickering smile. “Not that modest.”

“Wipe that smirk off your face or I’ll do it for you.”

I stop laughing and look down to my feet, but I can’t stop smiling.

“Don’t act like I’m the one being weird here — you are.”

“For wearing clothes?”

“For wearing them all day every day.”

“Wait, so… you wear clothes too?”

“Don’t change the subject!” she yells, stamping the floor. “You have a lot of explaining to do and I’m not going to let you worm your way out of it like you did the last few dozen times. I want answers and I want them now.”

I hesitate. I’ve been here twice before, and in both cases, neither lying nor being honest had done me any favours. Weighing up my options, though, she’s already heard the truth and rejected it, so I’m really left with only one choice.

“Well?”

I look down at my feet and try to think, but knowing her scolding gaze is only a head’s turn away makes it difficult to focus. This would be so much easier if I knew even a mere fraction of this world’s history, and where a ‘unique specimen’ such as myself may have come from. I could say that Abyss place, but if Selene knew about the look-alike ‘tribes’ there, I don’t want to risk clashing with common knowledge.

And besides, if she could recite the details of a private conversation she had no part in, I’m sure she’d find out if I’d gone back to my deceitful ways.

Forgiving or not, I don’t think she’d take it well at our next meeting.

“I’m waiting.”

“The truth is…” I blurt out, trying to buy more time. What that truth will be, I have no idea. And if I do come up with something and she still rejects it, I have no idea what I’ll… “The truth is… I think I have amnesia.”

“Amnesia?” Her tone’s as doubtful as it is stunned.

I look up and gently nod. “It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

“No, hold on, what do you mean you think you have amnesia?”

“I mean… before you found me the other day… I don’t remember much of anything. I remember walking, and stumbling, and banging my knee against something, and… maybe I saw something dangerous — could’ve been a cockatrice, could’ve been—”

“It wasn’t a cockatrice.”

“…Could’ve been something else. And then I slipped and fell and… then you found me. Before that? Nothing. Or, not a whole lot, at least. There are bits and pieces here and there, like… what you said five minutes ago, about me finally remembering what a cockatrice does. I also know there are… dragons, and minotaurs, and, uh… hippogriffs — I think they’re called — to the southwest. I bet there are others too, but… those are the ones off the top of my head. And… you have a princess in charge, don’t you?”

“Princess Selene.”

“Right. And she’s a winged unicorn, isn’t she?”

“An alicorn.”

“A… what?”

Amber rolls her eyes. “A living symbol of harmony in Equestria, and embodiment of the union between pegasi, unicorns and earth ponies.”

“…Right… And she lives in… Canterlot, doesn’t she?”

“Yeah-yeah, alright, enough about Equestria.” She waves a foot at me. “What about your home? Why don’t you tell me about where you’re from?”

“…I don’t remember much.”

“How convenient.”

“Well… even if I did remember anything, you probably wouldn’t believe me, would you?”

“And whose fault is that?”

Slowly, coyly, I raise a hand.

“Bingo!” she cries with unusual enthusiasm. “See? Not so dense after all.”

I slowly blink, then shake my head as I grab my potato and stand up.

“Whoa whoa whoa, where do you think you’re going?"

“Fetching a knife,” I answer, “otherwise this’ll just hurt my teeth.”

“…You stay right there,” she orders, eying me suspiciously as she backs up and disappears into the kitchen again, then returns a few seconds later with a thin, semicircular stone replacing her spud. She sets the stone on the table and holds out a foot to me, which I assume is her version of an open hand.

I sit down and toss her my potato.

Amber catches it and sets it on the table, then uses the stone to score it with several deep cuts. “There,” she tosses it back, “you happy?”

“I could’ve done it myself.”

“And let you near something sharp? I don’t think so.”

I frown. “You think I want to hurt you?”

“I’m not taking chances.”

“Why would I do that?”

“You tell me.”

I pause, then upturn my palms and shrug in absolute bewilderment.

“You haven’t given me a single reason to trust you ‘til now, so don’t act surprised. Now, I said I want answers, and I want to know, if you really do have amnesia, why lie? Why not just come out and say it? Why make up this crazy story about a world without magic and ponies who can’t talk?”

“Because…” I begin, and trail off before I can finish the rest of that sentence. It was the truth, but it would never be her truth. Better instead to answer with a half-truth. “Because I was scared. I told you last night. I still am. It’s just… I don’t know… a coping mechanism, I guess.”

“So, your way of dealing with stress… is to dig a deeper hole?”

“…Yeah. Go figure.”

She stares at me blankly, then slumps back on her haunches, closes her eyes, puts her feet to her head and sags. “Moon above, give me strength…”

“Hey, it’s my problem, not yours.”

“You’re a compulsive liar with a faulty memory,” she grumbles, returning her forefeet the floor and looking at me again. “Where could this go wrong, I wonder.”

It wasn’t really what I’d intended… but if it works for her, I’ll just have to make it work for me too. “So, you believe me?”

“I still don’t trust you.”

“…But you believe me, don’t you?”

She straightens herself somewhat and watches me with narrowed eyes. “No,” she finally answers, “but it’s a heck of a lot better than whatever you said before.”

“I’ll take it.”

“Good. Because that’s all you’re getting.”

I ignore the snark and tear off a piece of potato. It’s dry, starchy and the rubbery skin has an odd flavour to it, but if there’s nothing else, and Amber isn’t willing to indulge me, it’ll do for now. After the first few bites, I realise how thirsty I am and reach out for the cup on the table to wash it down, only to remember that it’s empty. “Can I have a refill?”

She gives me a crabby look, but stands up, picks up the knife in her teeth, then sidles along and retrieves the cup in the bend of her ankle. Just as she’s about to go through the kitchen archway, however, she stops and sniffs the air, then the cup, and then she turns back to me with a suspecting scowl.

“What?” I question, hoping a flat denial would hide my brief sense of panic. “Seriously, can’t I ever catch a break with you?”

She says nothing and continues on her way.

I let my breath go and tear off another piece. It’s finally paid off, but I’m already sick of lying. My alibi is simple and easy to remember, and still gives me the opportunity to ask about anything I see fit, but I know that in a few hours, this façade will start to weigh on me. To steal a phrase, there’s no one I can play it straight with — tell the truth to — without them thinking I’d regressed into lunacy.

I’m no stranger to theatre.

Once upon a time, I fancied myself to be the next big name to grace the big screen. So much, in fact, that the first high school I applied for and was accepted into was an arts college, priding itself on its renowned drama programme. It was a good school. The students were good, the teachers were good — even if some of them were a little up themselves — and the library staff… were the sweetest people I’d met in a long time. Especially Ms. Sanders…

The only problem was the drama programme itself, which, after the first year, focussed more on the theory of acting, rather than anything practical, like, I don’t know, acting. It also didn’t help that drama students were being merged with musical theatre, for reasons I’ll never understand, and never care to.

But the year and a half I was there, before my parents withdrew me for a more standard education, it was a blast. My first and last major performance was an absurdist play I’ve long since forgotten the name of, where I, along with another who played the role at the same time, was a firefighter with an insanely complex ancestry. Or something like that. It was fun.

No offence to Dianne, but I think I was the better firefighter. Mum said so.

But that was years ago. Now, I’m out of practice, and as much as I loved the attention then, I don’t anymore. At least, not in the same way. And this isn’t like any play I’ve ever seen or been a part of before.

This is a solo performance. I am the only actor. The props are real. The lines, improvised. The number of acts, unknown. There is no director, no intermission, no margin for error, and no one I can share my burden with. And the audience, though small, has the power to cast me back out into the freezing rain, where we all know I shall never act again.

How long can it last, I wonder, before cracks begin to show?

“What about those things on the table?”

I look up to find Amber standing about a metre away from me, cup filled, fixing me with a stern expression. “What about them?” I ask, trying to match her conviction.

“What were they?”

I pause, and then gesture for the cup. “Water first, please.”

She winces cagily.

“So you don’t throw it in my face.”

“Why would I do that?”

“You know why.”

She pulls the cup away. “Why would I do that?”

“…Because you might not like the answer.”

“Try me.”

I look down at my lap and think. Coming straight out with the answer… isn’t the answer. Not for her. She’s blunt and direct, but doesn’t like seeing that from someone else. I have to ease her into the idea somehow. I have to be vague without being patronising, but precise enough in case she knows what I’m talking about. “Do you know what electricity is?” I ask cautiously, meeting her gaze.

“You mean what lightning’s made of?”

“…Yeah, pretty much. Do you have anything that’s powered by electricity?”

She winces again. “What’re you getting at?”

“Do you or don’t you?”

“…Well, not here, no.”

“But they exist?”

“Yeah.”

“What kinds of things?”

She pauses, then draws her head back and — as best as she can on three feet — gives an exasperated shrug. “I don’t know. Streetlights, I guess. Stuff you see in the city.”

“Phones?”

“…Yeah, probably.”

“Probably?”

“Well, they’re not the most common thing in the world. At least, I think…” She frowns to herself, then blinks and shakes her head. “Why does it matter, anyway?”

I reach down to my bag and unzip the front pocket.

“Wait… Wait, you don’t actually mean…”

I pull out my phone.

“That’s not a phone.”

I raise an eyebrow. “What makes you say that?”

“Well, phones are… bigger. And where are the wires, and the… number wheel, or whatever it’s called?”

I know what she’s describing, but there’s a slight waver in her voice that tells me she’s not so sure herself. “Why do I get the feeling you’ve never seen one before?”

Amber hesitates, then stomps and shoots me an accusatory glare. “I don’t need to see one to know what it looks like!”

I try not to snicker.

Her eyes narrow. “You’re doing it again, aren’t you?”

“Doing what?”

“Lying.”

“…No, I’m—”

“There’s no way that’s a phone. You just can’t fit something that complex… into that.”

“How do you know?”

“I just know, okay?! I don’t care if I’ve never seen one before, or know how they work — there are some things you just can’t do, and that’s one of them.”

“…Seriously?”

“Of course I’m being serious!”

“No, I mean… you live in a world full of magic… and you have trouble believing that something can be downsized?”

She stares at me blankly.

“Can I please have my water now?”

A splash to the face is all the response I get.

I open my eyes and mutter, “Thanks.”

“Your breath stinks,” she says gruffly, “and you need a bath.”

I dry my face with the slightly-less-wet collar of my shirt. “I take it that’s my first chore for the day?”

“It is now.”

“Alright. So, where’s the well?”

“Don’t have one. You’ll have to go to the lake.”

“…The… You want me to go back out there? Alone?”

“Something wrong?”

“…Well, I’m supposed to be resting my leg, aren’t I?”

“It’s not that far.”

“To you, maybe.”

“I didn’t see you complaining yesterday.”

“Yeah, well, the ground’s pretty level here, isn’t it?”

“Then stick to level ground.”

“What if I trip?”

“You’re a big boy.”

“But… what if I get lost?”

“Don’t kid yourself,” she scolds. “You have amnesia, not short-term memory loss. If you’re going to lie to me, at least stay consistent.”

I fall silent. The petty reasons have been exhausted; all that’s left is the real reason I don’t want to go — why I shouldn’t go. But if I play that card, not only would she not believe me, I’d be breaking a promise, and throwing my only chance of outside help down the drain. “…Fine,” I huff. “But if I get hurt, it’s your fault.”

“Oh no, how will I ever live down the guilt?”

“Nice to know you care so deeply.”

“I don’t.”

I glance away and suppress a groan. “Can I have my socks and shoes back, please?”

“Sure,” she says, heading into the bedroom.

“Uh… shoes, Amber.”

“I’m getting them,” she retorts from behind the wall, then returns with my sneakers pressed to her chest and dumps them at my feet. “See?”

I stare down at them in surprise for a moment. They’re clean. As well as my socks, which have been stuffed into the hollows, like I usually do. The laces are still done up. “Why’d you take them off?”

“To check your feet, and make sure you wouldn’t just run away. But that was before I realised what a massive pain you are.”

“Speak for yourself.”

She glowers. “You have your stuff, now go.”

I lean forward and start putting on my shoes. “What’ll you be doing in the meantime?”

“Housework.”

“Nothing you want me to do, I hope?”

“Can you climb a ladder?”

I grimace as my bad ankle bends with the effort of slipping on a sock. “Probably not.”

“Can you make plaster?”

“No.”

“Do you know anything about gardening?”

“Besides watering the plants, no.”

“Then no, I don’t want your help.”

“Too bad. I was looking forward to it.”

“Well, if you’re offering…”

I give her a disapproving glance.

“Cut the sass or I’ll give you sass, and a whole lot worse if you ask for it.”

“I’m trying to lighten the mood.”

“I don’t feel like being enthused.”

“Well then, that’s your problem, isn’t it?”

“Oh really? And who’s the one poking the beehive?”

“Who’s the one being a beehive?”

She blinks, and then shakes her head and sneers. “Why am I even talking to you? You’re just a migraine waiting to happen.”

I’ve been called worse, but that one hits me a little deeper than most, and I’m glad that I’m up to my laces. If she saw my eyes in that brief moment… I hate to think how she’d use it against me. I know too well because I’ve used the exact same trick so many times before. “I’ll be going now,” I say, stowing my things in my pockets and hoisting myself to my feet.

“Not without your breakfast.”

I look down at Amber.

“You can drink all you want, but unless you eat something, your breath is going to stink, and I don’t want to smell your breath all day.”

“You’ll be outside all day.”

She reaches out to touch my knee.

I widen my eyes and almost jump back, holding a hand in front of my leg defensively.

“Do it, dingus, or I’ll find a beehive and break it over your head.”

I hold her gaze a moment longer, but yield and pick up what’s left of the potato.

“Good. Now get out there and get yourself cleaned up.”

“Yes, Mum,” I murmur, limping around her to the kitchen.

“Hold up.”

I stop just shy of the door and, grudgingly, turn around.

Amber walks through the archway to the other end of the room, where she drags three small pots out from under the preparation counter and neatly stacks them into one another. She pushes them across the floorboards towards me. “Take these with you, bring back some water. I’m running low.”

I pull at my still-damp shirt. “I wonder why.”

“Yes, I know, it’s a mystery.”

My frown deepens, but I pick up the stack and hold it like I would a toddler, then unlatch and open the door. “Goodbye, Amber.”

“Don’t take too long.”

I pause. “Why? Don’t you want me out of your face?”

“I want a bath too.”

Perhaps I’m being a bit too cheeky for my own good, but I can’t help calling her out on another double standard. It doesn’t really offend me, so much as it… intrigues me, but I still sound frustrated when I ask, “Then why don’t you come with?”

She recoils. “Ew! I don’t want you watching me bathe!”

“What’s the big deal? You’re not wearing anything anyway.”

She blinks again, and then rears up and shoves me outside.

My head bumps against the doorframe as I stumble through.

“Just go already!” she barks. “And if you break those pots, I’ll break something else!”

I straighten up and stare at her, miffed, nursing the back of my head, then look behind me in the general direction I think I came from. “Where is it?”

“West.”

I turn back to her.

Dumbfounded by my ignorance, she jabs a foot toward a mountain in the distance to my left. “There,” she snarls. “You can’t miss it. And for the love of all things good, take out the water before you jump in. I don’t want to be cooking with your filth.”

Filth.

For some reason, that word gets to me. I don’t know why; it’s not that offensive, and she’s not wrong — after all, who’d want to use water that some filthy stranger has washed himself with?

But still… it hurts.

And it hurts a lot.

“Now get lost,” Amber growls, and slams the door in my face.

1.5 | Stone-Cold

I didn’t sign up for this.

I don’t care if it’s a clichéd line that’s been used a million times over; I literally didn’t sign up for this.

I didn’t want to find myself at the mercy of some magical winged unicorn. I didn’t want to be abused by the very person I’m supposed to protect. I didn’t want to retrace my steps for thirty minutes and relive everything that happened in my first nine hours here. I didn’t want to dig holes in the ground and use leaves as toilet paper — forget unsanitary, it just feels wrong.

But what I want doesn’t matter anymore, otherwise I wouldn’t be standing chest-deep in a small lake, washing myself as best I can without soap, feeling very cold, very exposed and very vulnerable. What matters is the slight possibility that someone, somewhere, might be able to help me get back home. Right now, that means submitting myself to the whims of a pink pony princess, who I’m sure has a habit of finding out what she doesn’t know, and an orange pegasus, who hates herself for rescuing me.

…I can’t believe how comfortable I am thinking that…

Not comfortable in the sense that I enjoy the thought, but in the sense that I don’t feel strongly one way or the other. And it’s not that I’m following orders that gives me pause, but that I’ve already grown used to my situation.

A week ago, I’d probably have dismissed myself as another raving weirdo if I said we’d be going to a fantasy land, with magic and talking ponies with wings that look nothing like ponies but keep calling themselves ponies. Oh, and there are dragons and minotaurs, and a Medusa-chicken that was supposed to turn us to stone, but didn’t. Why? Because, apparently, we’re too resolute for it.

Yeah, good luck explaining that to anyone back home.

I submerge and resurface, shaking my head, wiping my eyes, spitting water from my lips, partly to clear my mind, but mostly to get on with the job. There’s little I can do for my hair without shampoo, except wring it like a tube of toothpaste and hope the grease comes out. As for the rest of my body, I scratch and rub and trust the dirt will peel away with the old skin, like the Romans did in their public baths.

It feels refreshing, to finally dictate when, where, and how wet I get, especially after the drenching I’d received not half an hour ago, and in the storm just two days earlier. Granted, I’m still following orders, but at least this is something I control — something I have a choice in. It’s small, positively miniscule in the big picture, but for once in my short stay here, I have the ability to choose, and I wouldn’t give it up for the world.

Well, maybe the world — I’m not that selfish — but it’s still important to me.

Or doesn’t that saying count anymore? Is it either world now? Both worlds? All the worlds? I don’t need a lecture on interdimensional metaphysics to know there’s no end to that rabbit hole. Science was hard enough when the scientists knew what they were talking about. Who am I to say what’s true and what isn’t when I barely understand it myself, or how and why I’m here at all?

If I keep this up, I swear I’ll be as crazy as Amber thinks I am.

After another thirty minutes, or however long it takes to scrape myself down from head to toe, I stop and inspect my work. My skin has turned a shade pinker, more so in the hairless areas, with streaks of red that sting in some places, but I appear to be cleaner. I’ll know for certain when the colour fades, so long as I don’t trip and fall in the dirt.

Actually, I should’ve asked if she had a towel to spare, because standing in the open for all to see as I wait for the sun to dry me off, doesn’t appeal to me in the slightest.

Then again, I could just slip my clothes back on. So long as I look halfway decent by the time I reach Amber’s — or snobbish, by her standards — I couldn’t care less. They’re due for a wash anyway; what’s the big deal if they get a little dirtier? And from what? Being soaked in fresh, clean water that would eventually dry out?

I’m putting way too much thought into this.

Glancing around to make sure nobody’s watching — not that there would be anyone — I wade to the edge of the lake, then take another, more careful look, and then, tentatively, climb out. The cold water did wonders to soothe my aching leg, but in the breeze, it only makes me shiver, and gives me all the more reason to put on my clothes.

I bet there’s a metaphor in there somewhere, about societal pressures, or the frailty of the human condition, or something deep and meaningful like that.

Whether that’s the case, I don’t give myself to the chance to ponder, preferring instead to slide on my underwear, my trousers, my shirt, and pick up my sneakers with my socks stuffed inside. It’ll be slow going, walking barefoot, making sure I don’t step on anything too unforgiving, but I really can’t stand the feeling of dirt in my shoes. Especially now, when I need all my patience to deal with Amber and her… lack of tact, to put it mildly.

Before I start heading back, I check the ground and my pockets in case I’ve missed something. I still have my phone, my keys and my…

I pull out my wallet and stare at it blankly, then open it up and remind myself what lies inside. Three cards of identification. A business voucher. Minted currency and printed money.

Why didn’t I think of it sooner?

Of course, I can’t be sure if strange marks on paper, plastic and metal would mean anything to either of my new overlords — for all I know, they might cry forgery, or dismiss them as inconsequential — but part of me is left wondering if maybe, just maybe, things could have turned out differently. And if they still can.

I’ll see if I can bring it up this evening, provided Amber is willing to talk. If not, some other time. Or maybe never. Her Royal Highness, on the other hand… although intimidating, despite appearances, seems a little more approachable.

In fact, now that I think about it, she’d be the most likely to have the answers, and the least likely to knock my lights out for asking. So, unless Amber changes her attitude in the next few days, I’d be more than happy to keep her in the dark.

I put my wallet away and take another look around. Oaks, ash, maples, rising and falling as far as the eye can see, thinning their canopy wherever they feel, yielding only to the small lake before me, and the ridge of mountains about an hour’s journey further. Birds sing. A breeze blows. Leaves rustle and the water ripples. And for a moment, I feel content.

Not happy, not relaxed.

Content.

Why, I can’t say. I just do. And I don’t think I want to know why. But if I had to guess, maybe it’s the seeming peace and tranquillity of the whole scene — a quality I’ve never been able to appreciate for some time now. Not deeply, anyway.

With a simple blink, the moment ends, and I turn back and start limping for the house.

I take the path that brought me here, passing the same trees, the same shrubs, the same flowers, dips, bumps, stones, pebbles, puddles, and the small boulder that more or less marks the halfway point. It seems a little out of place, considering it’s the only boulder I’ve seen that didn’t sit on a mountain, but it’s here, and it’s helpful. And it reminds me of one back home.

We used to have a big Siberian husky called Nina, who was always so energetic that simple walks around the neighbourhood just wouldn’t do. Instead, we’d drive out of town for about fifteen minutes and let her loose in the local common, where she’d bound off into the underbrush chasing who knew what, and, thankfully, come back empty-handed.

On the way back to the car, we always made sure to stop by a large, conveniently shaped rock so we could pour some water in for Nina. Water Rock, as it came to be known, was as familiar to me as the cracks in the pavement on the way to school.

…What is it about this world that makes me so homesick? I’ve never been like this before, even on the trip to Vietnam, where we stayed in a bungalow for two weeks in the mountains — not unlike my current abode, come to think of it. Is it because everything is so close, yet so far? That I can recognise trees, plants, tools and furniture, and yet know this is an alternate universe with magic, monsters and magical monsters? An uncanny valley of reality, so to speak?

Maybe I am going crazy. Or maybe I’ll wake up any second and find that I’ve been sleeping in hospital for the last forty-eight hours, after being hit by a car while crossing the road. But that’s just crazy talk; I always look both ways. I’m street smart.

…Why do I get the feeling that’s a name here too?

I descend a shallow embankment and veer around a fallen tree. It seems to be a recent change, and a deliberate one, judging by the marks on the stump. The missing branches, the splinters littering the ground and a deep, clear gash in the trunk tell me that Amber has every intention of using it all as firewood. And probably stress relief. In which case, I might want to take a swing. If she’s willing to show me how.

And then I freeze.

There’s a creature in front of me.

Two creatures, actually. Two rabbits. Sitting upright, hugging each other, staring at me with wide eyes and screaming horror plastered on their faces. But they don’t scream. They’re silent. Still. Petrified. Two little statues locked in a terrified embrace.

I feel hollow. They were definitely not there the last time I came through here, which means unless Amber has a hidden stash of morbid garden gnomes and a terribly cruel sense of humour, Selene was right, and this… thing really should have turned me to stone. It did for these two. And if it happened to them, it can happen to me. I don’t know why it didn’t work before, and I don’t care; I’m not taking a second chance. Which is why, although I feel like I’m being watched, I don’t look around. That would be a very, very bad idea.

But if it can happen to me…

I look up.

The clearing’s not that far.

I lean forward and break into a skipping run, bounding awkwardly between, around and over bushes, logs, rocks and trees. I don’t look back to double check, but I’m pretty sure some of those rocks weren’t there the last time either. “Amber?!” I cry as I tear away from the tree line. “Amber, where are you?!”

I scan the clearing as I wait for her response, but when I hear the faint echo of my voice instead, the silence that follows is unforgivingly sickening.

Without missing a beat, I limp up the hill to her cottage. “Come on, please, answer me, Amber!”

Once again, my echo is the only reply I’m given, and another, more frantic look about the clearing leaves me feeling even more desperate.

“For crying out loud, Amber, where the hell are you?!”

“What?!”

I stop and turn back to the house, then grab my knees and breathe a heavy sigh of relief when I see her peeking around the timber shed.

“I’m right here! You don’t need to be so loud!”

“I thought…”

“What? That I’d left for good?”

“…Something like that.”

“Well, I’m still here. So, what do you want?” Her gaze and her tone suddenly grow as cold as ice. “And what did you do with my pots?”

I almost smack myself. Of all the things to remember, why did I have to forget about them? “Back at the lake,” I say sheepishly.

“Then fetch them.”

I saw that follow-up coming a mile away, but it doesn’t make her demand any less… whatever it’s called. Foreboding? Dreadful? In any case, I gently shake my head. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because… there were these rabbits, and…”

“And…?”

“…I’m scared of rabbits.”

She stares. She blinks. And then she sits down, closes her eyes, and slowly puts two trembling feet to her brows. And she stays like that for a while, shuddering with the effort to rein herself in. “One thing,” she finally says, lowering her forelegs again. “That’s all you had to do — one single, simple, measly chore, and then you’d be done for the day. Go to the lake, fetch water, have a bath, bring back water. Is that really too much to ask?”

“I’m… sorry, Amber—”

“That’s not good enough!” She stomps the ground so hard that I feel a slight tremor. “You’ve done nothing but disrespect and backtalk me the second you got here, and I’ve just about had it! And when I give you one last chance to redeem yourself, doing the most basic, the most menial task I can possibly imagine, you get scared off by a bunch of fluffy bunnies!”

“…What do you want me to say?”

“I want you to say you’ll stop being such a useless, moronic, insubordinate sack of manure, and mean it. But that’ll never happen, will it?”

“I’m trying, Amber.”

“Then try harder! Because if this is your best, I’d hate to see what happens when you deliberately screw up. And Selene grant you mercy if you do.”

At first, I feel hurt, but then I realise whose name that was, and it makes me wonder for a moment if she’d heard last night’s meeting. But why would she wait until now to bring it up? Unless she wasn’t referring to her in the conventional sense, but instead, something a little more… divine. Considering that magic is real here, and I don’t know anything about how it works… is it really so hard to believe that, maybe… being Princess of Love and the Night… isn’t just a title?

She did have hair made of the night sky, after all.

“Now, I’m only going to say this once, so unless you want a black eye, I recommend you listen very carefully.” Amber stands and paces towards me. “You’re going to go back inside, you’re going to sit down, you’re going to shut up, and you’re going to think about what a horrible guest you’ve been. And if I’m not moved to tears by your apology when I get back, I will kick you out the door and use your bag as kindling.”

“Amber, please—”

“That’s Amber Dart to you, dingus!” she snaps, stopping an arm’s length away. “You don’t get to call me that anymore! Now get moving or I’ll get punching!”

I stumble back a step. I wrack my head for a way to salvage this conversation, one-sided as it is, but I’m just too shaken. I feel scared, weak, worthless, powerless, rotten. Absolutely pathetic. A sorry excuse for a human being on a downward slope that’ll only grow steeper. But mostly… I feel abandoned.

Amber turns back and storms into the shed.

“What’re you doing?” I ask feebly, but I already know the answer.

“Fixing your mess,” she grumbles, reappearing with a stone axe tucked under a wing and treating me to a seething scowl. “Might chop a few more logs while I’m at it — do something productive.”

Dread fills me and I limp after her. “Amber, wait.”

“Amber Dart!”

The spite hits me like a slap to the face. “…Amber Dart…” I try again, “can I ask you… one last question?”

She stops in her tracks, and then slowly — painfully so — turns to face me, meeting my gaze with eyes that scream of utter contempt. But she doesn’t say anything. And I can only hope that’s my go-ahead.

“…Can you… reverse… a cockatrice’s stare?”

The words hang in the air, thick and heavy and noxious, like diesel fumes. But her glare doesn’t waver, even for a moment. Almost a full minute passes, and still she doesn’t reply. Then her feet shift, her body turns, her head swings, and she continues down the slope to the forest.

“Amber Dart?”

Her pace never falters.

“Amber Dart, please.”

“I’m not doing this anymore!” she bellows, not bothering to look at me. “I’m sick and tired of all these lies just to feed your own ego, or whatever sick, twisted fantasy you have going on! I never fell for your tricks before, and I’m not starting now! So just leave me alone and—”

“AMBER, PLEASE, JUST ANSWER THE DAMN QUESTION!”

She freezes and shoots back a look that could melt glaciers.

I let go of my shoes and drop to my hands and knees in desperation, groaning and grimacing as my leg bends in a way it isn’t yet ready for. “I’m sorry, Amber, but please…” I beg, voice unsteady, and I’m a little surprised to find an eye welling up. “Please, just give me an answer, and I swear this’ll be the last you hear of it.”

She glances me up and down, clearly enraged… but the longer she stares, the more her discomfort grows. Eventually, her incredulous look returns, if a little more wrathful than usual. And then she gently shakes her head, and slowly turns away, resuming her journey.

“Amber, those rabbits were statues.”

She doesn’t react.

I get back on my feet and chase after her. “Please, Amber. If you go in…”

Still no reply.

I catch up to her and put a hand on her shoulder. “Amber, if you’d just—”

She rears up, wings flinging open, and whips around. And in the split second I have before she swings her foot into my jaw, I see a face of pure, instinctual, unadulterated hate.

I wake up lying on my stomach, cheek pressed against the grass and head aching like it’s been hit with a brick. The arm trapped underneath me rumbles with pins and needles. My teeth hurt. My jaw… isn’t angled right. And I can’t breathe.

I splutter and cough and hack up something phlegmy from behind my tongue, and I have to let it sit in my mouth as I whine and cradle my head from the pain. After about a minute, when the pain finally ebbs away, I prop myself up on my numb elbow and prepare to spit it out. But I stop when I feel something solid, and instead drool it into my hand.

Sitting atop a sticky pool of red saliva… is part of a tooth.

The tip of my upper left canine, to be precise.

I tap the jagged stump with my tongue, testing the nerve, and grunt and flinch when a blunt bolt of pain shoots up from the root.

It’s loose. It won’t come out on its own, but it’ll need some time to settle, so I make a note not to chew on that side for the next week or so, or clench my teeth. But as I recover from the hurtful echoes and stare at the little white fleck in my palm, I can’t help feeling somewhat downcast. Empty. Incomplete. Less… well, me. Because this is damage that can’t be fixed. Can’t be replaced. Or, if it can, I don’t know how.

For a moment, I consider putting it back and hoping it stays, but I quickly realise that it would only end in painful disappointment. Instead, I pick it out with the other hand and rub my palm on the grass, then slip the chip into the small coin pouch in my trouser pocket. It’s not like a fingernail, or a hair; those grow back. A tooth doesn’t. It’s too… precious… to simply throw away.

Precious might be the wrong word — a bit extreme, and… dare I say, famous, in my opinion — but I think it gets the point across. Besides, if there’s even the slightest chance of a magical dentist around these parts, I’ll take it. I just hope I can reach them in time, if at all.

I steel myself for a venomous glower, but when I look up, no one’s there. And my heart sinks, knowing full well where she’s gone, and dreading the silence.

“Anver?” I call with a slur, and don’t try a second time. I have to relocate my jaw first.

With a dismal cringe, I roll onto my back and use my thumb to mark out the empty socket, and hold my chin in the other hand, and begin to push.

Surprisingly, it doesn’t hurt that much, but it is an unnerving sensation, to feel bone shifting under the skin. Even when it pops back in — when it feels like a high-tension wire has snapped inside my skull — I recoil more in shock than in pain.

Rolling it in circles and waggling it from side to side grinds down the kinks, making sure it’ll stay in place, then I sit up and wipe the drool from my mouth as I take another look around. “Amber?!” I shout, a little softer than I’d like because my head still aches, and it’s not the kind to condone loud noises. “Amber, please tell me you didn’t…!”

But although I barely know her, I know her well enough.

I return my gaze to the woods, and it feels like something has changed. It’s not as innocent anymore. It’s ominous. Menacing. But despite my fear and reluctance, I stand back up and stagger back in, trying my best to ignore the sticks and pebbles that prod my feet.

My head’s still dizzy from the blow, and the change in height doesn’t do much to help, but I can’t let something so petty get in my way. I need to find her. I need to show her the statues. And if I still can’t convince her…

What then? Do I drag her out kicking and screaming? Do I sock her one back? Could I? I mean, sure, I’ve been violent before, and so has everyone else — or so I hope — but it always did more harm than good. It’s not who I am anymore. Not who I want to be. Besides, with a right hook like that, I’d hate to find out what she can do in a real fight firsthand.

I’ll figure it out somehow. I have to. I always do.

The fallen tree comes into view, and a stone-headed axe lies on the ground beside it.

I rush over and pick it up, examining it, as if I’m supposed to discover her whereabouts from a simple tool. But it tells me that she left in a hurry — she wouldn’t leave something like this behind unless she really had to. Especially after the roasting she gave me.

Small patches of exposed and overturned earth lead to the south, away from the tree. They start off concentrated, frantic, like someone had tripped and fallen and struggled to gain their footing, then proceed into a bounding stride — a gallop, I suppose — rhythmic, but still desperate. I glance about in case I’ve missed something obvious, then return to the tracks and begin to follow.

Unfortunately, unlike the lake, the ground inside the forest isn’t always as soft, and I often have to stop and search the area for the next section, or retrace my steps and figure out where I’d gone wrong. I’m doing the best I can, but it’s just not enough. I’m taking too long. Every error I make, every second I waste brushing the sticks and stones from my feet, is a moment proving just how laughable I really am.

Who am I kidding? All I know about tracking comes from Hollywood, and yet I’m trying to follow a trail that could be anywhere from five minutes to an hour old. Who do I think I am? Superman? I’m being ridiculous. She wouldn’t do the same for me, would she? So why bother?

…Do I really need to ask?

The tracks lead me to the shade of an old oak, where she appears to have sat down and caught her breath, and perhaps checked if she was still being chased, if she felt like taking the risk. How long she stayed there, I can’t tell, but she started moving again, heading for a steep embankment, and stumbled down the slope. I hobble closer and peer over the edge, and at long last, I finally see Amber.

A statue of Amber, lying on her side, staring up at me with wide, pleading, horrified eyes, ears down, wings flapping, foreleg raised defensively as she tries to scramble away. And prancing around her on a stage of orange feathers, shrieking at her, taunting her, gloating in a successful hunt, is the cockatrice.

The last time we met, I thought I saw embarrassment, but there’s no mistaking that look on its face this time: smug, sadistic pride, without a hint of remorse.

On any other day back home, I’d probably wonder how a beak could stretch into a smirk, but right now, that’s the least of my worries. Amber has been petrified. I need to fix it, fast. And I have a sneaking suspicion that, with the proper leverage, the magician would be more than willing to reveal its secrets.

I don’t have much reason to think that — after all, as far as I remember, the Greeks never found a cure for Medusa’s handiwork — but I’m not going to let it just walk away. Not when I have anything to say about it. The trouble is how to sneak up on it without being turned to stone myself, when my leg doesn’t do stealth very well.

In the myths, or the movies of the myths, the only defence was to use a mirror. What I wouldn’t give to have a working phone again, or to have brought my camera, but they won’t do much good if things get up close and personal.

There’s no time to lose. If I search for another way down, the cockatrice might leave, and it’d be more likely to see me if we’re on the same level.

I take a step down the embankment and silently panic as I slide for a moment, my knee once again bending a little too far. The soil is loose, almost the consistency of a sand dune — a blessing and a curse; it’ll muffle my movements, so long as I don’t make any sounds of my own, but I must tread carefully.

As the cockatrice continues bragging to itself, now perched on one of Amber’s hindlegs and clucking in her face, I slowly, carefully descend. It might not be able to talk, but it’s intelligent, and that’s why, I realise, I think it’s my best chance of reversing the damage. I just can’t afford to mess up now. Not when I have this one chance and one chance only. Not when I’m so close.

And then the slope gives way.

I yelp in surprise as my foot slides with the earth, landing on my back and rolling down the slope, losing the axe as I tumble head over heels. The world spins and shakes, all noise devolving into muted bumps and grunts, until I reach the bottom where I roll to a stop. I shake my head and blink hard a few times, returning my sight to normal, then look up to the statue.

Red eyes, wide and malicious, meet mine. Steadfast, at first, then surprised, then shocked, and then fearful. And then it hops down from its perch and dashes for the undergrowth.

I push off from the ground and leap after it, seizing its tail as I land on my stomach.

It shrieks, startled, then twists around and bares its fangs with a hiss.

I waver.

It takes aim for the hand restraining it and lunges for a bite.

I yank my hand back, taking the tail with it, and hurl the cockatrice at the earthen cliff.

It recovers mid-air, using its wings, and scampers for the shrubs again.

I push off the ground for a second time and tackle it as it passes, then suffer its talons clawing at my shirt, raking down my arms, scratching my cheek as I grapple and wrestle with it until I finally lie on top, binding its feet together and pinning it to the ground.

It tries to bite again, this time for my nose.

I jerk away, put my hand to its throat, and slam it down, hard enough to daze, but not enough to choke.

It shuts its eyes, wriggles, struggles.

“Change her back,” I demand.

It opens its eyes again, looks at me. Fears me.

“Change her back,” I repeat. “Please.”

It hesitates, small, barely noticeable dots of a lighter red darting up and down, left and right. Pupils, I think, scanning me. Measuring me. Just as I’m trying to do the same with it.

Whether it’s searching for a weakness or simply sussing me out, I can’t tell, but I stay where I am, trying not to let my nerves get the better of me. I feel hot and rattled, my knee aches with a vengeance, and the claw marks are beginning to itch. The last thing I need right now is an uncooperative cockatrice who, by all accounts, should have turned me to stone already. I’ll think about the how and the why later — now is the time for diplomacy. With a chicken. “I won’t ask you again,” I warn, leaning a little closer. “Change her back.”

It shrinks as far as it can into the dirt and nods vigorously, and then shuts its eyes once more with an almost pained expression.

A faint, stony crack comes from behind me and glance over my shoulder.

The cockatrice writhes and strains to break free.

I turn back and tighten my grip, “Don’t you think for one second that I’m letting go.”

It slumps, giving up, staring off into nowhere with a sad, defeated look on its face.

I heave myself up in wonky, laboured, agonising motions, taking the cockatrice with me. I adjust my hold on its neck to the nape and release its feet, allowing its tail and talons to drag through the dirt. Despite the increased freedom, it remains limp. What’s the use in escaping, after all? It knows I can overpower it, and it’s probably just as baffled as I am that its stare hadn’t worked. Even as I bend over and retrieve the axe from the foot of the slope and make my way to Amber, it makes no effort to squirm free.

The bully had finally met a bigger fish.

Stone splits and fractures, opened by jagged fissures of pure white light.

Movement returns first, with the subtle sway of hair and feathers as gravity takes over.

Next come the colours, gradually fading in through the grey, from tip to root, revealing the honey, the fire, and the burning blue.

Finally, her chest heaves, a breath is taken, then exhaled, again and again and again, and her eyes, shrunken to the size of grapes, dart about, searching for her pursuer.

Instead, she finds me, with the guilty party dangling miserably in my grasp, and as well as fearful, she becomes confused.

There are so many things I want to say. So many words I want to speak. So many feelings I want to express. But none of them quite sum up what I’m thinking. This isn’t the time or the place for it anyway. “You forgot your axe,” I mutter, throwing it in the dirt between us.

She looks down at the tool, and then back to me, and tries to form words. Tries.

I turn away and start heading east. I’m not in the mood to hear what she has to say — she made herself pretty clear when she knocked the living daylights out of me. If she came out here chop wood and get away from me, so be it. I won’t argue. I’ve had enough arguing for one day.

“Wait.”

My frown deepens, but I keep limping.

“Wait just a minute.”

Grudgingly, I give in, turning back to face her.

She rolls onto her feet and stands up, then picks up the axe, holding it to her chest, and shuffles towards me. The same look of fear and confusion is still plastered on her face, but it’s waning. As she approaches, she glances between me and the cockatrice, obviously a little disturbed. “How’d you…”

I open my mouth to answer with something snide, but a feeling stops me.

A familiar feeling.

An ounce of pressure at the base of my skull.

“What’s wrong?”
I focus on Amber again, staring at her with wide, pleading, horrified eyes. “House,” I whimper. “House, now.”

1.6 | Echoes

A thin sliver of blurred light illuminates the darkness, and I realise that my eyes are finally opening. I can see smudges of colour in the corners, but no details, and I have no energy to lift my head. But I recognise the position my body is in — the same position I’ve been sleeping in for two, probably three nights now — and I know I’m in a place of… relative safety.

Just like last time, my mouth is dry, my throat is parched, my feet are bare, and the air holds the faint scent of freshly baked bread, but that might just be the lived-in smell.

Everyone has a natural odour. I don’t mean the sweaty kind that showers were invented for; I mean a certain fragrance that can’t be washed out — that is intrinsic to a family and the place they call home. It’s something I’ve always noticed, but never mentioned, because, really, who notices these things? Who thinks about them? Who brings it up in polite conversation? And who in their right mind would want to listen?

Unlike last time, however, the blanket is already bundled up as a pillow, and the flickering light of a lit hearth dances across the ceiling. I feel its heat. Savour the aroma of wood smoke. Almost close my eyes and lose myself to the confines of sleep once more. But a hint of movement and a soft sniffle catches my attention, and I somehow find the strength to angle my head.

The armchair has been moved closer, facing me from an arm’s length away, and occupying it, staring down at the floor, is an orange pegasus. Her hindlegs and tail droop over the edge of the seat, a foreleg wrapping around her stomach, the other rubbing her snout — sitting, I realise, like a human would. Her ears are a little lower than usual, though, and she wear the faint wrinkles of a troubled frown.

I call out to her.

She stops her scratching and props her chin on the same foot, but says nothing. She mustn’t have heard me.

I try again.

Still nothing. Nothing but a heavy sigh.

I don’t understand. My lips are moving — if only slightly — I can feel the air move in and out, and I’m being as articulate as I can, so why isn’t she responding? She isn’t ignoring me on purpose, is she? I try a third and, hopefully, final time.

“H’lon?”

She looks up. “What?”

I frown at myself and close my eyes. Yes, actually speaking would’ve helped, but now that I have, I feel drained. Utterly exhausted. An empty cup fed by a slow drip. Like one of those drinking bird toys — how they sit on the edge of a glass and slowly teeter their way to the water, then bolt upright, and the cycle repeats until the end of time. I really need to figure out how they work, at some point…

“Hey, hey, stay with me.”

Something pats my cheek and my whole jaw becomes an echo chamber of agony. I grunt and shrink away and swat at a large orange limb.

The creature it belongs to — a pegasus, I remind myself, although she looks nothing like a pegasus — pulls back and rests her elbows on her knees. She must be very flexible, to sit like that. “Don’t go falling asleep on me, dingus,” she says in a tone I can’t quite comprehend, but it doesn’t sound mean. “What were you saying?”

“Why?” I moan.

“Why what?”

My hand starts nursing my cheek. “Why?”

“Rule Four.”

“…Rule what?”

“Rule Four: no touching.”

I pause, confused at first. I was actually wondering what made her think it was a good idea to rap on my jaw like a doorknocker, especially one that’s less half a tooth, but I slowly nod in understanding. Explaining the mistake would take too long anyway, and I lack the energy.

“But that’s not what you were trying to say, was it?”

I gently shake my head.

“So…?”

For some reason, I struggle to remember something that happened not a full minute ago. “How long,” I murmur. “I was asking how long I’ve been out for.”

“About fifteen hours.”

I raise my brows. “Really?”

She glances behind her to the shuttered window. “It’s approaching midnight.”

“And last time?”

“Twenty-three, give or take.”

I wait a moment or two, then straighten my head and stare up at the scaffolding. “I’m getting better at this,” I muse, though I sound more tired than humorous.

“At what? Comas?”

“Waking up from them…”

“Hey, I said don’t fall asleep.”

“I’m not, I’m not, I’m just… catching my breath…”

“And getting a little too comfortable.”

I peer at her from the corner of my eye. “Wouldn’t you?”

“Not when I’ve been asleep for half the day.”

“It’s not the same, you…” I turn my head fully. “What’s your name again?”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know.”

“…But I don’t.” I frown to myself, realising what a strange thing it is. “I remember I did, but… I don’t.”

Her face hardens and she opens her mouth to make a snide remark… but something stops her. I can’t tell what, but she closes her mouth again and slowly deflates, looking at the floor. “Amber,” she says, and then clears her throat and meets my eyes. “My name’s Amber Dart.”

I nod. “Pleased to meet you.”

She winces. “Was it me that knocked a few screws loose, or the cockatrice?”

I give a light smile. “¿Por que no los dos?”

“Great, now you’re speaking in tongues.”

“In Spanish,” I clarify. “Español. It means ‘why not the two’.”

“You know a second language?”

“Bits and pieces. And not just Spanish.”

“…You’re lying again, aren’t you?”

“Au contraire, mon cher. But believe what you want. It’s not like I can stop you.”

She pauses, then folds her forelegs and looks to the fire.

“What happened to it, anyway?”

“What happened to what?”

“The… Medusa-chicken, or whatever it’s called.”

She turns back with a quizzical eyebrow raised. “The cockatrice?”

“…Yeah, that.”

“In the shed, where we left it.”

“…Right,” I nod to myself. “Right.”

“…You really don’t remember, do you?”

“What? No, I, uh… I…”

“Is everything okay up there?”

“Sorry?”

She angles her head somewhat. “What do you remember, exactly?”

“…I remember… heading to the cottage. With you. And the…”

“Cockatrice?”

“Was that what it was?”

“…Yes, it was.”

“…Could’ve sworn I was holding the axe…”

“I had the axe.”

“Oh. So, I was heading to the cottage… with you. And you had the axe… and I had the cockatrice. Is that right?”

“Do you remember reaching my house?”

I pause. I think. But nothing comes to mind. No images, no sound, no… Nothing. Any time I entered the clearing and saw her house, my hands had been empty. I slowly shake my head.

“No headaches, or nerve pains, or anything like that?”

“…What happened, Amber?”

She looks away again and, hesitantly, shrugs. “I don’t know. As soon as I locked the shed, you… collapsed. And you started screaming, and shaking, and… hitting yourself. And I don’t mean lightly — I mean… really hard. In the head. I managed to stop you, but… it wasn’t easy. Didn’t help that you jabbed me in the ribs a few times.”

“…Does it hurt?”

She looks back, but says nothing, and continues to say nothing for an uncomfortably long amount of time.

I lower my eyes.

“No,” she finally, quietly answers. “Not really”

The silence returns. This time, however, it’s a mutual silence — neither awkward nor comfortable — and I could use a breather from talking so much. From thinking so much. From trying to remember things I know I should remember, but can’t, for reasons I might never know.

Is it ironic that I claimed to have memory problems, and now, apparently, I do?

Even recounting my predicament makes me feel seasick. Like I’m on the floor of a small boat, going up and down and up and down, sometimes violently, sometimes gently. It’s nowhere near as bad as the nausea from last night, but… it’s hard to compare.

And I don’t want to compare it; I want it to end. I want this whole nightmare to end. I want Amber to lean over, whisper in my ear, admit she’s a figment of my imagination, and that I’ll be waking up soon, and everything will be fine. Everything will be okay. Because if it’s not okay, it’s not the end. And this world can’t be where my story ends. It just can’t be.

I can’t be that…

…But I am that unlucky.

I have to face the facts: there are some things that I just can’t change, and my reality, whether I like it or not, is one of them. This isn’t a dream because dreams are never this real. Even lucid ones.

Against the odds, I am, in fact, the one in a million. I’ve struck gold. Won the lottery. Lost a game of Russian roulette. Discovered a new planet, met a new species, suffered through two migraines and two day-long comas, the latest of which has left me with a mild case of amnesia, and now my only source of help comes from an orange pegasus with flaming hair, who’s as likely to slap me as she is to speak to me.

This isn’t fun. It never was, but it definitely isn’t anymore.

I just want to go home.

“…I can’t feel you…”

Already half-asleep, it takes a while for me to realise who spoke, and a little longer to recognise the tone. It wasn't harsh, or condescending, or derisive, or disdainful… It was reticent. Something I’ve never heard from her before. Hesitation, sure, and maybe timidity, but they were always in response to something — natural reactions to an outside force. This was unprovoked.

I shove the drowsiness to the back of my mind for a moment and turn to face her.

Amber sits with a hunch, head down, ears low, elbows on her knees, a distant, yet distinctly thoughtful look in her eyes. Blue eyes. Sapphire eyes. Almost luminous in contrast with the dark, and gleaming with the small, dancing reflection of the fire. Her mane and tail, too, seem to radiate with a similar golden glow. Her focus lies on her forefeet, one slowly, softly tracing the outline of the other.

“What do you mean?”

She pauses — possibly stiffens, as if I wasn’t supposed to hear her, but if she does, it’s so slight that I can’t say for sure. I may have imagined it. “When I touch you… I can’t feel you,” she answers, a little quieter than before, and meets my eyes again.

“I don’t understand.”

She hesitates, brows faintly creasing, and then slowly reaches over and puts a foot on my shoulder. As she makes contact, a small amount of hope fades. “What do you feel?”

I look down at the foot, then back to her. “A solid… hoof.”

“Hard?”

“Yeah.”

She lightly shakes her head. “That’s not what it’s supposed to feel like.”

“No?”

“I’m trying to be gentle.”

“…Well, you are being gentle.”

“No, I mean… you’re not supposed feel the hoof, you’re supposed to…”

“What?”

She pulls back and taps her forefeet together. “You’re supposed to feel something soft. And I’m supposed to… feel something. Besides resistance.”

“Wait, you mean… you can feel things through your feet?”

“Hooves,” she corrects, though it lacks her usual zeal. “But yeah, that’s what they do. I should be able to grab you too, but… I can’t. I don’t know why.”

“Then how’d you get me inside?”

“Dragged you. Both times. Hooked my forelegs under yours and dragged you.”

“Arms.”

“What?”

“They’re called arms.”

She frowns, and then blinks and shakes her head. “Whatever. You get the idea.”

“Can you feel me if I touch you?”

“…Yeah, the rest of me is fine, but… how’d you like it if your hands went numb, and you lost your fingers, and the only way to feel somepony is to brush against them?”

I raise an eyebrow. “Somepony?”

“Yeah.”

“…What, like, just ponies, or…?”

Amber blinks again, this time in surprise. “No, nothing like that,” she says quietly, looking away and shaking her head once more. “It’s my version of someone. Or somebody, if you want to be specific. It’s what I grew up hearing.”

I nod absently. “Sounds pretty exclusive.”

Her ear twitches, and she peers at me with an irritated glint in her eye. “Well, I’m not trying to insult you.”

I raise my hand defensively. “Never said you were.”

Eventually, she seems to relax, and she looks away again. “Still,” she murmurs, “you wouldn’t like it, would you?”

“…Not a whole lot.”

“Me neither.” She slouches, returning her elbows to her knees and staring at upturned forehooves. “It’s weird. Really weird.”

“I can only imagine,” I breathe, closing my eyes, and my strength leaves me once more.

“I don’t think you’re getting better.”

I don’t argue, and I don’t try to: she’s right. It probably took me about ten minutes to shake off the stupor yesterday, but now, after what I think is a similar amount of time, I barely have the energy to lift a finger. I feel light, but heavy. Weightless, but grounded. Sick, but not sick. But mostly, I feel… nothing. A big, empty void of nothing, towards which I am falling eternally. But I’m not afraid — I’m too tired to be. Too tired to feel anything. Too tired to sleep.

“How’d you know how to save me?”

Her voice, unusually soft, pulls me from the abyss. “I didn’t,” I mumble. “I just got lucky.”

Another pause. A long one.

“…Why did you save me?”

Something about the question confuses me. Irks me, scares me, upsets me… concerns me. For a number of reasons, I think, but they go unnamed. I crack open my eyes and turn to her, but all I see is a blur of orange, white, black and blue.

“Why not?”

The blue circles linger on me, then look away as two forelimbs cross. For a second time, if memory serves me right.

“Something wrong?”

They glance back at me. “No, I’m just… thinking.”

“What about?”

“…About why you didn’t turn to stone. You’re not strong-willed, so it can’t be that. But if it isn’t that… I don’t know what.”

“Are you asking me?”

The blur shrugs. “If you have the answer, sure.”

I give a weary shake of the head. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

She pauses again, and some of the details finally return. Nothing too specific, at first, but I spy the familiar wrinkles of a troubled frown.

“Hey,” I grin weakly, “at least I can say I told you so.”

Amber turns back to me, and, in an instant, her ears perk up and the frown becomes a glare. “Do you want me to knock you out again?”

My grin widens, grows stronger, and I tap a finger against my cheek as I chuckle. “Chip the other tooth and you have yourself a deal.”

Something makes her pause, then fold her ears and look away. I think it’s my response, but I don’t see why; it was a joke, nothing more, nothing less. It was supposed to lighten the mood, not make her feel worse.

“I’m sorry about that, by the way.”

Her eyes, reluctantly, meet mine. “What for?”

“Touching you.” I’m not sure who owes who an apology, or if one is owed at all, but it feels like the right thing to do. “It was my fault; I should’ve remembered. I can’t blame you for keeping a promise.”

Again, my answer seems to bother her, and her wings ruffle as she shifts uneasily in her seat, but she doesn’t try to argue.

I don’t press the issue, and decide against telling her that she’d given me my first dislocated joint. Today’s been too much of a downer anyway. Better to steer the subject onto a more light-hearted track. “You look funny.”

She flinches.

…I want to slap myself. Why on Earth would I think that was a good way to start a conversation? I didn’t even use the right tone, for goodness sake. And I can’t blame the drowsiness — I’m almost fully awake now. It was a poor choice of topic and bad phrasing, and I need to make amends. I open my mouth to apologise again.

“You’re one to talk.”

I stop. I consider her words. And then I faintly smile. “How so?”

“Are you kidding?” Amber retorts. “Look at yourself; your eyes are too small, your face is too flat, your ears aren’t in the right place, your legs and arms are too thin and you wear clothes all the time. What isn’t weird about you?”

“…What’s this obsession you have with clothes?”

“I’m not obsessed.”

“But you won’t stop bugging me about it, will you?”

“I’ve only mentioned it twice. You’re the one who thinks it’s okay to go swimming with complete strangers — you’re the weird one.”

“I didn’t say that,” I snicker, “I was just pointing out the irony.”

“What irony? It’s about context, idiot. I wouldn’t sneak a peek if you were changing, would I? You know why? Because it’s basic manners.”

“But why?”

She baulks. “What do you mean ‘why’?! You don’t look at ponies when they’re changing, alright?! Or bathing, or anything like that! It’s manners!”

“No, I get it, I get it, it’s just…”

“Nothing! It’s ‘just’ nothing!”

“No, you’re not listening, Amber. I’m asking because… if you don’t wear anything most of the time anyway… and I assume most… ponies are the same… why would skinny-dipping be taboo? Not that I mean to imply anything.”

“It certainly sounds like it.”

“Amber, please don’t dodge the question. Why?”

She scowls at me for a long while, huffing to herself, fuming her exasperation. And then she shakes her head, turns away and shrugs. “I don’t know,” she grumbles. “It just is.”

I slowly nod. “It’s the same with me and clothes.”

She looks back, though the scowl remains.

“Most of the time, people… humans wear clothes. Even privately. What I’m wearing now is casual. You might be comfortable wearing nothing, but I’m not. I know there’s no real need for it, but where I’m from… that’s just how things are. So, please, if you’re going to tell me to do anything… please don’t tell me to strip. It’ll just make things weird for the both of us.”

She stares a little while longer. “No argument here,” she slowly, bitterly answers, "but you will have to change sooner or later.”

I groan, “Why?”

“Your shirt’s torn.”

I look down at myself and, indeed, find two gaping holes in my shirt, through which I can see scratch marks on my chest and stomach. Smaller tears, threads fraying at the edges, pockmark the rest of the fabric. “Ah.”

“Yeah, that’s another thing about clothes — they wear out.”

“…Eh.” I shrug and sigh. “Wasn’t my colour anyway.”

“Oh, give it a rest, will you?”

I snap back to her in confusion. “Excuse me?”

“The tough-guy act. The carefree attitude. Just stop it — all of it — you’re not fooling me.”

“…I’m not trying to fool you.”

“Then stop! Act like it bothers you!”

“Like what bothers—”

“Your shirt, dingus! If covering yourself up means that much to you, then why don’t you bawl your eyes out for it, like the wuss you are?!”

“Oh, I’m sorry, would you rather I lose a shirt or lose you?!”

Amber pauses, taken aback, but her bewildered look slowly morphs into one of disgust.

“Don’t read into that,” I warn as soon as I realise the double meaning. “I don’t like you. You’re one of the rudest, most obnoxious, most insufferable people I’ve ever met, and you’re giving me every reason to hate your miserable guts… but I couldn’t live with myself if you threw your life away and I could’ve done something to stop it. So, you want to know why I saved you, Amber? That’s why; I had to, because that’s what good people do.”

“So, I’m just a tool to gain the moral high ground?”

“Oh, get over yourself, Amber! I’m not trying to prove anything, I’m just trying to do what’s right.” I point to my tooth. “You’re not making it easy.”

She shuts her mouth, and I catch a glint of something in her eyes before she looks away. Something foreign to her. Something I wanted to see, but never thought I would.

Shame.

Maybe I’m too forgiving. Maybe, deep down in my psyche, there’s a little voice that tells me to go easy on others — no matter what they’ve done, or how serious the damage — in recompense for all my past misdeeds. I tend to remember my wrongs more than others’, anyway.

“I don’t like hating people, Amber,” I say, softening my tone, but keeping some of the edge. “I don’t want to hate anyone. I don’t want to hate you. But when you treat me like garbage… smack me down just for standing up… I’m sorry, but it’s hard not to.”

She doesn’t reply.

I cast my eyes about the room as I let the air between us dissipate, noticing things I hadn’t before; tiny bumps and cracks in the walls, imperfections in the scaffolding, furniture and floorboards, and two bowls resting by Amber’s feet. Hooves. Hindlegs. “Is one of them for me?” I ask, peaceably, when I think enough time has passed.

She follows my gaze and, after a short pause, gives a short, quiet, glum response, “Yeah.”

“May I?”

Her attention turns to me and she stares for a good, long while. Not with any particular mood behind it — she just stares, impassive and unreadable. And then, slowly, she reaches down and picks them up, holding one close in the bend of her ankle, offering the other with her forehoof on the rim.

How she can make objects defy gravity absolutely baffles me, but I resist the urge to ask again and accept the bowl with a gentle hand. “Thanks.”

She doesn’t react, and instead watches me with the same idle expression.

Once I finish shuffling into a more comfortable position, I look and see what dinner tonight would bring. “Same as last night?” I wonder aloud.

“Same as every night,” she answers quietly, and begins sipping her soup.

“And how long is ‘every night’, exactly?”

She stops and frowns at me.

“Rule One?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

“Rule One,” she confirms, and goes back to her dinner.

So, for the most part, the meal goes by in relative silence, broken only by the crackling and hissing of a dwindling fire. And, indeed, the soup tastes much like it did before — not exactly tasty, but not completely tasteless either — but it’s something to eat, and something to drink. I have to be careful with how I chew, though, and it hurts to swallow, but my throat feels much better by the time I finish. No doubt the fact that it was almost cold had a part to play in that.

But now that I think about it… how long had the soup been sitting there, cooling off… untouched?

I look up from my empty bowl to Amber, who eats in the same fashion as she did last time, but slower. More subdued. “Did you wait until I woke up to start eating?”

She lowers her bowl and chews a mouthful of sodden vegetables, then swallows, licks her lips and wipes them with a foreleg. “So what if I did?”

“You didn’t have to.”

“Maybe not,” she says impassively, and starts eating again.

“…What, that’s it?”

She stops and narrows her eyes. “Let’s get something straight,” she declares, then gulps down whatever’s in her mouth. “I don’t like you either. I know that might be a tough pill to swallow, but I don’t. Just because you saved me from being a statue for all eternity doesn’t mean jack — you’re still annoying as ever, as ugly as ever, and I don’t owe you anything. The only reason I’m helping you is so you can get out of my face for good, and take that stupid cockatrice with you.”

“How very gracious.”

“Did I ask for your opinion?”

“When have you ever?”

“Exactly. So, shut up.” She gestures to my bowl. “You done?”

I hand it to her. “Yes, Mum.”

She snatches it from my grasp and leans closer with a face of contempt. “Don’t call me that.”

“Oh, but you can call me a dingus half the time, right?”

“Don’t call me that.”

“In fact, you call me names all the time. How about I call you a beehive from now on? See how you like it.”

Amber pauses, and then, slowly, leans even closer until her nose is a finger’s length from mine, and snarls through grit teeth, “Say that again, dingus. One more time.”

I glare back into the dark depths of her freakishly large eyes, unblinking, daring her to make the first move. I doubt I could protect myself if she did, especially with my jaw added to the list of injuries, but I’m sick of being put down. I want to hear my name from her for once. Even if it’s an insult, I want her to…

And then it hits me.

“…You’ve forgotten my name, haven’t you?”

She flinches. She tries to hide it, but I see the slight jerk of her head, the twitch in her upper lip, and the faint trance of shame in her eyes again, which only grows the longer she stares. And as slowly as she came in, she pulls away, and before her scowl fails completely, she stacks her bowl into mine, slides off the chair, and heads for the kitchen, all without a sound — except for the clacking of hooves on wood and the soft grinding of earthenware.

I watch her go, not sure what to say, or if I should say anything.

She returns a few moments later, predictably without her homemade crockery, and turns for the door to her bedroom, frowning at the floor as she goes.

“Amber.”

She yanks herself to a halt. Her frown deepens.

“Thank you.”

Her ears twitch. Her scowl turns on me.

“For everything.”

She doesn’t react. She simply glowers at me for what feels like a whole minute. And then, finally, she lowers her gaze to the way in front of her, continues through the door, and locks it behind her. I hear footsteps, then the rustling of sheets, and then there is silence once more. A frosty silence, but not an unwelcome one.

“Good night, Amber,” I call out, and expect another thump on the wall.

But it doesn’t come. And even as I make myself as comfortable as I can on the wooden bench, and the fire fades to little more than an orange glow through blackened timber, I hear nothing. Not a peep. And I wonder how many days will be like this one.

1.7 | Judge and Jury

This time, I was able to sleep without interruption — no dream, but no white flash, ringing ears or sharp pain through my body either — and that was a welcome change. Why my little condition had decided to clear up now, I don’t know, but I’m not complaining: if not rejuvenated, I feel refreshed, like some strange weight had been taken off my mind. I’ll probably need more than just a few hours’ rest, and on something comfier than a wooden bench with a rolled-up camping blanket for a pillow, but it’ll do. I usually have a hard time going back to sleep anyway, last night notwithstanding.

I open my eyes to find myself lying in an odd position — one that isn’t healthy for my neck and will probably take half the day to straighten out — and the sun not yet risen. Beyond the window, however, the sky is brightening from black to grey to pink with remarkable speed… but I suppose that’s a given when the sun here only takes an hour to reach its peak. If what Amber said is true — and I have no reason to doubt her at this point — that means I’ve woken close to my usual time of six o’clock.

I crack a smile; at least jumping dimensions hasn’t left me jetlagged.

But there remains the question of what I’m supposed to do today, and I’m not going to bore myself to tears as I wait around for Amber to wake up and assign me some chores. I don’t want to risk upsetting her any more than I already have, but she hasn’t told me to stay put, and the only place I’m not supposed to go is her room.

I could, perhaps, hobble over to the pantry and see just how well stocked this place is. I could head out to the timber shed and try to piece together what happened yesterday. I could stay right here and ponder the meaning of life and finally conclude that forty-two is, indeed, the only logical outcome.

Or, now that I’m paying more attention to myself, I could take the opportunity and change in complete privacy. Aside from the obvious dirt and damage, my shirt, pants and underwear have that icky, sweaty feeling to them, like they’re damp without being wet. I’m also sure they’d smell pretty bad to anyone who isn’t wearing them. Or anyone else, period. I can’t judge because I have a terrible sense of hygiene — my breath never stinks to me, it just smells warm.

Speaking of which, I wonder how long it’ll be before I can brush my teeth again, or use one of those minty mouthwashes that I’ve never been brave enough to try.

With a pained groan, I lift myself up and twist my head as far as I can in the opposite direction, and, disappointingly, find no release. Even when I put my hand to my neck for support and stretch to the extremes, nothing — it’s the muscles, not the joints, and I’m no masseur. So, I try to ignore the aching in my nape and pull my bag closer, then unzip the main pocket and sift through the contents for a new set of clothes.

When I find my quarry, I push off of the bench, and immediately grunt and recoil when my jaw reminds me that clenching my teeth isn’t the best idea. Instead, I slide off the edge onto my hands and good knee and hoist myself up from there.

I decide that changing in Amber’s living room wouldn’t be the best idea, or anywhere in her house for that matter; if she came through and caught me half-dressed, she’d probably rant about how I was intruding on her personal space, or something.

Come to think of it, that isn’t too far off from what I feel — and I’ve never been comfortable doing things in other people’s homes that I’d normally do in my own. Even harmless things, like making breakfast. It’s like I’m trespassing on private property, no matter how many times I’m told otherwise.

I stretch my neck again and, when that doesn’t work, my back, then limp through the archway and unlatch the door to the outside. And when I open it, I step out onto the grass, still barefoot, and close my eyes and reach for the sky with a long, loud yawn.

“You’re up early.”

My yawn cuts itself short and I turn my attention down the slope, shielding my eyes from the glare of the rising sun.

Walking towards me, with practiced poise and hair made of midnight, is a familiar face. Against the vibrant colours of the morning, her mane and tail appear even more awe-inspiring, though they no longer sway in their ethereal wind, but are instead bound in hairnets of golden silk. In place of her collar is a sleeveless tunic; dove blue, hemmed in gilt thread and tied around her waist by a crimson sash. Her crown and slippers are almost identical to the ones she wore before, but now they too are golden, matching the rest of her garb.

And as the light of the sun shines brightly behind her, glinting off the many shiny surfaces, and her small, honest, almost motherly smile becomes clearer and clearer, I am spellbound.

Now I can take her seriously. Now I can see her as a princess.

“Is something wrong?” she asks, stopping as her smile wanes.

I realise I’ve been staring with an open mouth. Not in the exaggerated jaw-to-the-floor kind of way — which I’ve never seen anyone use outside of television — but in genuine amazement. I blink and quickly shake my head. “No, no, nothing, it’s just…”

“Just…?”

“…I forgot you were real.”

Selene pauses for a moment, and then her grin returns. “She hits hard, doesn’t she?”

I nod, “You can say that again,” then remember the bundle of clothes under my arm. “Sorry, I came out here to change.”

“Oh.” She glances away. “Would you like some privacy?”

“…Well, if you want to talk now, I guess it could wait.” I gesture to the bigger of the two major tears. “So long as you don’t mind these.”

“No, no, it can wait, it can wait,” she says, bowing her head slightly and taking a step back. “I dressed for the occasion — it’s only fair you do too.”

“…I’m… not that special, your Highness.”

“On the contrary, Mister Mackenna. May I call you Mister Mackenna?”

“Adam’s fine.”

She pauses again, then nods. “Then call me Selene.”

“…Are you sure?”

“Adam, please,” she smirks, “I always know what I want. And as for your… specialness… I’ll explain more when Trail Blazer wakes up, but please, don’t sell yourself short.”

“…If you say so.”

“I do,” she insists, perhaps a little too firmly for her liking, because she closes her eyes for a moment and lightly shakes her head. “Never mind. I’ll be back in a minute.”

“You’re leaving?”

“Briefly. I need to make sure I’m not missed.”

“Oh. Okay then, I’ll… see you soon, I guess.”

“Just a minute,” she assures, and disappears in a flash.

I blink at the empty space. One second, she was there, the next, she wasn’t, and the only proof fades away with the motes of sparkling dust. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that, but I can’t let it distract me; I only have a minute, and I get the feeling she likes being punctual.

I change as fast as I can, glancing around and hoping there are no passers-by to see me — not that there would be in a place so remote. When I finish, I’m left wondering what to do with my dirty laundry, but the solution soon comes to me and I quickly, quietly duck back into the cottage and stuff the old clothes in my bag. It won’t be hard telling them from the clean ones.

So, limping outside again, I sit on the grass and wait. And wait. And wait. And a minute stretches into five. Then six. Then ten. And I can’t help but think for a split second that, maybe, I’d imagined it all — that this was the next big leap in the cruel game of my disorder. First headaches, then a coma, sleep paralysis, vertigo, more headaches, possibly a little hysteria, another coma, some minor amnesia, and now hallucinations of the most disconcertingly real kind.

Or perhaps I never saw her. But then that doesn’t make sense, because Amber said she was real. Unless I imagined that too.

…The rabbit hole deepens…

Another flash brings me back.

“Sorry about that,” Selene calls, strolling forward and sitting in front of me. “Something came up.”

“What was it?”

She waves a hoof airily. “Oh, just a meeting I had to push back.”

“With who?”

“An envoy from Griffonstone. Don’t worry, I’m not missing anything important.”

Griffonstone. Equestria. Yakyakistan. The Land of the Hippogriffs. There’s a pattern here — one I should’ve seen before and I’m not too surprised to see it now. “That sounds pretty important,” I say, keeping an even tone.

“Well, it is, but…” she trails off, staring at some invisible point between us. And as she blows a gentle sigh, I notice her demeanour change. “To be frank, it’s a rather pointless summit — a glorified tea party, if you will. It’s tradition, though… but I consider myself a pragmatist.”

“…So, you’d rather be out here… than doing work? Isn’t that a little…”

“Irresponsible?”

I close my mouth.

“Perhaps,” she concedes, calm and cool as ever. “To the griffons, at least. But believe me, Adam, I can do more for my kingdom by meeting you than hosting breakfast on time.”

I faintly frown. “How so?”

“I’ll explain everything when Trail Blazer wakes up,” she eases, though her face grows solemn and her ears lower slightly. “Not that I mean to sound dramatic, but this concerns both of you. Speaking of drama… I need to apologise for the other night. When we first met.”

“What for?”

She sighs again, letting her gaze fall to the ground, and looking uncharacteristically humble. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. It’s just… for most of our last meeting, as far as I remember, she’d projected an image of tempered authority: neither too uptight nor too lax. Now, despite appearances — as far as a pale pink horse in a fancy frock goes in the way of appearances — I don’t get the same feeling. What this new feeling is, I don’t know. Suspicion, maybe, but… she seems genuine enough.

“I wasn’t fair on you,” she says quietly. Ruefully. “I was protective. Too protective. Too forceful, rather. Without good reason. Trust… doesn’t come easily to me, and… I’ll admit, there’s a part of me that still doesn’t. Trust you, that is. But that’s my problem, not yours. And you’ve proven yourself to be a… dependable… intuitive… human. I’m sorry I doubted you.”

“…What do you mean ‘dependable’?”

She gives me a strange look. “You mean you don’t remember?”

“Remember what?”

“You agreed… No. I told you to protect Trail Blazer.”

I pause, frowning at myself, and, suddenly, the details come flooding back. The chill in the air. The ice-cream in the goblet. The promise in the dark. And with those details comes a stark realisation: I’d failed. I’d been given a job and I’d failed. Spectacularly. Horrifically. Atrociously. And someone had been hurt because of it. Because of me. Because of my… weakness…

“Adam.”

I look up.

Selene watches me with sympathy in her eyes. Undeserved sympathy, as far as I’m concerned. “You did what you could.”

“It wasn’t enough.”

“It was all I could ask for.”

“But it wasn’t enough. I wasn’t—”

“The blame is mine, Adam.”

I blink, confused.

“I told you to protect her, but I never told you how. And I should’ve — I knew what you were up against. But I didn’t. I was negligent. I’m sorry for that too.”

“You’re not angry?”

“I’m disappointed, Adam. In myself. I should’ve known better.” She grins faintly. “But where others would’ve folded… you persevered. You saved the day, as it were.”

“…I just… got lucky.”

“Perhaps. But I like to think there’s more to it than luck.”

“Like what?”

Her grin widens, but only just, and she looks up to the sky in thought. “Do you believe in destiny, Adam?”

Something deep inside me switches off and urges the rest of my attention to do the same. “Not really,” I answer flatly.

“Neither do I.”

My brows crease in surprise.

She looks back to me, markedly more regal than before. “My family, though, always enjoyed the idea of destiny — how things always seem to fit together in some grand, unknowable scheme. Where this scheme would take us, and to what end it serves, who could say?

“Except, as it turned out… one of my aunts always knew. And when her most faithful, most beloved student realised that a destiny is something we choose for ourselves… she forced her vision of greatness upon her. And this protégé — this star pupil — who was otherwise one of the most intelligent people in all Equestria… blindly agreed. Because, of course, how could her mentor ever be wrong? And what kind of student would she be if she didn’t accept her teacher’s wisdom?”

“…I see…”

“Needless to say, destiny, as a concept, hasn’t sat well with me for a long time now. It fosters apathy with failure. It stagnates progress to all but the daring few. And while I can praise my forebears for many, many things, innovation is not one of them.

“However, I believe that we are all born with certain natural gifts. Yours, Adam, I believe, is empathy. Or in the words of my predecessors… kindness. I know it isn’t your only trait, nor do I expect you to live up to her standards, but… yours is a rare kind of empathy — one that compels you to do the right thing, in spite of all the wrong done to you. There are very few people who can claim to be so virtuous. Even me.”

“You?”

“Yes.” She drifts off into a long pause, the air around her growing coy and gloomy. “I have, at times… done things I’m not ashamed to have done, but… not proud to have done either. I’ve been impulsive. Brash. To my chagrin… vindictive. I still am, in some respects. I try not to be, but… old habits… never really go away, do they?”

“They can.”

She looks at me again and raises an eyebrow.

“Sometimes.”

“You speak from experience?”

I slowly shrug. “More or less.”

She waits a little while longer, and then her smile returns. Small, but warm, humble and honest. “Then I have much to learn from you, it seems.”

“I’m… not a tutor, your Highness.”

“I don’t expect you to be,” she answers coolly. “It’s an expression. A mark of respect. And speaking of respect, it’s Selene, if you remember.”

“Oh, right. Sorry, Selene.”

“It’s alright, it’s alright. I just… need to forget who I am, sometimes.”

“What do you mean?”

She looks to the grass again and sighs. “Friends… True friends… are few and far between in my profession. To be honest, this has been the first real conversation I’ve had in a long, long while. But you aren’t like the members of my court, or the ambassadors I deal with, or the people I serve; you are… ignorant.”

“Ignorant?”

“I mean that in the nicest way possible; you’re uninformed. If I were to set foot outside the palace — travel anywhere I so desired, within Equestria or without — I would be feared, revered, or, in a few cases… despised. But you don’t know me, do you? To you… I am nothing more than a winged unicorn with a funny name.”

“And magic.”

“And magic.” She chuckles. “It’s an… unusual perspective, I’ll admit… but a refreshing one.”

I humour her with an earnest smile, then wait for the air between us to fade. “But you’re not just here to chat, are you?”

Her grin fades with mine. “No,” she replies, in a tone that says I won’t like the whole answer, “I suppose I’m not.”

A familiar feeling sweeps over me.

A horrible feeling.

A dejected feeling.

One that leaves me not bitter, or resentful… but hopeless.

Completely and utterly hopeless.

“Ah, Trail Blazer. Good morning.”

I lift my head and look over my shoulder to find Amber standing stock-still in the cottage entrance, staring at Selene with wide eyes, shrunken pupils, folded ears and a gaping mouth. From this distance, I can’t hear anything from her, but I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s making a sound like a boiling teakettle. I’d laugh if I weren’t so glum.

“Come, sit,” the princess bids with a smile, gesturing to the ground beside me. “There’s something we need to discuss. All of us.”

Amber blinks herself out of her trance and shuts her mouth, then steps out of the house and bows nervously.

“Trail Blazer, please, let’s not stand on ceremony. Not here, not with me. Not with what I have to say.”

Slowly, cautiously, Amber rises and shuffles closer, her eyes on the grass in front of her.

I glance at Selene.

She glances back, sharing a look of discomfort.

Amber sits on her haunches about three long strides away from either of us, keeping her head low and ears down. I can’t tell if she’s scared, anxious, or merely in shock, but I hope it’s the latter — I don’t want to have a genuine reason to fear this realm’s head of state, besides the fact she knows things only Amber should.

“Would either of you like some breakfast?”

“Yes please,” I say.

Selene turns to Amber. “And you, Trail Blazer?”

She hesitates, but glances up and stiffly nods.

Three more flashes of gold are replaced by three white bowls. They’re ceramic — professional; with blue figures of… ponies… winged, horned and plain… in tunics, togas, headbands and hairnets… some with laurel crowns… bordered by finely detailed geometric patterns. Like the pottery of Ancient Greece. They’re glazed too, lustrous in the light of the sun. Mine is the only one with a spoon. Thankfully, though, it’s far more practical than the last one I used.

I place the bowl in my lap and bring the spoon to my lips, and I’m rewarded with the pulpy, savoury goodness of pumpkin soup. No chewing required. Just what the doctor ordered. “Compliments to the chef,” I say, with enough vigour to surprise myself.

“As always,” Selene hums, using her magic in place of her forelegs.

Amber looks up with a face of perturbed curiosity and glances between us, but sips her breakfast without a word.

Selene sets down her bowl and wipes her mouth with a napkin I hadn’t noticed, also floating in a telekinetic field. “Before we begin, for the sake of transparency, I’d like to say that, yes, Trail Blazer, Adam and I have met before, but only once. What was said is not important, but I ordered him to keep you safe.”

Amber looks up again, focussing on the princess at first, then on me, brows creasing, lips parting, a hurt look in her eyes.

“He didn’t tell you because I told him not to.”

She turns back to Selene.

“I’m sorry if that makes you feel used, Trail Blazer, but it was a test, and he passed. Besides, can you honestly tell me that you would’ve believed him? And if he persisted, I can only imagine you doing a lot worse to him than chipping a tooth.”

She shuts her mouth and looks down in shame.

“Now, to business,” Selene continues in a very stately manner. “After skimming through my personal archives in Canterlot, I’ve yet to find mention of any ‘humans’ in Equestria, or a similar creature by another name. The closest I could find were the cats of Abyssinia, but they stand on their toes and are more… feline. This isn’t exactly news, but if nothing else, it proves that humans are a rare sight, if they’ve been seen at all.

“That being said, however improbable this theory of an alter-Earth may be, recent events have made me… reassess things.” She gives me a knowing look. “I’m not entirely convinced that you aren’t from this world, Adam, but I can’t deny that you are… different. In many ways. Not least of which is your resistance to magic.”

“…My—”

“Resistance,” she repeats. “Not immunity: resistance. Else all the ‘Medusa-chicken’ would’ve given you is a few bites and scratches, not a coma and memory loss.”

“…That was the cockatrice?”

“In all likeliness, yes. And I say again: resistance. With the cockatrice, at least. And hooves. Other forms of magic, I’m not sure of. Not since we last met.”

“You mean… with the spoon, right?”

“Not just the spoon,” she says, easing up on her commanding tone. “Do you remember having a sudden bout of nausea before I arrived?”

“…Yes?”

“…That was me.” She lowers her gaze and sighs. “I was trying to teleport you. I had a feeling it wouldn’t work, but… like the arrogant fool I am… I tried anyway. It was… wrong, and… wrong. And I’m sorry. Again.”

I stare at her blankly. Or rather, I stare at her in muted shock, but I don’t feel it myself. She must have caught me off-guard, because I never expected her to do something like that, but at the same time… I never expected to feel so neutral about it. Maybe I just need time to process it. This was, after all, her third confession for the day. “Apology accepted,” I say cagily.

She bows her head and returns her eyes to mine. “Thank you, Adam. But if it isn’t too much to ask, or too soon… I’d like conduct another test. A little one. Nothing dangerous; just a simple levitation spell — something I and many other ponies use every day.”

“…And what will this levitation spell do, exactly?”

“I’ll be focussing it on your hand. If all goes well, it should float.”

“If all goes well?”

“Nothing bad will happen, Adam. Trust me.”

I hesitate, examining her horn with a wary eye — how it spirals like a narwhal’s tusk, almost as long as my whole arm, ending in a pointy, if blunt, tip. My attention then turns to my hand, and I can’t help remembering Amber’s words from last night, about losing my fingers. “Will it hurt?” I ask, looking up.

“A pinch at worst.”

“That’s what a doctor says right before they jab you.”

She smirks. “This won’t be anything like that. So, may I?”

Again, I hesitate, dropping the spoon and staring at my palm, what little good that does me. “Just a pinch?”

“Just a pinch.”

“…Fine,” I yield after a long pause, then hold up my other hand, “but use this one instead.”

“The weaker, I’m guessing?”

“Yeah.”

Her amusement becomes admiration, and she nods. “Good thinking. Unnecessary, but better safe than sorry.”

“Just get it over with,” I grumble, but catch myself as soon as I remember who I’m talking to. “Sorry. I mean… if we could please do this before I start thinking about it… that’d be great. Your Highness.”

Her expression never wavers. “Stay loose.” The aura builds around her horn once more. “If you feel anything, say so, but try not to move.”

I set my bowl aside and rest my arms in my lap, then relax myself as much possible and close my eyes. I nod, then immediately hear the soft, otherworldly hiss of magic, and feel the unnerving sensation of a sudden, unprovoked attack of pins and needles. That by itself wouldn’t have been so bad, if it weren’t for the fact that it felt like there were literal pins and needles under my skin.

“Keep it loose, please.”

“Easier said than done.”

“Then do it.”

I grimace in a mixture of pain and frustration as I lock my jaw, clench a fist and tense every joint that isn’t the affected hand. The longer I stay like this, the deeper the prickling goes. But I won’t look — the second I do, I’ll lose my nerve. Or what little I have of it at the moment. I breathe heavily and shudder and raise my fist like I’m about to hit something.

“Relax, Adam.”

“I can’t, Selene! It’s like your turning it inside out!”

“I’m not.”

“That’s what it feels like!”

“Shall I stop?”

“Please!”

“Look at it first.”

Already at wit’s end, I open my eyes, and I’m almost blinded by a sharp intake of light, partly because they’d been shut so hard for so long, but mostly because the sun is staring right at me.

Except… it’s not the sun: it’s my hand, encased in layer upon layer of glow and overglow, with an aura just as large coming from Selene’s horn.

I scream and scramble to my feet, then hunch over and limp in circles as the brightness dissipates and the tingling ebbs away, holding my hand to my stomach as I massage it has hard as I can. After a few seconds, I regain enough control to turn back to the princess and fix her with a horrified glare. “Damn it, Selene, what the hell was that?!”

“That was enough magic to raise the moon.”

“…The… What?!”

Her expression is serious, but her tone is calm and collected, “I am an alicorn, Adam. I raise the moon, I set the moon. That is my role as Princess of the Night.”

I stare at her dumbly, lost for words… and then feel terribly faint and stagger back a step, then two, and then stumble and fall on my rear.

This is what catches me off-guard? This is what shocks me? Why? And the worst part is that I knew something like this was coming — you only get sworn upon if you’re more than just royalty. Still, it rattles me, and considering that magic exists here, I don’t think she means ‘raising the moon’ in the figurative sense like the pharaohs did with the sun.

No, this is real. She dictates night and day. And all that energy… all that raw power… had tried to lift my hand and failed.

I lie back, closing my eyes again as I take a number of long, deep, ragged breaths, trying to keep my head from spinning. “This is insane,” I croak.

“Nothing is insane, Adam. We merely lack the will or the patience to understand.”

“No, I understand perfectly. It’s just…”

“You need time?”

“Yeah.”

“I see. But time is not a luxury I have, unfortunately.”

Reluctantly, I sit up and look at her.

“If I take too long, my staff and my guests will grow suspicious, and questions will be asked — questions I’d rather not answer. I don’t know where you came from, Adam, or how you got here, or why you are the way you are, and until I can answer those questions for myself, I won’t leave it up to public speculation. Because, as it stands right now, you are both a national threat and a potential asset, and I won’t let an opportunity like this go to waste.”

“…What kind of opportunity?”

“There’s a game I’ve been playing for close to twenty years now,” she says dourly. “A dangerous game. A shadowy game. And for all this time, it has ended in stalemate. You are the piece that can tip the balance in my favour.”

“…And how would I do that?”

“By being you.”

“…I don’t follow.”

“My opponent is a disgruntled noble who goes by the name Firebrand. Despite her humble beginnings, she’s an adept user of magic — enough to rival me — and has decided to make use of her talents by sowing discontent among my citizens, because she believes that my claim to the throne is illegitimate, and who else can take my place but her?”

“…Why would she say that?”

“Because I was not the intended ruler of Equestria, nor was it my intent. It was a matter of circumstance — cause and effect — and, naturally, people are rarely comfortable with chance controlling their lives. So, by a small faction of dissidents… I was called a pretender. They have waxed and waned, come and gone, but Firebrand has always stood firm. She has been a thorn in my side for too long, Adam. It’s time to snuff her out.”

My insides sink. “…What do you want me to do, exactly?”

“Find her.”

“…And…?”

She pauses, my question hitting a tender nerve. “I won’t ask you to be something you’re not,” she sombrely assures. “Believe me… I know regret all too well… But her attempts at spreading disharmony can’t be ignored. I’m tired of having to prove myself to my own country time and again. The cycle must end.”

“Can’t you send someone else?”

“No. Her hiding place is deep in the Griffon Kingdoms, and I’ve reason to believe they are, if not in league with her, then at least condoning her actions. It doesn’t matter if I were to send a hundred spies or one; the diplomatic aftermath would be catastrophic. And even if they did find her, she would overpower them as easily Trail Blazer did you. I need plausible deniability — someone who is neither an Equestrian citizen nor has any known links to me. And is resistant to magic, should worst come to worst.”

“…And if I find her… what will you do?”

“What I must.”

“That’s a little vague.”

“I’m sorry, Adam,” she sighs, “but I don’t want to make promises I can’t keep. But if it’s any consolation… when this is all over… if you truly come from a world beyond this one… I can promise you my full support in finding a way back home.”

My eyes widen.

“Does that pique your interest?”

I can’t deny that it does. Still, watching movies and TV shows about dynastic intrigue was one thing; actually taking part was quite another. And the idea that I’d be an accessory to… whatever Selene had planned for this ‘Firebrand’ character…

But if it’s my only hope of getting home…

“…I’m not sure…”

Slowly, she nods, then closes her eyes and takes a deep breath in… then out… and then looks at me again. “Then let me put it this way,” she asserts, but not unkindly, “unless you’re willing to spend your whole life alone, the spotlight will shine on you eventually. And when that happens, I think you’d find it very beneficial to have friends in high places. I can’t guarantee that protection if I have to pretend that I don’t know you.”

That doesn’t make things any better, it just whittles my options down to a lonely two: accept and be granted the support of the monarchy, or refuse and trust I’ll be able to handle things on my own. Without a hand… or hoof… to guide me. “She’s… a bad person, right?”

“There have been worse in our history. Much worse. But she’s a menace all the same."

“…You’re not making this easy for me, Selene.”

“It isn’t meant to be. This would be a tough choice for anyone — even me, if I were in your place. But you’d be saving my kingdom from decades of hardship if you agree. And for that, I’ll forever be in your debt.”

I hang my head into my palms. That put things in perspective — it isn’t just the princess; it’s an entire nation that I risk letting down, whether they know it or not.

This is too much. Too much for me to handle. Way too much responsibility.

…But it’s the only way…

And the needs of the many… as much as I hate to admit it… outweigh the needs of the few.

“…Fine,” I murmur. “On one condition.”

The princess smiles.

“I get to call in a favour of my own.”

“And what would that be?”

“I don’t know. But you said you’d be in my debt forever, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then… if I call this favour in… consider that debt repaid.”

She raises her brows. “Well then,” she chirps, “how could I refuse?”

Her enthusiasm, for some reason, makes me feel even worse.

“So, we have an agreement?”

“Yeah.” I fold my arms grudgingly. “I still don’t like it, though.”

“I don’t expect you to. This will be a long journey and a hard one. But with my help, and the same level of perseverance I’ve seen from you until now, I’m confident you can do this. Especially with Trail Blazer by your side.”

Amber chokes on her soup.

I’d be inclined to do the same if I still had mine.

She recovers from a coughing fit and stares at Selene with a mixture of feelings. Bewilderment, betrayal, outrage, confusion and fear are the most obvious.

“This isn’t negotiable,” the princess declares, frowning back at her. “I need somepony to watch over him when I’m not around. This pony, like him, can’t be connected to me. That leaves you, Trail Blazer. And despite your shortcomings, you’ve proven yourself to be a very strong, very resourceful individual, and those talents will be sorely needed in the days to come. Besides, whether you want to admit it or not, you owe him and you know it.”

Cowed, Amber looks down at the grass again.

“Having personal boundaries is fine, Trail Blazer, but setting rules that practically beg for failure is below you. And no matter how annoying he may seem to you, that doesn’t give you the right to be violent.”

“It’s fine.”

Both pairs of eyes turn to me.

“I crossed a line, I got hurt,” I state without much passion, giving Amber a knowing glance. “I think we understand each other.”

They linger on me. For different reasons, I’m sure, but their faces are unreadable.

“If you say so,” Selene reluctantly concedes, straightening up somewhat. “But this will require teamwork, and I expect both of you to keep each other safe — not just for your sakes, but the forty million citizens who call my kingdom home.”

Forty million.

Forty… million…

She is really not making me feel any better about this.

“Can I trust you two to play nice?”

I look at Amber.

She looks at me.

After a long, indignant silence, I turn back to the princess. “We’ll manage.”

“I hope so,” she says with a light nod, then pauses to levitate her bowl up and take a sip. “Now, considering your condition, I’ll give you however long it takes for your leg to heal, but as soon as you’re fit to travel… not that I mean to sound callous, but I insist you start moving. There’s no time limit, as such, but again, I’d prefer this over and done with as soon as possible.”

“Where are we heading?”

“West, at first, to the city. There, you’ll stock up on food, water and, hopefully, clothes — especially in your case, Adam — and then you’ll have to find your own way east. I’ll grant you what funds I can for this journey, but I urge you not to spend it frivolously; not just because it’s my money, but because you’d be drawing unwanted attention. You two will be strange enough to the people there as you are; you don’t need them wondering why you have so many bits.”

I nod to myself, then look to Amber for her reaction.

She stares into her bowl with a riled scowl, but at the same time, I see… apprehension.

It’s only natural, I suppose, being told to leave her home and all, and I have to admit I feel the same — though, again, it’s not nearly as strong as I think it should be. Instead, I feel more resigned to the fact. It makes things easier to deal with, but… that’s not how normal people behave, is it? Normal people are like Amber. Normal people get mad. Normal people rage against a situation they can’t change.

…Funny…

One of the strangest creatures I’ve ever seen is more normal than me.

“I know it’s a lot to ask of you,” Selene continues, floating my soup over to the grass by my feet, “but I can’t express how important this is. Not just to me, but for all Equestria. Firebrand may very well be—”

“Selene,” I say, raising a hand, “please… I don’t need more weight on my shoulders.”

She waits a moment, and then nods once. “Fair enough.”

“Thanks. I just… Both of us… need some time.”

“Very well,” she says, soup hovering beside her as she stands. “I’ll leave you to it. I should be heading off now, anyway.”

“What about the bowls?”

“Keep them. I’ll pick them up either tonight or tomorrow.”

“Alright. And thank you, by the way.”

She smiles. “That’s quite alright. And on that note, don’t worry about the cockatrice: I’ve already dealt with him.”

“…Dealt with it how?”

Her smile turns into a disappointed frown. “By freeing his victims and sending him south, to the Everfree, where he belongs. I’ve grown used to doubt, Adam, but I am hurt that you think I’d be so heartless.”

“…So, you’ve never actually… done it before… right?”

A long, grave silence is my answer. “Goodbye, Adam.” She bows her head. “I so hoped this wouldn’t end on a sour note.”

“It doesn’t have to. If you’d just tell me that—”

“I can’t lie, Adam. Not anymore. Even if it means putting your mind at ease.”

“…Oh…”

“And, Amber…” she calls, turning to her.

Amber meets her gaze.

“Never be afraid to speak your mind.”

Something hits her. She angles her head just enough that I can’t see what it is, but her ears go completely flat.

Selene shares a glum, but nevertheless commanding look between us. “Until we meet again,” she simply says, bowing once more. And with another golden flash, she is gone, and we are left alone.

1.8 | Relapse

Another night of uninterrupted sleep. I could certainly get used to this.

I sit up and go through my morning routine of stretching and cracking my joints, now with the added exercise of flexing my toes and ankles, then lie back down and continue my deliberations.

For little over a week now, that’s all I’ve been doing: resting, staring, and thinking. About nothing in particular. Most times, about nothing at all. I just wait and reflect and entertain whatever thought passes through my mind, and wave it goodbye as the next one drifts in, or watch with tearful pride as it blossoms into something terribly imaginative.

Or, as is the case this morning… something terribly serious.

Several things, actually. And all of them to do with the current state of affairs.

The door to the bedroom opens and Amber walks out.

“Morning,” I greet without looking.

She doesn’t return the courtesy, heading into the kitchen without a fault in her step.

No change there, it seems.

She comes back a short while later and places a bowl in my lap, then plods to the armchair.

I sit up again and look down. Beans, as usual, mashed into a paste so I don’t have to chew as much — a welcome innovation, if a little bland. Then again, everything she makes is bland. Not that I think she means to, or that I don’t appreciate her efforts. No spoon, though; Selene took that away along with the china, much to my dismay, leaving me with my fingers and overgrown nails.

It’s a shame I hadn’t thought to ask for clippers. Or a razor. Or a bar of soap.

“Thanks,” I mumble.

No reply.

Indeed, no change at all. Today would go by like any other: sluggishly. She might not be allowed to hit me anymore, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t be vicious in another, more sinister way — a punishment I’ve heard of, but never experienced, and I never thought I’d have a problem with it even if I did.

The silent treatment.

It’s no trouble for me to stay quiet if the situation calls for it, like when the bus is packed full and no one has the patience to chat with a stranger, or if being noisy wouldn’t do me any good, like when I’m alone. But when the only other person I can talk to stops talking back… refuses to acknowledge my existence… as if by doing so, nurses would come and drag her away to some hard-line insane asylum, never to be seen without a straightjacket again… it hurts.

It’s one thing to feel like nothing. To be treated like nothing is even worse.

She wakes me, she feeds me, she starts the fires that keep me warm and minds the house that keeps me safe, sure, but… she doesn’t notice me anymore. Questions go unanswered. Compliments, unthanked. Concerned looks, unreturned. And for eight days, she has continued the act. I might be impressed if I weren’t on the receiving end. But at the same time, I haven’t exactly been trying my hardest to get her attention, for the very simple reason that, when I asked her if the Rules were still active, she didn’t respond. And I’m not about to take a risk with her again.

So, naturally, as has been every meal since the princess came to visit, breakfast is a quiet event. I scoop out what I can and suck my fingers clean, then go through the arduous process of picking out the dregs of paste that had lodged themselves under my nails. What I can’t remove will come out in a quick bath, I know, but I don’t like the feeling, and it gives me something to do in the absence of friendly conversation. Or conversation of any kind.

When Amber finishes, she hops down from the chair and strolls over to me, then piles my bowl into hers and returns to the kitchen. She’ll wash everything in the evening; drag a large pot outside, fill it with water and scrub all the dirty dishes with an old rag that’s nearing the end of its use.

From what I’ve seen, it doesn’t look nearly as rough as the other homemade items, so I can only assume that it and the blanket come from somewhere else. Unless she’s secretly a master seamstress with the means and the knowhow to make and dye linen and felt. I’m doubtful, though, because, really, how could she see what she’s doing past her hooves?

Or is her sense of touch really that acute?

No, I’m giving that thought too much credit.

…Still… considering that fashion really is a thing here… as strange a thought as it may be, and as boring as it may seem to pre-Equestria me… I actually think I wouldn’t mind seeing how clothes are made here — if they’re made by machines, or by magic, or, improbably, by hoof. Whatever the case, I hope their methods are less dubious than the standard back home.

This world might be similar, but… not that similar… right?

Then again, I’d agreed to be the deciding factor in a dynastic dispute, and any good historian knows how many there’ve been throughout human history…

That’s one of the serious thoughts I was having before — how messy everything is. I mean, I know what I have to do, relatively speaking… but those shows and movies… or the ones that I preferred, at least… rarely had a clear-cut hero. Plenty of villains, to be sure, but… seldom a champion for all things good and virtuous. Those that were soon gave in to the dark side of the Force, or were removed from the equation entirely.

I don’t think what I’ll be doing will necessarily be so… vile… but still, diving headfirst into a pool without knowing how deep it is holds no appeal to me whatsoever.

Thankfully, Amber gives me something else to focus on by pacing through the kitchen to the front door. She’ll be heading outside to do some ‘chores’, as I imagine she wants me to think, but she’s really getting away from me for half the day. I’ve had to skip eight lunches because of that, and because I assume the Rules are still in effect, I haven’t dared raid her pantry for a snack.

I won’t say I haven’t thought about it.

I picture everything as the sounds drift my way. Hooves clack on the floorboards as she approaches the entry, one reaching up to undo the latch and pull the handle. The door swings open lazily, and a breeze gently breathes a gust of cool air into the house. Her outstretched hoof returns to the wooden floor and, with a flick of her hair, she trots out to start the day.

Except that last part doesn’t happen. Instead, she backs up.

I lean over and peer through the archway.

She stares at something just beyond the threshold, eyes wide, pupils shrunk, ears down and a foreleg raised, ready to take another step back.

“Amber?” I call, shimmying off the bench and striding towards her. “Amber, what is it?”

For the first time in a long, long time, she looks at me.

I’m tempted to savour the moment, but if something has scared her, there’s a good chance I should be afraid too. I shuffle further and turn to the entry.

Sitting outside on the grass, iridescent in the morning sun, is a little velvet pouch. And resting against it is a thin roll of paper with a wax seal.

Yes. Yes, I suppose I should be afraid.

But I can’t afford to be.

I hop closer and, carefully, pick them up. The pouch is hefty in my palm and full of metal pieces that jingle with the slightest movement. Coins. I’m guessing these are the funds she promised, and if so, this’d better be enough to buy what we need, because loose change has never really done me any good, except buy me snacks from vending machines. I hope the note will explain things better.

I duck back inside and inspect the scroll, though there isn’t much more to say about it. Displayed on the seal is a winged heart — the very same that bejewelled Selene’s collar so many nights ago. A personal emblem, I assume, but considering her full name, it’s a tad too literal for my taste. I break the seal as I re-enter the living room and set the pouch on the table.

Amber slowly walks up beside me.

I unroll what little there is to unroll and hold the paper out in front of me, and I’m all at once relieved and disappointed to find a very short message written in the curliest handwriting I’ve ever seen. Yet, surprisingly, I can understand it. “For your consideration,” I read aloud, sounding less keen than I’m sure Selene was when she wrote this. “Good luck.”

Amber retrieves the pouch, loosens the thread holding it shut and pours the contents onto the table. Gold coins spill everywhere, one rolling off the edge and landing on the floor with a weighty thud. Each is stamped with a coat of arms on one side and a portrait of Selene on the other, a cyan gem replacing her visible iris.

It’s a strange thought, to think that I’d met someone whose face adorned currency, and that I knew them on a first name basis. But she has made herself clear: the time has come.

I can’t deny it. My leg is leagues better than when I found myself here. The ache in my ankle has all but gone and the swelling in my knee is lessening by the day. My limp is almost negligible now, but not enough that I want to jog or stand on one leg. I can walk, to be sure, but with a slight hobble. And I guess that’s all Selene needs right now.

Amber turns around and walks back into the kitchen.

I start collecting the coins. They’re thicker and, naturally, heavier than the ones in my wallet — which I still haven’t told either of my associates about — and shinier too. It wouldn’t surprise me to learn that there’s real gold in them. They certainly look the part. And if they are, I can only imagine how much they’d be worth back home. A car? A house? A mansion? A luxury yacht?

One can only dream.

The sound of a clay pot breaking interrupts me.

I freeze, staring at the archway.

A few moments later, a second pot breaks, quickly followed by a third.

I stride for the kitchen and lean around the corner.

Amber raises a forehoof and stomps on the shards once, twice, thrice, and then adds the other hoof and stomps harder and faster, baring her teeth and letting out a deep growl that rises in volume until the debris is nothing but dust. When the deed is done, she glares at her work with furious eyes and huffs wrathfully, catching her breath. As she turns back to the counter to grab another, she spots me, and her rage is bolstered tenfold.

I take a step back.

She slings a fourth against the wall, and a fifth and a sixth, each with increasing ferocity, then drags out a large container, heaves it onto her shoulder as she stands on two legs, wings unfurling from the effort, and slams it into the floor with a piercing shriek.

“Amber…”

She stomps about the room, hammering chips and splinters into oblivion.

“Amber, please…”

She removes a ladle from the counter and snaps it against the edge, then sticks her forelegs inside the shelf underneath and sweeps everything onto the floor, breaking some items, cracking others, and leaving the area between us a minefield of stone and clay.

“Amber, please, stop.”

“NO!” she barks, stomping so hard as she faces me that the boards beneath her hoof dent. “You’re taking everything from me — you’re not taking this!”

I’m almost relieved to hear her speak again. Almost. “You’re breaking all your stuff.”

“Thanks for stating the obvious, dingus! I would never have guessed these pots were mine! Not in a million years! Great detective work — absolutely marvellous!”

“…Don’t you think you should stop?”

She picks up a bowl and throws it at me.

I flinch, but it misses completely.

She roars and smashes a few more.

“Amber, this isn’t helping.”

“It’s helping me!” she snaps. “And it’s not like I’m ever going to see this place again, so what does it matter?! And what do you care what I do with my house?! You don’t live here!”

“Maybe not, but… this isn’t like you.”

She narrows her eyes. “Not like me?”

I don’t respond.

She marches closer. “Not like me?”

Still, I don’t respond.

“This is exactly who I am, dingus. This is me after suffering through your antics nonstop for a week and a half. This is me after I tried pushing back, only to have Princess Selene herself swoop in and tell me off. But that wasn’t enough, was it? No, of course not — that would’ve been too easy. So, now I have to babysit you. You. Of all the ponies in the world, it had to be you. And you’re not even a pony! You’re just a freak. A big, ugly, miserable freak who can’t take care of himself.”

I stare at her, unmoved.

“I didn’t ask to be stuck with you — I don’t want to be stuck with you — what I want is for you to find the nearest cliff and jump off. But we can’t always have what we want, can we? So, excuse me if I seem a little FRIGGING LIVID ABOUT IT, but I am.”

“I didn’t ask for this either.”

“Of course you did! You chose to come here, you chose to stay, and now I have to leave because you’ve chosen to go halfway round the world to find some unhinged bint who can’t leave well enough alone!”

“I never had a choice.”

“You always had a choice. I’m the one who didn’t.”

“…You chose to save me.”

“Oh, so it’s all my fault, is it?!”

“It’s… no one’s fault, Amber.”

She stomps again. “Who’d the princess ask to be a spy, dingus?! Who didn’t argue when she said that I’m going too?! Whose fault was that?! Where was my choice?!”

“…You didn’t say anything either.”

“She’s the princess. What was I supposed to say?”

I shrug defensively. “Then what are you blaming me for?”

“Because you could’ve turned her down. And you still can!”

“And do what? Risk being stuck here forever?”

“If it means getting out of my life, then yes.”

I pause, then gently shake my head. “I want to go home, Amber.”

“And I want to stay home.”

“I know, I know, but you—”

“But what? Your wants outweigh mine?”

“…No…”

“Then what, dingus?! What makes you more important than me?!”

“…I’m not more important than you.”

“So, call it off! Send her a letter and call it off!”

I hesitate. At first, it’s because I wonder how I’m supposed to send a message with no pen, pencil, quill, inkwell, crayons, paper, address, mail service or working phone. But then another thought takes hold. A serious thought. Not one that I had before, but one that sickens me all the same. And what makes it worse is that… as despicable as it may make me feel… I can’t disagree.

I shake my head again.

Amber glares at me, brows warping into a vengeful scowl, lips curling into a venomous snarl. “Do it,” she rumbles, trembling.

“I can’t.”

“DO IT, YOU LITTLE PARASITE, OR I SWEAR I’LL…!”

I wait for her to finish.

But she doesn’t. She rears up and shoves me aside with a feral scream, then rushes past me into the living room.

I quickly recover and chase after her.

Instead of going for my things, however, she slams and bolts her bedroom door behind her and proceeds to sound like a bull in a china shop. Something made of timber is flipped over and broken into halves, then quarters, then smaller and smaller pieces. The walls judder with blows so violent that I half-expect a foot to smash through. And every strike, crunch, snap and thump begins and ends with a fierce cry of unrestrained fury.

Cautiously, I approach.

I hear something fly across the room and crash against the door with a heavy clatter — metal pots, I assume, tied to a bag of some kind. There’s more pounding on the walls, stomping on the floorboards, and growling of things that I can’t quite understand, and I’m not sure I want to. But eventually, her momentum wanes. Her anger is still there, and I can tell she wants to continue the demolition, but it must be hard if she’s already worn herself out, and there’s nothing left to demolish.

She pants lightly in the far corner — or huffs; it’s hard to tell — but she doesn’t move anymore. I can imagine her sitting against the walls with her chin to her chest and her forelegs hugging her hindlegs close. It’s a bit of a stretch, but considering her kind’s remarkable flexibility, I wouldn’t put it past her.

“Amber?” I beckon.

No response. Predictably.

“Amber, listen…” I begin, then pause to gather my thoughts. Asking her whether she’s okay would be an insult — no doubt about that — so it’s best to just bite the bullet and start explaining myself, and hope that I convince both of us that I’m not the worst human in existence. Quite literally, I suppose.

I mean, being homesick… It can’t be that selfish. Can it?

“…I don’t like this any more than you do. It’s… big. And unfair. And I know I’m not making it any better, but… this might be the only chance I have. And I’m sorry, Amber, but I just can’t give it up. Even for you. Please, believe me, I would if I could… but I can’t. I… I need to go home, Amber. And the sooner we do this, the sooner you’ll be rid of me, and the sooner you can go home too. You’ll never see me again, I’ll never see you again, and…” I drift off, looking over my shoulder for inspiration. “I’ll be packing up, okay?”

Silence reigns behind the door.

“Okay,” I mutter, turning back to the bench. “Good talk.”

Still nothing.

I sigh. I feel no better. Even as I pull my bag onto the table and reclaim my laundry from in front of the hearth, I can’t escape the looming, foreboding feeling that I am, somehow, in the wrong.

With good cause, I should add; whether this is my only chance of going home or not, Selene still expects me to hunt down someone so she can do whatever she wants to them. It doesn’t matter if Firebrand’s a stranger, or a ‘pony’, or a radical — something about this isn’t right. I know that it’s better her than me, but… being someone’s personal spy, or hitman, or kidnapper… or worse…

To steal a phrase, it doesn’t sit well with me. Even if it’s sanctioned by the monarch herself.

Especially if it’s sanctioned by the monarch herself.

But maybe I’m overthinking this. I hope I am, at any rate. Maybe things aren’t as complex as I make them out to be. Maybe this is just a simple case of the greedy claimant taken to arms. Maybe the world here isn’t so bad. Minus the Medusa-chickens, of course.

…I’m still a good guy… right?

I blink and start listing my possessions. Three shirts; white, moss green, and long-sleeved maroon. Two pairs of shorts; blue denim and flaxen cargo. Two rags; my old shirt and a third pair of trousers that tore on day six. One pair of sneakers; drab and worn. One week’s worth of socks and underwear; freshly washed and dried. One set of keys; useless. One wallet; also useless. One camera; operational. One pair of earbuds I’d found in my bag; likewise. One phone; out of order.

As I take stock of my inventory, I realise how ill-equipped I am. Of course, I hadn’t planned on finding myself so far from home, and I haven’t had a chance to buy more appropriate gear, but still, I feel like I should have taken precautions. I know that’s hindsight talking, but…

Three days. That’s not long, is it? Three days of walking will pass by in the blink of an eye, so long as I don’t pay attention. And after that, it can’t be that long from one end of the country to the other. Really, this whole journey will be over before I know it, and then I can put this whole escapade behind me. No colourful ponies, no magical deeds, no… moral implications of any kind.

It’ll be fine. It’ll be quick, easy, painless, and I won’t have to deal with anything like this ever again. Like a vacation. A long… laborious… excruciating vacation.

I pack everything into my bag, the note included. What I’m wearing now will get me through this leg of the trip, and smell won’t matter so much when we’re in the open air. When all is done, I sling my bag over my shoulders and tighten the straps, then head around to the other side of the table and finish returning the coins to their pouch.

As I drop the last one in, the bedroom door opens, and out Amber walks, glowering at me, wings folded and emotionally exhausted, but nevertheless incensed. She pushes a backpack of her own across the floor — a hiker’s rucksack — styled like mine, strangely enough, but a dull blue in colour and far more heavy-duty. Small metal pots and pans dangle from it, dim with dust and flecks of rust, rattling against each other with every prod. It also has two side-flaps; one for a large, empty pocket, and the other for a rolled-up bedroll.

When she finishes, she yanks the blanket from the bench and folds it in half three times, then shoves the bag over and fastens it to the front with a pair of loose belts.

“You’ve been sleeping without a blanket all this time?”

She shoots back the same spiteful stare.

I shut my mouth.

“Pretty generous, huh?” she seethes. “Shame you won’t return the favour.”

I don’t react. Not outwardly.

“Let’s get something straight: you’re not special. Sure, you might be resistant to magic, and you might be in cahoots with the princess, and you might — might — be from another world. But deep down, no matter how you try to spin it, you’re just another selfish jerk, same as everypony else.”

“I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. You don’t need to go home — nopony does — you just want to, and you don’t care who you step on to get there. So, I’m not doing this because I want to; I’m doing this because I’ve been told to. Never for you.”

“…That’s fine by me.”

“Good,” she snarls, then pulls the bag upright, sits in front of it and tightens a wide, solitary buckle around her waist. When she stands, it rests on her back, the side-flaps completely cover her flanks and leave her wings with just enough room to stretch and fold. It seems a little big for her, but… I don’t think pointing that out would do me much good. “Let’s go.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

“…You don’t want to say good—”

“I want to get this over with! Now march your flank out the door or I’ll kick it out myself!”

“Okay, okay,” I groan, raising my arms in mock surrender and striding for the exit.

Amber follows me through to the kitchen and enters the pantry, I guess to stock up on food. She stamps on yet more shards as she goes, the pots on her rucksack clanging softly as it sways, like poorly-tuned jingle bells.

The air outside is cooler than most other days, fed by a gentle breeze that’s blowing a few clouds in from the east. They’re not big or grey, so there shouldn’t be any rain, but I won’t be placing my bets anytime soon — it’ll be a long time before I forget what my first day was like. I know the thunderstorm had nothing to do with what the cockatrice did to me, but it certainly didn’t help.

I take in the scenery. Ankle-high grass for about two hundred metres in all directions, pockmarked with small dips in the earth where I figure tree stumps used to be. Beyond that, an all too familiar forest, and further still to the west and north, mountainous ridges. The sun hangs low in an orange sky, casting its golden light across the land, climbing slowly, but noticeably, and bringing with it the promise of a new day.

And indeed it would be — the first step of a mighty adventure.

I just hope I won’t have to lose another piece of myself in the process.

About a minute later, my de facto guide and bodyguard steps out and shuts the door.

“Where to?” I ask.

“West,” she answers dryly.

I turn back and frown at her. “Where to?”

She holds my gaze with bitter resentment, then looks past me and gestures with a forehoof. “We’ll be following the river south to a lake. From there, we’ll head west and cut through a pass in the range, then follow the coast to Vanhoover.”

“Vanhoover?”

Her scowl deepens. “Got a problem with that?”

I stare at her incredulously for a long moment, then sigh and hang my head with my hands on my hips. “Whatever,” I murmur, surrendering yet again, then turn south and start walking. “I’m done complaining.”

I can feel her eyes drill into my back as I wander away, watching me with heavy scepticism. And then the pots begin to rattle again, and she falls in line behind me. Her footsteps start off slow, plodding and reluctant, but they soon speed up to their regular pace. More forceful than usual, though, because I can hear them over mine. Unresolved anger. Fair, but unwelcome, and not something I want to deal with right now.

But as we approach the foot of the hill, the sounds of clattering pots and hooves on grass fades away. I hardly notice it at first, and when I do, I keep walking, thinking she’s just being difficult. But then something stops me — a feeling; an air of hesitation — and I come to a halt and look back.

Amber stands frozen with her head facing home. I can’t see her expression, but the angle of her ears and the slight sag in her neck tells me all I need to know.

…No.

A good guy, I am not…

But that doesn’t mean I can’t try.

Quiet as I can, I set down the pouch, slide off my backpack and retrieve the camera from its bag, then switch it on, take off the cap and adjust the settings. We’re outdoors at sunrise, so that’ll mean a low light sensitivity — let’s say… an ISO of 400. And because I’ll be taking a landscape shot, I’ll want everything in focus, which means a medium aperture…

Actually, let’s bump down that ISO to 200 and increase the exposure time; I’ll have to keep it extra steady, but the image should be a little brighter. Sure, I could take as many photos as I like and choose the best from a mediocre bunch, but I don’t want to be spending more time of this than I need to. It has to be right the first time or not at all.

I stand up and turn to the cottage, camera at the ready, but stop when I see Amber staring at me. I must have either been talking to myself or making too much noise, or both. In any case, she examines me closely, but not critically, and makes no comment on the device in my hands, or what my intentions clearly are.

I advance with cautious confidence and take position beside her, but not too close. And then, after glancing back to make sure I’m not overstepping my bounds — or more than I already have — I bring the viewfinder to my eye and peer through.

Golden light on whitewashed walls. A homemade door slightly ajar. Windows open and welcoming the sun. A thatched roof, weathered, but standing strong. Dandelions sprouting from a sea of grass. Mountains of green and grey rising in the background. And above it all, the dark blue of night fading away with the breaking dawn.

I focus the lens and take the shot.

…Perfection…

The first leg of the journey west bears a striking resemblance to my first day here, barring one very stormy detail. Not just because we’ve passed by the spot where I found myself over a week ago, but because I haven’t said a word since our brief exchange outside the cottage.

It’s not that the silent treatment has reared its ugly head again — and I’m glad it hasn’t — it’s just how the journey goes; there’s nothing to say. I have questions, sure enough — an almost boundless supply of them, in fact — but they don’t have anything to do with the task at hand, and Amber has made it quite clear how short her temper runs. Whether she could answer any of them is neither here nor there: she’d berate me even if I tried.

Besides… I haven’t given her much reason to be cooperative, have I?

“You know, I never caught your age,” I remark, heedless of the warnings.

Ahead of me, Amber slows her pace and sags with a frustrated sigh. “Does it matter?”

“Not really. But—”

“Then don’t ask.”

“Why shouldn’t I?”

She halts and looks over her shoulder with an all too common frown. “Isn’t the fact that I don’t want you to enough?”

“It’s just a simple question.”

“And I don’t feel like answering. Least of all to you.”

I catch up and stand beside her, eyes locked with hers. “So, what, we’re just going to walk in silence the whole time?”

“Why not? Eight days was easy enough. What’s wrong with three more?”

I frown back. “Because we’re supposed to be a team.”

“No. We aren’t supposed to be anything. All I have to do is make sure you stay alive, but that’s where it ends. I don’t have to be your friend, buddy, and I don’t want to, so the sooner you get that through your thick head of yours, the better.”

“…I don’t think you’re much older than me.”

Her frown becomes a scowl. “You weren’t listening, were you?”

“I was, and I don’t blame you. But that won’t stop me being curious.”

She winces, then turns away and continues walking.

“What?” I ask bemusedly, matching her pace. “Really, what’s the big deal? It’s not like I’m asking why you have a second name or anything.”

She shoots me a rancorous look.

“I’m not asking that. So, I’m not breaking the Rules, am I?”

“Bring it up again and you will be.”

“On what grounds?”

“Rule Two.”

“…Which was that again?”

“Do what I say.”

“Oh, right. The fun rule.”

“Don’t get sassy with me.”

“It’s not sass; it’s salt.”

“…Salt?”

“Yeah, salt. You know, like… Oh.” I look back to her. “Horses like salt, don’t they?”

She narrows her eyes. “Ponies.”

“Still, it doesn’t make much sense to you, does it?”

“Half of what you say doesn’t make any flipping sense.”

“A bit of an overstatement.”

“Hardly.”

“Selene doesn’t seem to think so.”

“The princess doesn’t know what to think. All she said is that you’re different and you’re not from here. She never said anything about believing you.”

“And you?”

She winces again. “What about me?”

“What do you think?”

“…That you’re the biggest headache I’ve ever had.”

I flinch inwardly. It’s an automatic response and I hate it — how something I once found so benign is now one of the most hurtful insults to ever grace the English language. “I’m being serious, Amber.”

“So am I,” she says peevishly. “My life was fine until you came along. I was happy.”

“Didn’t look like it.”

“And what would you know? Do I need to be smiling all the time? Does my life need to be full of sunshine and rainbows and the magic of friendship? No. Some ponies like being alone. Some ponies like being independent. I, for one, like being out here, where life is simple and I don’t have to care about anypony else. But then you showed up, and you had to ruin everything, didn’t you?”

“You think I meant to?”

“If you didn’t, you have a funny way of showing it.”

I slump and groan, “Can we please not do this?”

“Excuse me,” she retorts. “In case I didn’t make myself clear back there, I’m not doing this because I want to — I’m a hostage, so I’ll complain as much as I like, thank you very much. And if it makes you feel worse, tough luck. It’s the least you deserve.”

I hold back an exasperated sigh and search my surroundings for something of interest.

Grass. Trees and mountains in the distance over rolling hills of grass. To our left is the river, still muddy, but now flowing with a thin, shallow trail of water, twisting and turning in the trench along the path of least resistance. On the right, the ridge blocking the west from view is coming to an end, giving me the impression that we’re heading into a rather spacious valley. The few clouds that once peppered the eastern sky have long since passed, leaving the sun clear to warm the earth, and me, from above.

To think, there’s a being with enough power to raise it and its twin, using forces beyond my total comprehension. And I had met her. Talked with her. Shared meals with her. Grown to know her on some personal level, yet be sure that I’ve barely scratched the surface.

And now I am in her service, trudging across a world I know next to nothing about to find a renegade aristocrat whose motives I don’t fully understand, escorted by a talking pegasus who’s making way too much sense.

Just another chore on a Sunday of housework.

I stop to appreciate the view from the top of a gentle ridge.

A valley indeed, and what a sight it is; easily a few kilometres wide from this side to the other, and from east to west… I have no idea. Long enough to leave me clueless, at least, especially on the left, where it seems to cut through most of the range in a relatively straight line, before widening even further and veering off behind a mountain.

It’s shallow, as far as my experience with hiking goes, and dotted with pockets of trees, including a line following another, larger and definitely better supplied river, sourced from two tall peaks on the right. In the centre of it all, almost directly ahead of us, surrounded by yet more trees, is a lake. A real one. Bigger and undoubtedly deeper than the glorified pond by Amber’s house.

“I take it that’s where we’re heading?” I ask the figure strolling down the grassy slope.

“What do you think?” she snarks.

I frown. “You could’ve just said yes.”

“Too bad, so sad.”

My jaw clenches, and I make a conscious effort to keep the pressure off my bad tooth. “You know, if you keep acting like this, I won’t feel sorry for you,” I warn, beginning my descent.

“I never asked for your pity,” she grumbles. “I don’t want it either.”

“Then what do you want?”

“To go home.”

“So do I.”

“At my expense.”

“And you wouldn’t do the same?”

“I would do what’s right: I’d give myself a choice.”

“So, you’d refuse what’s basically an order from the princess herself?”

Amber yanks herself to a halt with a surprisingly equine, yet unmistakably thunderstruck whinny. Neck stiff and ears high, she swings about to face me side-on. “Don’t bring her into this!” she snaps, although her anger sounds a little forced. “She’s not the one who won’t say no!”

“Would you?”

She shuts her mouth and takes an unsteady step back. “Don’t make this about me either,” she says, firmly, but with a slight quaver in her voice.

I stop beside her and narrow my eyes. “Then answer the question.”

“…Why should I?”

“Because if you don’t, you already have.”

Her scowl deepens, and then she blinks in confusion and shakes her head. “What the heck is that supposed to mean?! Since when do you speak in riddles?!”

I don’t reply, holding her gaze for a moment in a disappointed frown, then turn away and continue ambling toward the lake.

“Hey,” she calls reproachfully. “Hey!”

Even so, I don’t react.

She gallops in front of me and cuts me off, pots flailing about and crashing against each other. “Don’t walk away like you’ve proven anything! I’ve answered nothing!”

“Yes, you have.”

“How?!”

I straighten up and fold my arms. “Would you say no to the princess, if it meant you might never see home again?”

Her stern expression remains, but she takes another step back, and her voice sounds even more hesitant. “I told you not to make this about me.”

“And there you go, dodging the question.”

“…So what if I am?”

“So, you can’t bear the thought of being wrong, because that puts us on the same level. You wouldn’t give me a choice if we switched places, would you?”

“…You’re not the victim here.”

“I know. But I said it once, I’ll say it a hundred times: I hate double standards. So, go ahead and criticise me all you want — call me a selfish jerk if that’s what I am to you — but don’t go putting yourself on a pedestal, Blazer, because you’re no better.”

“…It’s Amber.”

“And there you go again! The point just flies over your head, doesn’t it?! Misses it by miles! All because you’re too obsessed with the little details to see the bigger picture! Or you see it and you still don’t care, because you don’t like what you see!” I take a moment to calm myself before continuing, “We’re stuck in this together, Amber. I can’t say no to her and you wouldn’t either, and don’t try to tell me otherwise.”

“…I won’t blame the princess.”

“No, of course you won’t — you’re blaming me, because I’m the most convenient.”

“…I’m not the bad guy.”

“Neither of us are. And we’re not good guys either. We’re just… desperate. And scared. And we don’t want to say anything because we hate each other and ourselves, and the first who does is basically admitting they’re the weaker one, and the other’s going to hang it over their heads forever. So, I’ve already lost that fight, haven’t I?”

“…You don’t know me.”

“I know you well enough—”

“You don’t know me!”

“Then surprise me! Don’t get angry at me for once! Empathise! Because I’m sick of you jumping at my throat every chance you get!”

She pauses, staring at me, huffing through her snout and a conflicted look in her eyes. Her wings are drooping somewhat, her ears are angled back ever so slightly, and her brows are lined with the faint, familiar wrinkles of a troubled frown. “I’m not a bad pony,” she says, with what little conviction she can muster.

“No,” I agree, then lean closer and sneer. “But I bet you’re worse than most.”

She stares back at me, seemingly unmoved. But then her eyes begin to shift, and she starts to blink faster, and her ears lower, and she retreats a few more steps, and even though she’s doing her best to hide it, she becomes visibly distraught. She turns around and sits with her back to me, and when the pots finally settle, she gives a meek, shaky, almost inaudible command, “Go away.”

“Why? So you can feel better about yourself? Because the truth hurts? Well then, welcome to reality, beehive! So glad you finally decided to join us! Now we can—”

“Adam. Please. Go away.”

I fall silent.

Why, I don’t know.

I want to keep raving. Treat her like she’s treated me. Tell her what I think; what I’d rather be doing — what I should be doing — instead of agreeing to a deal I couldn’t refuse. Remind her that sometimes in life, we have to do things we don’t like, and there’s no way to back out of them. Scold her for thinking that she’s the better person just because she saved me, when I did the same for her, and after she left me unconscious, sprawled on the grass, choking on half a tooth.

Everything I’ve said, and everything I want to say, is the truth. It may be cold, hard and inconvenient, but that is the nature of truth. And if she can’t handle it, that’s her problem, not mine.

Saying my name doesn’t give her a free pass.

…And yet… I am silent.

Even as I lower my arms. Even as I close my mouth. Even as I frown and feel the frustration build, I ask myself why. Why would it be wrong to break the peace? Why does she deserve my pity when she’s given me none? And why, despite myself and above all else, am I complying?

“I’ll be at the lake,” I say tersely, and continue down the slope.

She doesn’t respond. Not that I want her to.

I can’t believe I’m actually doing this. I have the perfect opportunity to get up in her face, shout her into the dirt and shut her up for good, and I’m letting it go, all because I can’t bring myself to do it. And for what? Because she’s a little upset? Big whoop. I’ve been feeling more than a little upset ever since I found myself here, and then some, yet here I am, marching on. Angry as hell, but still standing. And she starts acting mopey over a few harsh words.

I really am too forgiving, aren’t I?

She’s cold and callous and, in spite of all the opportunities I’ve given her, never learned how to keep her temper in check. I’ve been tolerant. I’ve been compassionate. I’ve been sympathetic. I’ve tried to find common ground, and every single attempt has been rebuffed and scorned. What more am I supposed to do? Everyone’s patience has a limit and I’m at the end of mine.

I stop at the bottom of the hill and turn back to yell something snide.

But the words vanish before they reach my tongue.

From this distance, she isn’t much bigger than a thumbnail, and there’s no sound but a soft draft through the valley, but I don’t need to hear or see her in detail to know what it is she’s doing.

Crying.

Not wailing loudly like a heartbroken lover, or weeping waterworks like a fountain. A rub of the eye. A simple sniff. A heaving chest when breathing in and shuddering shoulders when breathing out. Sometimes fast, sometimes slow. Rarely without restraint. As if she doesn’t want to admit it, even to herself. Or perhaps — and more likely — she knows she’s being watched.

A pang hits me, pressing on my chest like an open palm and pushing through. Dulled by the bitterness I’m already feeling, it doesn’t go very far, and I can’t tell what it is right away, but I know that in some strange way, what I’m doing isn’t right. Staring, that is. It wouldn’t be right to say anything either. So, instead, I start walking again. Backwards, at first, and slowly, unable to take my eyes off her for some reason, but then after a few strides, I turn around and resume my journey, frowning at the grass before my feet.

Am I letting her off easy?

I want to think so.

I want to, but I don’t.

Why?

If I am letting her off easy, why do I think I’m not?

And if I’m not letting her off easy, why do I feel I should?

…I’m… confused… And I’m not sure what by. Myself? Her? Us? Something else entirely? How am I supposed to know? I’m not a psychologist. Or psychiatrist, or whatever those doctors who ask ‘and how does that make you feel’ are called. Therapist. Shrink. Whatever. That last one sounds a little derogatory, though. I don’t think I need one yet, but if this… sense of discomfort keeps growing…

Shadows play across the ground as I pass under a canopy of leaves, and I look up slightly to better see my path. The forest here is less dense than the one surrounding the cottage, full of pines more than anything else. What species they are, I can’t tell, but they’re tall enough that I might be able to reach the lowest branches if I jump, and thick enough that my fingers would only just touch if I wrap my arms around the trunks.

The image of me hugging a tree brings an old memory to my mind, and I welcome the distraction. A memory, from my old house, when a family of birds were harassing passers-by in the street, and I had the bright idea of bribing them off with food. And it worked; so well that I had them literally eating out of my hand within three months. There were about nine in total, though I’m sure some came and went as they pleased, but I did manage to catch a few faces.

Speckle was the first to warm up to me. She had an air of confidence about her. Not in an arrogant sort of way, but more… erudite. Learned, if that makes any sense, considering her avian nature and whatnot. Pecker was the second, so named because he was just as confident as Speckle, but a little less courteous, to others and to me. At least, until I managed to straighten him out by favouring his targets, then shooing him away whenever he tried to pester them.

A few other names stick out; Shyler, Big-B and Hopalong. The rest, I’ve probably forgotten, or I never knew them well enough — I don’t remember. What I do remember, however, is that on the evening before we moved out for a place closer to the city, I saved a bread roll from dinner and shared it with them. And when that was done and they’d all flown back to their tree, I gave it a great, big hug, hoping they’d somehow feel it too.

They were just birds — probably in it more for the food than anything else — but for a five-year-old in a neighbourhood without any kids my age, it was something. Maybe not the same as having someone to play with or talk to, but something.

I was a heck of a lot happier than I am now, that’s for sure.

The canopy breaks and gives way to a gentle slope, and about ten, twenty metres further is the lake. If memory serves me right, it’s shaped somewhat like a giant bean, and judging by the view I’m granted, I’m standing on the slight bend inwards. Grass, trees, white sand on the shores, mountains, again, rising in the background, and clean blue waters shimmering with the light of a sinking sun.

I rest a hand on my hip and use the other to shield my eyes. Twelve hours. Or close to it, at any rate. It really hasn’t felt that long. I mean, sure, I said that it wouldn’t, and it hadn’t… but… I don’t know. I guess I was expecting something a little… well… more. Adventures are usually filled with adventure, aren’t they? Not just travelling endless expanses of nothingness. Beautiful nothingness, granted, but it’s starting to wear on me. Familiarity breeds contempt, after all.

But that’s not the only thing that breeds contempt, is it? Fight fire with fire and everyone gets burned. I learned that lesson the hard way. And now I’ve made the same mistake again.

I wander to a tree and lean against it, then take off my bag and sit at its base. Despite my peaceful surroundings, I am not at peace. Far from it. I’ve done something I promised myself I’d never go back to doing, and I’d… wanted to make it worse — to exacerbate the issue — just so I could feel better about myself.

And then what would happen? For the rest of the trip, I’d have to be the jerk, otherwise she’d see through the ruse and treat me worse than she ever had before, and then it’d be a verbal arms race over who could hurt the other more, short of beating them. Or she wouldn’t care, and instead I’d be stuck with a pessimist, lethargic and slow-moving, shutting me out with all but the most basic of responses; yes, no, maybe, don’t care. In either case, nobody wins.

And, perhaps more importantly, Selene would be sorely disappointed.

…I should do something, shouldn’t I?

But what? Go back? Talk to her? What would I say? How do I start something like that? Would she even want to hear it? Is it worse to try and fail or to never try at all?

I mean, I know it’s better to try, but I’m not sure it applies when she’s involved — she’s…

She’s different.

Pots and pans rattle from behind. Pine needles crunch underfoot. The trunk I’m resting against suddenly feels quite hollow. As do I.

An orange snout peeks around the corner, quickly followed a neck, two plodding forelegs, a fiery mane, and two half-lidded eyes. She stands on the edge of the tree line with me, close enough that I know she must have seen me, but far enough away that it’s clear she doesn’t want to be disturbed. So, she explores the scenery as I once had; silently and without much joy. Or if she does, she doesn’t show it. Not noticeably.

I try to say something.

Nothing comes out.

She turns and lumbers a little way to her right, away from me, and sets down her bag under the fading shadow of a pine. From there, she pulls from the main pocket a sheet of plain canvas, two wooden poles, several lengths of rope, and small metal pegs. A tent. Meant for one, if the size of the canvas is anything to go by, and not that it would be appropriate to ask if I could sleep next to her even if it was. She needs space. Or as much of it as we’re allowed to give each other.

I consider offering help, but remember that I don’t have much experience with camping, and even less how to raise a tent. She’d have to teach me on the fly, which means I’d be slowing her down, and considering her outburst about me not having any skills in gardening or house maintenance, I don’t think she’d appreciate that in the slightest. So, I keep my mouth shut, and trust my anxious gut that I’m doing the right thing.

The sun sets by the time she stamps the last peg into the earth. It only took her five minutes, at most — a technique I suspect she’s polished over many days and nights, because there wasn’t a moment of hesitation in any of her movements. If it wasn’t obvious to me before, it is now: she may call this mountain range home, but it’s not where she’s from. And I think it has something to with The Name That Shall Not Be Spoken.

She unbuckles the bedroll from the rucksack and spreads it across the floor of her shelter, then unfastens the blanket. Instead of heading into her tent, however, she hesitates, sitting and staring at the tartan felt in her hooves. And she stays like that for a good, long while, as if scrutinising it, but the air around her isn’t a critical one; it’s… pensive. Dejected, but pensive.

And then she holds it to her chest, stands, and walks towards me on three legs.

I try not to tense up.

She stops about an arm’s length away from me, head down and eyes on the ground, still half-lidded. And she stays like that for… too long. Ten seconds, if I count right, until she lets the blanket slide from her grasp and returns her hoof to the grass. And then she turns around and shuffles back to her end of the campsite.

“We’re going to tear each other apart, aren’t we?”

Amber slows herself to a halt and stays staring at the forest floor. I think she sighs, but I can’t be sure. “…Yeah,” she quietly, soberly agrees, then trundles on. “I guess we are…”

Author's Note

So you thought you might like to go to the show
To feel that warm thrill of confusion, that space cadet glow
Tell me, is something eluding you, sunshine?
Is this not what you expected to see?
If you want to find out what's behind these cold eyes
You'll just have to claw your way through this disguise

2.1 | A Strong Word

There was no dinner that evening. I didn’t have much of an appetite, and I guess she didn’t either.

I do now, though.

I’m not sure what it’s like for other people, but my stomach doesn’t rumble when it’s empty; it hurts, it aches, and it makes sure I know it. I swear, sometimes it feels like it’s eating itself, sinking fangs into my sides and reaching a claw into my chest. At its worst, it burns, like I’ve swallowed fire, or a jalapeno smoothie, and then it starts to rumble. Maybe it’s reflux, and maybe I should have brought it up with my GP, but I’ve grown used to it over the years, and it hasn’t proven to be that much of a hinderance, so long as I keep myself fed. Or distracted.

As I lie against the tree, however, having woken half an hour prior from a painful flash of white — less piercing than before, but no less annoying — it’s pretty obvious that I’ll have to wait for the dawn until this burning sensation goes away. There’s nothing I can do to occupy my time, and pinching a snack from Amber’s bag would be too risky.

And wrong. I can’t allow myself to forget that. Taking someone’s things without permission is wrong.

But waking her up to ask whether I can have anything to eat would just get me yelled at. And I shouldn’t have to ask, should I? These are our provisions, which means they’re also mine. She can’t claim sole ownership when we’re suffering together, can she?

Then again, everything we have to eat came from her garden, so I suppose she can.

That doesn’t make it right, though.

…Neither does a second wrong…

Another rush of pain, searing and intense, and I’m snapped out of my musings.

This is torture. Skipping lunch was a mistake. I should have known this would happen, but I’d pressed on without comment, too worried to cross a new, more arbitrary line, especially when Amber hadn’t eaten anything herself. I don’t know why I hadn’t asked. I guess I didn’t want to seem weaker than her, for some reason, even though asking for something as basic as food is probably the most innocent question in all of existence. More innocent than what I ended up asking, at any rate.

I turn to the tent and try to picture her through the canvas. She’ll be lying with her back to me, no doubt, curled into a ball with her forelegs folded, or at least a more withdrawn version of however she normally sleeps. Not that I’d know or frankly care what she looks like while sleeping, or want to, now that I think about it — that might be creepy if taken out of context. Not that she can read my mind or anything.

Actually, I should just stop thinking about it altogether. But, of course, now that I’ve told myself that, it’s all I can think about.

The sound of a magical flash comes from some way behind — a noise I can only describe as a short puff of air, tinged with a breathy, raspy, yet almost musical whisper — and footsteps on pine needles soon follow. They stop for a moment on the edge of the camp, then continue at a slower pace, and after a few seconds’ wait, a familiar face emerges on my right.

There is, however, something distinctly different about her this night. I can’t put my finger on it at first, but when she turns her head, meets my gaze and slightly raises an eyebrow at me, I see it: a lack of cheer. And now that I pay closer attention, I notice that she also lacks her crown and slippers, and her tunic is white and plain, and the crimson sash replaced with a lavender one.

Despite having met her only twice, this is not the Selene I had come to expect.

“Rough night?” she pries, in a tone somewhere between blasé and empathetic.

I choose to go with the latter and gently nod. “Rough day?”

“Rough week,” she agrees, nodding in turn and sitting down beside me. “I’m sorry I haven’t been able to visit. My court’s been rather busy lately, preparing for another Grand Galloping Gala.”

“What’s that?”

“A dance. For the Canterlot elite. High society and whatnot. I’ve been doing my best to make it a little more inclusive, but… change doesn’t exactly happen overnight, does it? And I can only push the other organisers so far before they start taking offence.”

“…So, you’re a noble who doesn’t like nobility?”

“Oh, no, nothing like that. Quite the contrary, actually — I too can appreciate the chic and stylish. But I also know that nobility is much more than a name, and although they can be very fickle when it comes to trends in fashion and gossip, they can also be very stubborn when it comes to the status quo. They’re not all like that, mind you, but it’s a general rule, so I’m trying to… nudge them in the right direction, so to speak.”

“How so?”

“Well, for starters, making the Gala a public event, rather than invitation only.”

“Ah. Yeah, I can see why that’d rub a few people the wrong way.”

“Indeed. The privileged hardly ever enjoy having their privilege checked. But it’s for that very reason that I aim to adjust their mindset; so they can relate to others, and so others can see them as relatable. And so I’m not surrounded by people who think they’re better than everyone else, just because they live closer to me.”

“…So, you don’t not like them, but you’re not a huge fan of them either?”

She smirks at me, then lifts her head and stares out to the lake. “Let’s put it this way,” she says with a hint of mirth. “A luxurious life is rarely an exciting one. Consequently, the stories these nobles share tend to be a little… shall we say… trite.”

“Boring?”

“Now-now, Adam, there’s no need for that sort of language.”

I grin, then groan and grimace as another burning sensation enters my chest.

“Hungry?” she wonders.

“Famished,” I moan.

“I thought as much.” The aura builds around her horn and three flashes appear in the air in front of her; two dishes and a fork. “Care for some curry?” she offers with a smile.

“Ooh, that sounds lovely.”

“Believe me, it is.”

I reach out for the meal placed on the ground beside me and set it on my lap. Sweet potato, rice, peas, chickpeas, lentils, sauce, herbs for decoration. Rather basic, if I do say so myself, but if the quality is anything like the last two meals — and I don’t doubt that it is — I can’t wait to dig in. And when I take the first bite, I nearly swoon. I’ve always had a thing for spice.

Selene giggles. “A look of bliss if ever I saw one.”

“You have no idea,” I reply as best I can with a full mouth.

“Oh, I think I do. Sugar Swirl has been my head chef for a long time now, and yet, somehow, he always surprises me. For example, did you know that strawberries and cheese actually go quite nicely together?”

I raise an eyebrow and swallow. “They do?”

“They do. To me, at least. I can show you what I mean next time, if you’d like.”

I pause for a moment to think, and then shrug. “Sure. If it’s not too much trouble, that is.”

“No, no, no trouble at all. Although my staff were a little surprised when I ordered two servings of dinner so late at night.”

“At night?” I repeat, taken somewhat aback. “What’s the time now?”

“Approaching one in the morning.”

“…It’s one in the morning and you haven’t had dinner yet?”

“Oh, no, of course I have,” she nods to the dish floating before her, “but this isn’t for me.”

“…Ah.” I look to the tent. “Right…”

“Yes.” She follows my gaze. “Indeed.”

A long silence descends on the camp. My stomach aches and burns for more food, but now doesn’t feel like the time for eating. So, I set down the fork, shimmy back into the tree, sit more upright, and try to make the best of a bad situation. “I’m sorry about what happened.”

“I’m not the one you should be apologising to.” Selene turns to me again, this time with a neutral expression. “And you aren’t the only one to blame.”

“But—”

“No. If you have anything to say for yourself, she deserves to hear it. For now, eat.”

“…Are you sure?”

“Yes. You know as well as I do that her standards only apply to others. If you eat while she’s talking, that’s insulting. If she eats while you’re talking, that’s passable. Frustrating, maybe… but this is a delicate situation we’ve found ourselves in. I will help you build a bridge, but the duty of crossing it falls to you.” She leans closer and lowers her head, looking at me sympathetically at eyelevel. The glow around her horn bathes her face in a warm, assuring light, and adds a twinkle to her eyes. “Is that fair, Adam?”

I nod. Her perfume smells like vanilla and coconut.

She nods back, then pulls away and glances down at my dish. “Eat up. We’ll start when you’re ready.”

I retrieve my meal and start munching away again, but less eagerly. Maybe the buzz of trying something new is wearing off, or the impending chat has put a dampener on it, but for whatever reason, the curry doesn’t taste as nice. It’s still delicious, to be sure, but I’ve lost my appetite, and it takes a lot for me to lose my appetite. But I won’t let good food go to waste. And, as understanding as Selene may be, I feel I’d be snubbing her if I don’t make an effort.

In the meantime, she sits on her haunches with her eyes closed and the second dish on the ground in front of her. Her aura has faded, leaving the world around us in the pale light of yet another full moon. I think she’s meditating. Steeling her nerves and patience. Preparing for a coming storm. I’ve caught myself doing the same thing several times before, at the starting line of the interstate cross-country tryouts, or the university entrance exam… or when I made the mistake of asking Tamara on a date.

As much as I want to respect her privacy, I can’t stand the silence. “Stressed?”

Her ear twitches, and after a brief moment, she smiles. “Like you wouldn’t believe.”

“I think I’d have some idea.”

“Let’s agree to disagree,” she quips, turning to me with half-open eyes and a haughty smirk.

“Well then, what’s it like? Being a princess, I mean.”

“Hard work. Exhausting work. In mind and body. Certainly nothing like the storybooks.”

“I can only imagine.”

“Don’t. Trust me, you’d be doing yourself a favour.”

“Is it really that bad?”

She lingers on me, then looks out to the lake again. “Not always. There are some rewarding moments. Just recently, before you arrived, I hosted the graduation for the Canterlot Institute — a college, of sorts, and pet project of mine. Formerly a school for magically gifted unicorns, now a major learning and research centre, accepting applicants of all tribes, at home and abroad.”

“And you helped it grow, I take it?”

“Not to toot my own horn, but yes.”

“…Huh.”

“Learning is a passion of mine,” she continues, turning to me again. “A trait I gained from another of my aunts. I may not be as… invested as she was… but I like to think she’d be proud of what I’ve done, and the direction Equestria is heading because of it.”

“And what direction is that?”

“Onwards. And one day, perhaps … in the not too distant future…” she drifts off, looking to the stars.

The statement takes a moment to process, and then I baulk and stifle a laugh. “You’re building spaceships?”

Her smile widens. “No comment.”

“Oh, you…” I grin and waggle a finger at her. “I’m starting to like you.”

“Is that so?” She raises an eyebrow and faces me. “And here I was thinking we’d already hit it off.”

I laugh again, this time without restraint.

Selene waits until the merriment pads out. “While we’re on the topic of progress… I believe you once brought up the subject of phones, and that you have one on your person.

“I do,” I say, suppressing the leftover giggles. “It’s broken, though.”

“All the same. May I?”

I hesitate, but after considering why, I can’t come up with a good enough reason. She hasn’t lied about anything, as far as I’m aware, and she’s proven to be good, if occasionally daunting company. Where’s the harm in handing over a defunct piece of hardware for a minute? So, I shrug, reach to my bag, pull the phone out and offer it to her.

Her horn briefly glows and quickly fizzles out, and she instead reaches out and accepts my offer. The phone slides from my grasp, implausibly caught on the edge of her hoof — again, like a magnet — and when it clears my hand, she brings it closer, adds the other hoof, and begins inspecting it carefully.

I take the opportunity to continue eating.

“It’s a very… flat device, if you don’t mind me saying,” she remarks without looking away. “How does it work?”

“Magic.”

She looks at me and raises another eyebrow.

I pause, realising what I’d just said, then finish my mouthful of curry and clear my throat. “Battery-operated. Transmits a signal to a tower that goes to the other phone you want to call.”

“Wirelessly?”

“For the most part. I mean, we still have landlines, so there’s that.”

“And how far can these signals go?”

“Precisely? No idea. From one end of the country to the other is my best guess, but it could be up to half the world, or more.”

Her eyes widen and she draws her head back slightly.

“You don’t have anything like that, do you?”

She waits a moment, then blinks and shakes her head with an impressed smile. “Nothing so advanced, no. I was told a network of that scale couldn't be done — something about magical interference over long distance.”

“Well then, don’t expect me to explain anything.” I chuckle. “I only know what it does, not the finer points of wi-fi. Like you and your hooves.”

“My hooves?”

“Yeah, your… Wait…” I straighten up. “Wait, you know how they work, don’t you?”

“…Yes, I suppose I do.”

“So?” I ask eagerly. “How?”

“Magic.”

I blink.

“The tangible kind,” she explains. “Not what you were describing. All ponies — earth, crystal, pegasus, unicorn and alicorn — have an innate form of magic we use through our hooves. Telekinesis, in essence, or ‘TK’, as the younger generations call it. But it’s more than that. We can manipulate this field to make a hoof feel soft, or discern the texture of something, or switch it off entirely so we don’t ‘hurt’ ourselves if we step on anything.”

“Neat.” I nod. “But… wait, Amber doesn’t already know this?”

“It’s a reflex — a subconscious process. It’s very hard to notice something if it’s been staring you in the face all your life, and there’s been no one to point it out.”

“…No one? As in, no one around her noticed it either, or…?”

Selene’s smile wanes, and after a short pause, she hands my phone back. “Her past is not mine to tell,” she coolly warns. “If you wish to know something, ask her yourself.”

“You know she won’t.” I sigh. "She won’t even say how old she is.”

“And so, I’ve come to help you.” She puts a hoof on my shoulder, glances at it curiously, but give a light, dismissive shake of the head and looks at me again. “I’m not perfect, Adam. I’ve done things you’d no doubt disagree with, and I’ll ask a lot from you. Too much, perhaps. But at the very least… I can make this journey easier for you. Just as you’re trying to with her.”

I hesitate again. If those ‘things’ were to do with her non-answer from our last meeting…

“Shall we begin?” she queries calmingly.

I linger on her, caught in my own thoughts.

It’s been on the news before. I’ve seen the faces. Heard the names. Both culprit and victim. Who, what, when, where, why and how. And to think that I was sitting… talking… enjoying my time with someone who’d basically admitted their involvement in something so… heinous… while at the same time comforting me and soothing me and promising me that everything will be fine…

I must have taken too long to respond, because she gives me a gentle shake. “Adam.”

Almost jumping, and feeling unusually disturbed, I focus again on her large, cyan eyes.

“I won’t ask you to be something you aren’t,” she sternly affirms, “and I won’t ask you to forgive me either. But what I will ask you to do… is trust me.”

“…How can I?”

“Because I was raised by a family who taught me what it means to be a good person. To be honest, kind, generous, loyal, positive, wise, and above all, know the limits of each aspect and of myself.

“And to love. More than anything… to love. To care for others, and always put their wellbeing before mine… but know when they, too, should stand on their own. Which is why I’m here.”

“…To confess your love?”

She pauses, then closes her eyes and grins amusedly, giving a light shove as she withdraws her hoof and looks at the ground. “Oh, Adam,” she purrs, shaking her head, “the things you say…”

I smile too. Briefly. “But still, Selene… I’m sure you mean well, but… you’re asking me to overlook something that’s… you know… a pretty big deal. And I don’t know if I can do that.”

Her grin fades and she slowly nods.

“Maybe… if you told me who… and why…”

“And would knowing this ease your conscience?”

“…Probably not…”

“Then those are questions for another time.”

“…They’ll eat away at me, though.”

“And nothing I can do or say will change that.” She looks at me again, this time with sympathy. “There are no easy answers, Adam, and believe me… there are nights when I, too, can’t sleep well. But for now… let’s focus on what we can address, and that’s this dilemma between you and Amber.”

She’s… right. I hate to admit it, but… she’s right. I won’t simply scrap the idea of getting a clear, concise answer from her, but for the time being… I think I still need a little more time — both to come to terms with what she’s done, and how genial we’d been despite the fact.

“Are you finished?” she asks, gesturing to my dish.

I look down at it. More than half of the curry remains, but I don’t feel like eating anymore. “Sure,” I mumble, shrugging.

She reaches over and pick it up from my lap, then banishes it from our immediate existence with another brilliant flash. “And are you ready?”

“…Ready as I’ll ever be.”

Selene nods, “Very well,” then stands up, turns, and strolls for Amber’s tent.

I watch her with vague interest, focussing more on her mane and tail, and how they sway and flow and cut through the trees to the night sky beyond. Even when I’m down and crestfallen, I can’t help but stare at something so marvellous, and wonder absentmindedly.

She wanders over to the entrance and, after undoing the wooden toggles with a wisp of magic, pokes her head through the flaps. I can’t tell what exactly happens from a side-on perspective and from so far away, but gentle words float my way; too faint to make out, but distinct enough to recognise Selene’s voice. And shortly after, she backs up, lifts her head, and returns to her spot with a calm if regal air about her.

Another pause later, a flap is pushed out of the way, and Amber peeks out from beneath the canvas. She blinks hard a few times, clearing her eyes of the stinging sleep, then focusses on and glances between us with a dazed look on her face. Not surprised, or confused, or angry. Just dazed. Tired and dazed.

Selene waves her closer.

Amber, slowly, obliges.

“So,” the princess begins once Amber has settled in, “how are things?”

I look at Amber.

She looks back.

The silence that follows isn’t so much tense as it is… a silence. A simple, mutual silence as we — or rather I — reflect on what had brought us to this point, and where and why it had gone so wrong. Who was at fault, too, if anyone… and how we could best describe the situation without making it worse.

Eventually, though, I come up with a label that might not be completely accurate, but, at this point, better than nothing. I glance at Selene and murmur, “Could be better.”

The princess nods, then turns to Amber.

She says nothing, meeting and staring into Selene’s eyes at first, and then into mine. And, little by little, bit by bit, a familiar expression of bitterness returns. Not as strong as it had once been, but bitter all the same. At the same time, and at the same pace, she rocks back to sit more squarely on her rump, lifts her forelegs from the ground, and folds them standoffishly.

“I see,” Selene hums, lightly nodding to herself. “Well, I must confess, although I’d expected a few hiccups along the way… I never thought it would break down quite as quickly as it did.” She turns to me. “Or as hurtfully.”

I feel the urge to shy away from her gaze, but try my best not to, and somehow succeed.

“But as the ringleader of this operation… the fault is mine. I lacked the foresight, or was unwilling to see, what a toll this would take on you. Both of you. And what your limits are.” She takes a moment to breathe deeply, eyes on the curry in front of her, then levitates and floats it over to Amber.

She hesitates, keeping her face taut and sour, but reaches out and accepts the dish.

“I won’t blame you for blaming me, if that’s how you feel,” Selene continues, “because, in truth, I’m the one you should hold responsible. Yes, Amber, Adam could have refused me, and he can at any time… but I offered him a way home — something many a pony would be all too happy to accept in his situation, whatever the risk. Including yourself.”

Amber blinks and opens her mouth to protest.

So do I.

“No,” the princess commands, raising a hoof to silence us. “Let me finish.”

Reluctantly, we both settle back down, and Amber shoots me a dubious glance.

“Although there was some truth to his words, I agree: hypotheticals aren’t the most valid points to make, and he needn’t have been so… heavy-hoofed.” Selene flashes me a cautionary look. “You are still a good pony, Amber. Both of you are, at heart, whether Adam believes what he said or not.”

“I don’t.”

“And when I’m not here?” She frowns at me. “What will you say then?”

I shut my mouth.

“You may hate hypocrisy, Adam, but I loathe deception, and I consider lying to oneself to be the absolute lowest form of it. So, no, perhaps you don’t believe what you said in hindsight, but the fact remains, and anger never lies.”

I look away.

“Apologise.”

I snap back to her.

“Say you’re sorry, Adam,” the princess insists, “and promise you won’t ever put her or yourself down ever again. You are both good people. You may not be perfect, but you are good, and I was raised well enough to know when I see it.”

I stare at her, stunned, and wonder how I’d found myself here. Since her arrival, we’d gone from friendly, to sombre, to supportive, to humorous, to intellectual — or as close as I could come to it — to melancholy, to diplomatic, to scolding, and now, in a shock twist, back to supportive, all in the space of less than half an hour. Granted, her last two visits had a similar dynamic, but still… it’s… rare — to find someone so adaptable, who can remain in control of herself and others, and with reason over coercion.

Nevertheless, I manage to tear my eyes away from hers and look to Amber.

She meets my gaze with the same displeased expression. Yet, surprisingly, there’s the faint trace of cautious interest. Or maybe that’s just me seeing what I hope to see.

…Yeah, probably that.

I pull myself away from the tree and turn to face her, folding my good leg and keeping the other straight, slouching instead of lounging. If I’m going to do this, I need to show as much respect as I can, and every little bit helps.

“I’m… sorry, Amber,” I stiffly say, wary of the princess not an arm’s length away from me. “I lost my temper and… said things I shouldn’t have. Hurtful things. And I realise that I’m the one in the wrong here. You have every right to be angry with me, because… well, you know why… and I got angry at you because you were rightly angry at me. You deserve better than that. I’m better than that. So, you don’t have to forgive me, Amber, but… just know that I’m sorry. And that I won’t do it again.

“And… you’re not a bad person. I know what I said… but you’re not. You saved me… and you took care of me… and… that’s what good people do. Even if they can be a bit—”

“Adam.”

“…Sensitive,” I finish, glancing at the princess. “But that’s who you are. I can’t change that, and I shouldn’t want to. Besides, it’s… not like I’ve done anything to deserve any better, is it?”

Silence.

“I’m sorry, Amber. I’m really, truly sorry.”

Still, she doesn’t respond, and merely scowls and blinks at me without a word. But before too long, she turns her frown on the dish cupped in her hooves, and then begins to eat.

“I believe you,” Selene assures. “I’m sure Amber does too, but she’ll talk when she’s ready.”

She shoots the princess an irritated look behind her back.

I don’t comment.

“That being said… never forget that you too have redeeming qualities. Remember that you saved her life, at risk to your own. And that despite certain episodes, you can be very polite and courteous. And, in some instances… rather amusing. Witty, even. Not as rambunctious or as… straight-faced as two of my other aunts, but… amusing all the same.”

“…You have a lot of aunts.”

Selene pauses, and then looks up in thought. “Yes, I suppose I do. Not all of them were related, though — most were honorary, in fact — but they were family all the same. And a very good family at that. Close-knit. Loving… Oh so loving…”

“…You miss them, don’t you?”

She closes her eyes and lets out a long, quiet sigh as she droops her head. “Of course I do,” she murmurs, watching the ground. “Who wouldn’t? Change may be a fact of life… and time may heal all wounds, but… scars remain. And for all my power and abilities… I am helpless to stop it.

“That… more than anything else… is my greatest shame — that I could not stop the inevitable, and that I still can’t. It makes me feel weak. As if everything I’ve ever learned…”

“What?” I lean forward and look up at her. “Selene, what’s wrong?”

She blinks and shakes her head. “Nothing, nothing. I just caught myself rambling, is all.”

“Hey, if you need someone to talk to—”

“No, Adam.” She lifts a hoof half-heartedly. “Thank you, but no. I came here to mediate, not to vent — this is your night, not mine. And if I’m to play my part, I really shouldn’t bother you with my own… insecurities.”

“It’s no bother, Selene, really.” I shrug. “If anything, it makes you more human.”

She raises an eyebrow.

“Relatable, I mean. Like us… you know… non-nobles.”

She stares at me, still with her eyebrow raised, but her gaze slowly drifts into a thoughtful trance. And then she gently smiles. “That’s… very kind of you, Adam,” she says, looking at me again. “There aren’t many people at home who’d want… or be comfortable with a princess blathering on like that. Not without some ulterior motive.”

“Why’s that?”

She pauses. “Some other time, perhaps.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Tempting as the offer may be.”

“…Okay. But if you ever want to talk…”

“I’ll be sure to keep you in mind,” she soothes. “But that’s enough about me. On the other hoof, I don’t believe I’ve heard much about your background. Where you live, or used to live, and what your childhood was like, and… whether you have any family waiting for you. Would you care to talk about that?”

“No.”

We turn to Amber.

She glares at us from behind a vicious scowl, forelegs folded and the curry half-eaten by her side. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“And why is that?” Selene calmly inquires.

“Rule One.”

“Ah. I see.” The princess nods, then returns to me. “Continue, Adam.”

“I said no.”

“And I said continue,” Selene retorts, snapping back to her. “He isn’t ‘getting personal’ with you, Amber, is he?”

“I can still hear him.”

“So be it.”

Amber holds her gaze a little longer, defiant, then rocks onto her haunches, stands up, and begins walking away.

Before she can take her fourth step, however, golden auras lock her hooves in place. “You weren’t given permission to leave, Amber.”

She tries to yank herself out of her magical restraints for a few seconds, but doesn’t even come close. Instead, she glowers at the ground and grumbles, “Why should I need it?”

“Because there are others here besides you. There’s also the fact that I’m the Princess of Equestria, but that’s beside the point — storming off is not something you do in polite company.”

“There’s nothing ‘polite’ about it.”

“The only one being rude here is you, Amber. Sit down.”

Grudgingly, she obeys, and the auras drag her closer and spin her round to face us. She appears unnerved by the action at first, but quickly recovers and resumes her bitter stare.

“You are right about one thing, though,” Selene continues, “you don’t have to be friends.”

Amber looks at her sceptically.

“However, as I said before, I expect both of you to look out for one another, and you can’t do that when you are, quote-unquote, tearing each other apart. Which is why I think it would be helpful if Adam told us what going home means to him.”

“I don’t care what it means to him.”

“No.” The princess leers at her. “You’re afraid that you will.”

“…I’m not afraid—”

“Don’t lie to me, Trail Blazer. Don’t lie to yourself. I’ve made my stance on that very clear and you’ve been doing it for far too long.”

Amber says nothing, trying to maintain an air of strength. But the longer she keeps her eyes locked with Selene’s, the more obvious the ruse becomes, until she finds it too much and looks away, ears lowering slightly. Still miffed, but less resolute.

“Lying about what?”

“Nothing,” she growls, glancing at me dangerously.

The princess watches her with a warning expression, then turns back to me with a calm and collected one. “She’ll talk when she’s ready.”

“I won’t.”

Selene waits for the words to fade, then mouths, with the softest nod and the faintest smirk imaginable, “She will.”

I nod in turn.

“So, Adam,” she says, dispelling the glow from her horn and Amber’s hooves, “tell me about yourself. What does home mean to you?”

I hesitate, thinking.

“Or is it a sensitive topic?”

“…No. No, not really…”

“Then why the long face?”

“…I guess… I guess I just…”

“Take your time.”

“…I guess I just haven’t given it as much thought as I probably should have.”

“How do you mean?”

“I mean… I have friends, and… and Mum too… but I haven’t really thought about what they’re going through, or what I’ll tell them. If I can tell them anything.”

“Baby steps, Adam. Where do you live?”

“…A town called Marbleham.”

“And what is Marbleham like?”

“…Alright, I guess. I mean, it’s seen better days.”

“Rundown?”

“Not really. It’s more out of the way, if that makes sense.”

“Off the beaten track.”

“Pretty much. It’s up in the hills, where the roads wind all over the place, and it takes a whole hour by bus to get to and from university.”

“You’re a student?”

I nod. “Studying to be a cameraman, or something. I don’t know. Maybe I could be a director, if I tried hard enough, but I definitely want to be a part of the film industry.”

“Film? As in, motion pictures?”

“Yeah.”

“…And this medium is popular enough that it warrants its own field of study?”

“Has been for the last hundred years.”

Selene stares at me, then looks up in thought.

“It’s not that intellectual — we’re not developing the world’s most powerful camera or anything — it’s more to do with using the gear safely, and how to frame a scene, which I think I’m already pretty good at.”

“Would you say it’s your special talent?”

“…Uh… Sure, I guess. But it wasn’t always.”

“No?”

“No. When I started out, I was pretty terrible, to be honest. I kept getting the colour balance wrong, and my script writing was atrocious — and still is, sometimes — and I couldn’t stand all the essays and reports my other units were stacking on me.”

She nods thoughtfully. “But then something changed, I take it?”

“…Yeah. Not to sound too sappy, but I… somehow… made a friend.”

“Just one?”

“Don’t get me wrong; I’m not antisocial… but I was very… picky.”

“Distrustful?”

“…A little harsh, but yeah, I suppose.”

She nods again. “And you live with your family?”

“My mum.”

“Just your mother?”

“Yeah. Dad… left not long after high school.”

“Oh.” She recoils slightly. “I’m sorry, Adam, I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t be.”

“…No?”

“No. I’ve heard it a bunch of times, but it doesn’t change anything. And I’m over it.”

“…And your mother?”

“…Not so much…”

“…I see…”

“…There’s not much more to tell. Life was… fine, I guess. And there definitely weren’t any talking ponies making me question my place in the universe. No offence.”

“None taken.”

“…So, yeah. To me, going home means going back to the way things were. The way I’m used to. The way everything’s supposed to be. By my world’s standards, at least. But when I say that… I’m not sure I could allow myself to… or in some strange, twisted way, want to forget that there’s a whole new world out there. Or here. Or wherever we are.”

“And why would you want to? Bad experiences notwithstanding.”

“Because, how could I live with a secret like this? I’d never get over it. And coming from a place without magic… if I started jabbering on about a world with mythical creatures, and a sun and moon that don’t move on their own, and pastel pegasi and pretty pink pony princesses… I’d be thrown into a psych ward somewhere if I didn’t shut up.”

Selene gives me a small, sly smile. “You think I’m pretty?”

I blink. “In a cursory sense,” I quickly reply, nipping that weed before it took root. “I don’t mean to sound callous, but… you’re not really my type.”

“Because I’m a princess?”

“Because you’re…” I stop, realising how easily the rest of that sentence could be misunderstood. Instead, I wave dismissively and gently shake my head. “Never mind. It was just a passing compliment.”

“I know,” she says cordially, though her smile wanes somewhat. More out of curiosity than disappointment. “I was merely having fun — an unfortunate habit I picked up from the most… charismatic of my aunts. With mixed reactions from my parents, of course.”

“You don’t flirt with all your friends, do you?”

“Only the ones I like.”

At that, I give a subdued smirk.

“But going back to what you said before… if you do come from another world — which, I must admit, seems more and more likely — and you don’t want to pretend that this one doesn’t exist… why not let me speak on your behalf?”

I blink again. “Excuse me?”

“Well, as princess and chief diplomat of Equestria, it is my duty and honour to represent the kingdom in all affairs, foreign, domestic, and now, apparently, interdimensional. If it means a smoother transition for you, I see no reason why I shouldn’t say hello.”

“…I’m not sure you’d want that.”

She cocks her head slightly. “Why not?”

“Because you wouldn’t be dealing with just one country; you’d be dealing with, literally, hundreds. They all believe different things and… they don’t all like each other very much. And if history is anything to go by, we don’t really have a good track record when it comes to ‘the other’. So, I can’t speak for humanity very well, but… I don’t know how well they’d react to something as… if you don’t mind me saying… bizarre as you… waltzing into the scene.”

“You fear backlash?”

“…In short, yes.”

“I see.” She nods and, strangely, glances knowingly at Amber. “But I feel it would be… defeatist of me, if I gave up at the mere prospect of something going wrong. There is no reward without risk, after all. And, sometimes… if we try hard enough… we find friends in even the darkest of places.”

It takes a moment, but the hint finally sinks in and I look to Amber too.

She continues to sit in the doglike manner I have become so used to now, and she stares down at her forehooves with… a familiar frown. A troubled frown. And at the same time, I notice her sagging neck, her slouching shoulders, and her drooping ears — all very subtle and slight, but there nevertheless.

I turn back to Selene, who meets my eyes with a kind, calming and sagely gaze.

“Never lose hope, Adam. Those who do are doomed to fail.”

I stare at her with an open mouth, lost for words. I feel… affected… but I don’t know how, or in what way. It’s like a soft and shaggy blanket draped around my shoulders, and something lukewarm and fuzzy entering me through a thin line down my chest.

I haven’t… felt like this since…

“But that’s all I’ll say for now,” Selene concludes, drawing Amber and I out of our reveries. “The hour grows late, and I too need my rest.”

“…Rest?” I ask distantly, then shake my head to force myself to concentrate. “But, wait, aren’t you the… Princess of the Night?”

“Silly, isn’t it?” She grins. “But yes, believe it or not, I too need sleep. And on that note, as much as I’d love to, I may be unable to visit for the next few nights. The Gala starts this morning, unofficially, and there are still some things to sort out, as well as my daily duties.”

“…Alright then. I… guess we’ll see you around.”

She bows to me graciously, and then looks at Amber. “And some advice, if you’d hear it.”

She doesn’t respond, staring at the princess testily, but with a bare fraction of the zeal.

Selene nods once, then turns and points at something tall and to the west. “Beware that pass,” she warns, answering my question immediately. “I don’t know why, but it’s been growing treacherous over the last few years. People have been lost through there before, and even I have been unable to find them. But if you keep your wits about you, stick to the trails and keep each other safe, both of you should be fine.” She faces us again. “Do I make myself clear?”

Amber looks at me.

I look back.

She holds my gaze, perfectly unreadable, then gives Selene a small, curt nod and turns away.

“Good.” The princess returns her hoof to the ground and straightens herself up somewhat. “Is there anything else you’d like to say?”

Amber shrugs and shakes her head, still looking away.

“Actually,” I say, raising a hand, “if you could… maybe… spare a bar of soap?”

Selene grins again. “I could pull a few strings.”

“And a razor too?” I scratch the hairs on my chin and neck to demonstrate. “If this grows any longer, it’ll start to itch.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” She bows once more and stands, takes a deep breath in and out, then gives us both an amiable smile. “Goodbye and good night. And good luck.”

“Thanks,” I reply.

“Ditto,” mutters Amber.

Selene winces disapprovingly at the remark, but it’s a fleeting look that quickly fades, and she bows her head for a third time. “Until we meet again,” she farewells, then disappears in a flash, taking Amber’s curry with her.

I stare at the spot where she’d been, watching the dust fizzle away before they reach the ground, and then turn to Amber.

She turns to me too.

“So, do you want to talk, or—”

“No,” she answers decisively, though it lacks the sharpness I’m so used to hearing.

I close my mouth and wait for her to continue.

She doesn’t.

If the silence is supposed to make me feel uncomfortable, it’s not working. Instead, I shimmy back to my tree and rest my head against its trunk, readjusting the blanket and closing my eyes. “Good night, Amber,” I call out coolly, making myself as snug as I can in a bed of earth and wood.

The silence stretches on.

And then, faintly, I hear a short, quiet, grumbled response, before hooves pad the ground and shuffle away to the tent. It was too soft to make out, but I think I have a hunch.

And so, I smile.

2.2 | A Tell-Tale Heart

Hair conditioner.

Instead of a razor… I’m given hair conditioner.

Well, mane conditioner, as the bottle says, but it’s basically the same thing, right? It even has a designer logo in the form of a pink, five-petalled flower. Honey Breeze by Spring Blossom.

I lower the bottle and reread the note that came with it.

***

To share.

***

She certainly has a way with words, I’ll give her that.

I lower the note as well and peer down at the wicker basket I’d found them in. A fresh bar of soap with a travel case, a flask of perfume, another of mouthwash, a slightly oversized pair of nail clippers, and a neatly folded flannel. It reminds me of the gift bundles I’d see in every raffle at Mum’s old chess club. I used to think they were pretty worthless then, but I was young and foolish, and hadn’t been stuck in the wilderness for… however long I’ve been out here. Can’t be more than a fortnight.

Hard to believe I’m already losing count.

In any case, I return them to the basket and pick it up, then glance over at Amber.

She sits beside a small ring of stones with a bundle of twigs and dry leaves in the centre, a stick between her hooves as she tries to start a fire. And she’s having more luck than I ever would — it’s already smoking.

“So, do you want to go first, or should I?”

Her ears pin back slightly and she frowns at the kindling, but doesn’t respond.

“Amber?”

“I’m busy.”

I resist the urge to groan. “I’m just asking.”

“Yeah, and I’m busy.” She stops twisting the stick and scowls up at me. Her mane is a little more unkempt than usual, and she has dark patches under her eyes. “If you want a cooked breakfast, don’t break my concentration.”

“I’ll take that as a no.”

“What do you think?”

I don’t dignify that with an answer.

“Go on, pamper yourself. Be Selene’s pet.”

“The basket’s for both of us.”

“Yeah.” She rolls her eyes. “Sure.”

“Well, it is. It even says on the note.”

“I don’t care what the note says; she got you everything you wanted, and then some. Hearth’s Warming came early for you, didn’t it?”

I raise an eyebrow. “Hearth’s Warming?”

She blinks, and then buries her face in a waiting foreleg. “For goodness sake, do I have to explain everything?”

Again, I don’t reply.

Slowly, her foreleg slides back down to the ground and she slumps along with it, letting out an audible, but not heavy sigh. “It’s a holiday,” she states without much passion, refusing to look at me, and continues after a short pause. “Happens in winter, around the end of the year. Something about celebrating the founding of Equestria. You sing carols, give gifts, watch a play — stuff like that. And in the evening, you sit around a fire, listening to stories, drinking hot cocoa with little marshmallows in it. Whipped cream, too. And gingerbread. And chocolate wafers.”

I stay quiet.

She stares the sticks she’d been trying to set alight. Her head is angled just enough that I can’t see the exact look on her face, but if her ears are anything to go by, she doesn’t seem mad anymore. More like…

Melancholy.

“…It’s—”

“Sounds like a holiday where I’m from.”

In an instant, her ears perk up and she turns to me with an unreadable expression, though her brows are creased and her lips are parted ever so slightly.

Once more, I remain silent.

“So?” she asks, her voice taking on a familiar edge.

“So, nothing,” I say, refusing the bait. “It’s just a thought.”

She lingers on me for a long while — assessing me, I suppose — before eventually blinking again and shaking her head dismissively, returning to the task of starting a fire.

“My offer still stands, though.”

“Go away.”

“Are you sure?”

“Rule Two, dingus.” She glances up at me. “And what do you care?”

“Well, A, if you go first, you won’t have to worry about washing yourself with my filth.”

Her scowl reappears and she stops and snaps back to me, opening her mouth to scold me.

“And, B,” I quickly interrupt, taking a step back and holding my hand out defensively, “you need it more than I do.”

She blinks again and draws her head back slightly, her scowl softening to a cagey frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

I pause, letting my arm return to my side and watching her carefully, wondering if I’m being too presumptuous. But there’s no mistaking it; I’ve been in her place before, and I’ve seen the same look in my own eyes. “You didn’t get much sleep last night, did you?”

Her response doesn’t come immediately. “Your point?”

“My point, Amber… is that I’m offering you an olive branch.”

“…A what?”

“A truce, a peace offering — whatever you want to call it. I’m trying to make amends. To build a bridge, as Selene put it. Because, this?” I gesture back and forth between us and shake my head. “This isn’t what a healthy relationship looks like.”

“Relationship?”

I hesitate, but only for a split second. “Yes, relationship,” I answer evenly. “And right now, it’s toxic. It’s a little better than before, but if we don’t do something about it, another bubble’s going to burst. And if Selene’s not here next time, what then?”

“What happened to not wanting me to change?”

“I haven’t forgotten, Amber. And that’s not what I’m asking.”

“Then what?” she growls.

I look away and let out a quiet sigh. The morning air is just cool enough to make out the vapours of my breath. “I’m asking…” I begin, and soon drift off, then sigh again and turn back to her. “I want to know how I can help.”

“…Help?”

“Yeah.”

“…What kind of help?”

“You tell me.” I shrug. “Maybe I could carry your bag for you every once in a while.”

“…You? Carry my stuff?”

“Why not?”

“Well, I don’t trust you, for starters.”

Part of me wants to know what she expects me to do with her things when she’s not looking, but that’d just be testing her patience, of which she has little, and is dwindling by the second. And, consciously or not, I think that’s what she’s after; an excuse to be mad.

Stoking the fire is easy. Keeping it checked is not.

So, I have to approach the argument from a different angle. I have to put her on the backfoot, but not aggressively. And the only way I can think of doing that is by… as hackneyed as it sounds… appealing to her better nature. A part of her I know she has — I’ve seen it with my own two eyes, however fleeting those moments were.

“Do you want to?”

“…Excuse me?”

“Do you want to trust me?”

With the faintest twitch of her ears, and the slight widening of her eyes, she seems genuinely taken aback. “…What kind of question is that?”

“The kind where I want to know, for certain, why you won’t give me a chance.”

“…You know why.”

“Yes, I know, I get it. And I don’t blame you. If I were in your place, I’d probably do the same. But the thing is, Amber… I just want to go home. I don’t want to ruin your life more than I already have. So, I know it sounds weird, especially coming from me, but if there’s any way to… you know… not make this worse for you… I’ll do it.”

She doesn’t reply. And the longer the silence drags on, the further back her ears go, and the lower her wings droop, still folded at her sides. The air around her becomes apprehensive, but through it all, she never looks away.

“You don’t have to like me, Amber. I just want to be bearable.”

An uncomfortably long while passes, and still, she makes no response, though her frown deepens in what I can only hope is surprise.

I blink and glance away, shaking my head. “Look, just have the stupid bath,” I mumble, setting the basket down and ambling towards her. “Take as long as you want — I won’t complain. It’s the least you deserve.”

She watches me closely, but only seems to realise that I’m approaching when she’s within arm’s reach. And as soon as it dawns on her, she quickly stands up and backs away.

“Go on,” I encourage, sitting by the firepit and waving to the lake. “I’ll hold the fort. And don’t worry, I won’t look through your bag while you’re gone.”

Still, no response. She just stares at me with wide eyes, furrowed brows, an open mouth and pinned ears. And, honestly, the longer this silence is dragged out, the more disturbed I feel, like I’ve broken some unspeakable taboo. Taking the wind out of her sails isn’t that big of a deal — I’ve done it before — but this is… something else. Something more.

Then she glances at the lake, and looks back to me with a heavy dose of what appears to be bewildered confusion. Another moment passes, but just as I’m about to egg her on a little more, she takes a step toward the basket, then another, and another, then turns away and slowly walks off.

A weight lifts off my shoulders, and is lessened even further the closer she draws to Selene’s care package, and when she’s a few strides away from it, I feel safe enough to look elsewhere.

My attention falls on the kindling, and the stick she was using, and I figure that, if she’s going to take a while, there’s no harm in squeezing in some practice. It certainly seemed easy enough — start at the top, twist my way down, rinse and repeat. And if I succeeded, I’d be doing us both a favour.

So, I retrieve it, get into position, and double-check that I won’t be getting any splinters while doing this.

And then I look up.

Amber’s still there. And she’s watching me again. Not testily or anything like that, which I’m used to seeing when it comes to encroaching on her personal space, as such. Instead, she seems a little dazed, as if in shock, and she needs someone to slap her out of it.

The thought crosses my mind, but I dismiss it with another shake of the head. “Go, Amber,” I insist and wave her off again. “Trust me, you’ll thank yourself later.”

Once more, she lingers on me, then turns around, picks up the basket with her mouth, and sluggishly descends the lakeside embankment.

The air is cooler and drier at the base of the pass, and the river on our left and its surrounding trees have both thinned out somewhat. The way ahead twists and turns up a steep slope, but to call it a path would be a lie; there’s nothing to suggest that this route has been travelled much, aside from a rusted pole with a long strip of yellow tape swaying idly in the breeze, and another about a kilometre up. Maybe. It’s hard to tell from so far off.

The ground we’ll be travelling appears firm; packed earth with clods of grass and shrubs, including large patches of bare stone. Rocks about the size beachballs sit half-buried in the dirt, with microbial fungi staining their surfaces, as if they too are rusting away like the route marker.

The sky remains clear, though a few wisps of clouds are peaking over the southern ridge of the valley. Nothing to be scared of — they’re not low or thick enough to rain. And even if they were, I’ve dealt with worse. Much, much worse.

…Great. I’m developing a fear of thunder, aren’t I?

Guess I’ll never listen to AC/DC again. Not that they were my favourite band to begin with.

A sharp jab to the ankle snaps me out of my musings. “Quit daydreaming.”

“Ow!” It doesn’t hurt me so much as it startles me, but I still bring my leg up and nurse it as I hop a step away. “Careful, Amber. That’s my bad foot.”

“You’re walking just fine,” she states indifferently, strolling onwards. “Keep walking. We’ve already lost enough time as it is.”

I roll my eyes and follow behind. And keep the pressure on my ankle to a minimum, just in case. “A few minutes at most, Amber. It won’t make that much of a difference in the long run.”

“If we’re together a few minutes longer, it makes a difference to me.”

“So, the bath meant nothing to you, I take it?”

An ear twitches, but she doesn’t look back. Nor does she answer.

“You’re welcome, by the way.”

“I didn’t ask for it. You caught me off-guard.”

“That’s a first.”

Another pause. “Don’t do it again.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Don’t be nice again?”

Another twitch, and another pause. “You know what I mean. And don’t twist my words.”

“Well, that’s how it came across.”

“I beg to differ.”

I watch the back of her head for a moment, still with my eyebrow high, then cast my eyes down and pay closer attention to the ground, careful not to trip on something. The last thing I need is for her to see me in an even less favourable light. Which leads me to think about what happened at the lake, and how we found ourselves here. And how I could push her buttons in just the right way again.

…That doesn’t sound too manipulative, does it?

I hope it doesn’t. I’m not a schemer. I don’t want to be one either. There’s something inherently… off about mind games. Not wrong, but definitely not right either. Granted, I’m not bending the truth by any stretch of the imagination, but… despite knowing that I’m not… bad… part of me can’t help but worry — worry that I’m on a slippery slope.

I guess that’s what happens when you think too much before you act.

“You know, you didn’t answer my question.”

Her pace falters for a moment, and she appears to tense up, but she doesn’t stop.

“You haven’t answered a lot of questions, actually.”

“Save your breath.”

“Is that an order?”

“Save your breath. The less you talk, the less water you need.”

“Ah.” I nod to myself. “Well, at least we’re looking out for each other.”

Amber stops and turns to face me side-on with an open mouth and an exasperated frown.

I raise my hands in mock surrender. “Again, just a thought.”

Her frown softens somewhat. “Keep it to yourself,” she says after a short pause, then turns back and continues walking. Perhaps a little faster.

My arms flop back down and I squint at her curiously. Her response wasn’t a flat rejection, which surprises me, but more than that, it’s her tone of voice that catches my ear. There was strength behind it, certainly, and her characteristic snark, but at the same time… I hear anxiety. Trepidation. Fear. They haven’t completely taken root, but the seeds are sown. “Are you sure I can’t hold your bag for a while?” I muse, glancing up at the pass. “Looks like quite a hike.”

“What did I just say about keeping quiet?” she retorts. “And no, you can’t. I don’t trust you.”

“Then I’ll ask again: do you want to?”

She slows herself to a halt and swings about and scowls. “Why’re you making such a big deal out of this?”

“Why’re you dodging the question?”

Her ears fold and she draws her head back, seemingly stunned. But then her eyes narrow, and she leans forward, and she sneers. “You think you’re so smart, don’t you?”

I raise my hands again. “I never said that.”

“But you think it — playing your little word games, hoping to trip me up. And for what? So I lower my guard?” She shakes her head. “That’s not happening. I don’t trust you, I’ll never trust you, and that’s the way it’s going to stay.”

“But is it the way you want it to stay?”

Her eyes bulge, her mouth shuts, and she glances in frustration, before finally glaring back at me. “What part of this don’t you understand?! This isn’t some fantasy land where everything’s hunky-dory by the end of the day: this is real life! Your apology means jack; I’m still out here and I’m still stuck with you, and that’s never going to change unless you grow a heart and let me go home!”

“…Saying sorry meant nothing to you?”

“You weren’t doing it because you wanted to; you were doing it because you were told to. For her sake; not mine.”

I blink, then narrow my eyes. “So, in your books… nothing I say will ever be sincere?”

She doesn’t answer. She merely stares.

I feel like I’ve been slapped. Hard. “That hurts, you know.”

“Good.”

My brows lower. Her sharp, snide, almost automatic response is like rubbing salt in the wound, and, despite last night’s apology, I can’t let this slide. I’ve turned the other cheek enough times already.

I just need to be careful that I don’t take it too far.

“Do you get a kick out of that?”

“Out of what?”

“Being mean.”

Amber pauses, her head and ears both perking up somewhat. “I’m not mean.”

“Then what are you?”

“…Private.”

“And I can respect that. But I’m not after your deepest, darkest secrets here; I’m offering to help. And you’re refusing it. And now you’re saying that I can’t even try to make it up to you, because I’m not really feeling empathy: I’m just acting on her behalf. So, what, as far as you’re concerned, I’m just supposed to be this distant, emotionless husk? Screw that! I care for you, Amber! Sure, you’re pushy, you’re rude, you’re stubborn, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out why you’re living alone, but I care for you!”

“Don’t say that.” Her voice catches at the end. She shakes her head as her ears pin back, her wings droop, and her breathing becomes more ragged. “Don’t say that.”

I hesitate, taking in the moment. “It’s the truth, Amber.”

“Shut up.”

“I care for you because I’m the reason you’re out here — I’m responsible for this.”

“Shut up.”

“And I’ve rolled with the punches because I get why you’re mad, and I don’t want to make it worse.”

“I said shut up!”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

With a sudden burst of speed, she gallops towards me, then rears up and shunts me with enough force that I don’t have a chance to stumble before I fall flat on my backpack. From there, she stands over me, hindlegs straddling my lower body and forehooves pinning me down by the shoulders, staring into my eyes. Her wings are spread, she huffs through flared nostrils, and her pupils have once again shrunken to their unusually small — and admittedly cartoonish — sizes.

It doesn’t make her any less scary, though.

“Why’re you doing this to me?!” she demands hoarsely. “Why?!”

“…Doing what?”

“Everything!” A hoof slams into the ground, almost clipping my ear. “Every damned thing! Why’d you have to show up on my doorstep?! Why’d you have to rope Selene into this?! And why — O sweet stars above, why — are you acting so touchy-feely all of a sudden?!”

I don’t dare answer. She’s after an excuse, not a response. And I won’t give her one.

“Why couldn’t it have been somepony else? Somepony who isn’t a powder keg. Somepony who didn’t spend two whole years of her life building that house from scratch, away from everypony, only to have some ugly, no good, loudmouthed freak of nature — if I can even call you that — fall from the sky and take it all away, just because she was trying to be nice.”

“…Nice?”

“Yes, nice!” she barks, and then pauses for a good, long while, panting heavily as her pupils slowly return to normal. “I saved you. I gave you food and water and a place to sleep, and even my own frigging blanket. And I tried to be nice — I tried — but you had to keep pushing my buttons, didn’t you? You just couldn’t help yourself. You had to wonder, time and time again, what’s my limit. Well, congratulations, dingus: you win.”

No, I haven’t. Neither of us have.

Her eyes begin to water. “I gave you warning signs.” Her voice trembles. “I gave you rules. But you didn’t listen — you never listen — and I’m the one being punished for it.”

I have to say something.

A tear blinks free. “Why?”

I struggle for words.

Another tear follows. “Why?!”

My mind comes up blank.

A weary face, desperate and exhausted, is all I can see. “What do you want from me?”

I watch her carefully, examining her, noticing the twitch in her eye, the quiver of her jaw, the shimmer in her eyes, and the shiver in her shoulders. All I can offer her is the truth. “I want to make this easy for you.”

Something in her eyes change, though I’m not sure what, and she slightly draws her head back once again. “…That doesn’t answer the question.”

“Then what do you want me to say?”

Her expression changes — subtly, of course — morphing from desperation to shock. And as she strains for an answer, shock becomes fear. She tries again to form a response, but when no words come, she slowly backs away, wings limp, teeth clenched, eyes glazing over with tears.

When she’s out of reach, I sit up.

Amber continues walking backwards. Stumbling, rather, but without looking like she’s about to trip over; her hooves hesitate with every step, but her momentum forces them down, and forces her to retreat even further. And when she finally takes a deep, gasping breath in, everything falls apart. She turns about, ambles around, tramping to and fro at random, snivelling and sobbing and clearly trying with all her heart to stop.

But she can’t. And as soon as she realises that, she falls on her rump, facing away from me, and hangs her head and cries. Not loudly, though; hers is a stuttered whimpering, broken by a wet sniff and a long, soft, pained whine.

I’m struck dumb. I wasn’t expecting this — at most, a blank expression and a tense few minutes of absolute silence. Instead, she’s having a complete emotional breakdown. And all I can do is sit and watch.

I want to help. I really, really do. But I know how these things work. Consoling her when I’m the one who’s brought her to tears would only add insult to injury, and if I tried, she’d either lash out or shrink further into herself. Neither outcome’s appealing, and would wind up hurting us both. So, as with most our problems, the only answer I can see is time and space — an old and tired solution, but effective nonetheless.

Even if it might be the reason I’d found myself here in the first place.

Quietly as I can, I pick myself up and, with an anxious crease in my brows, peruse the landscape for something to do. “Amber, listen,” I murmur, returning to her, “if you need me… I’ll be foraging.”

She doesn’t react, aside from another snivelling gasp, but I know I was loud enough to hear.

“I’ll be back soon,” I promise, then turn left head for the river.

Still, no reply comes. In fact, her weeping descends into bawling and blubbering, and the pots and pans rattle as she falls flat on her belly and covers her head in her hooves.

My insides churn themselves up over what to do — over whether I’m just making things worse. It’s enough to stop me in my tracks and stand frozen, watching her, feeling sorry for the two of us… but I don’t do that. I force my feet onwards. Time and space, I tell myself. Time and space.

We have food enough already, yes, but if I’m going to wait this out, I may as well make the most of it and be productive. Yin and yang — the good in the bad — that sort of thing.

I bet one of Selene’s aunts had that mindset down to a T.

The sound of sobbing fades and the familiar crunch of leaflitter takes its place. Also filling the void is the slow and steady trickle of running water, which grows louder the deeper I trek. The gentle warmth of the sun leaves my shoulders as a blanket of shadows hides it from view.

My mind finally registers that I’ve reached the river. Or, at least, the forest surrounding it. I’ve strolled down an incline and meandered my way around a few tall bushes, and now I’m standing in the centre of a small clearing, staring absently at nothing in particular. The air is slightly cooler here — naturally, being under the shade of the trees — and carries the smell of fresh, pure water and damp earth.

A calming vista. Welcome. But at the same time, not.

It feels wrong, if I’m the only one to enjoy it.

Selene’s words enter my mind, about focussing on what can be changed, and I’m thankful for them. My head shakes on impulse and I look about, scanning the shrubs and trees for a splash of colour that isn’t green, grey, black, brown or blue.

No luck, naturally. So, I tread deeper.

The sound of water grows clearer, and I consider stopping by for a quick sip, only to dismiss the idea almost immediately; my throat might be dry, and I’ve elected to give her a little breathing room, but I shouldn’t indulge myself. She might not know or care, especially if I keep my mouth shut, but it’s the right thing to do. This trip has come at her expense enough already.

As well as the feeling of… duty, for lack of a better word, there’s also the feeling of being judged, somehow. Or at the very least, watched. Which is quite possible, I suppose, considering Selene can teleport at will, and could be hidden in the shadows, or the mountaintops peeking through the forest canopy, observing the goings-on of her trusted spy and his overwhelmed escort.

I wonder what she’d say to how I’m handling this, and whether she could do any better.

Actually, scratch that — I know she can; she’s just… that…

…Good…

My feet slow to a halt, and I’m left staring at the dirt before them with a worried frown.

I barely know anything about her, and I’m already jumping to conclusions. And the one thing I do know for certain… isn’t very flattering.

…When I’m finished here, and when the time is right, I’m asking Amber what happened before and after she came to the throne. Provided she can answer, of course. And, come to think of it, how come Selene knows so much about her.

If they’re somehow related, I swear, I’ll smack myself harder she ever could.

I blink and look around again. To my right, the river flows freely, and to my left, the slope back up to Amber looms. Between them, however, directly in front of me, is a cluster of bushes with bristly leaves, and little specks of dark purple bunched together on the branches. Berries.

With a sigh of relief, I wander over and pick one.

It’s firm. Fleshy, but firm. Not unlike a small rubber ball, and no doubt just as hard to bite through. But I know better. They might look edible, but that doesn’t mean they are. So, I gather a few more — a fistful of six — then glance about to make sure nothing had snuck up on me, and start heading back to Amber.

…But then I stop. And, slowly, I turn around.

Nothing.

I narrow my eyes and take another, more careful look.

Still nothing.

And yet, I could have sworn I saw something, like the briefest flitter of movement, and a certain… luminance. Of course, this could be my nerves acting up — the culmination of two weeks of unrelenting stress. But if that were the case, life after high school would have made me go crazy long ago. Still, I definitely feel like I’m being watched. And if I’m not, better safe than sorry.

Scanning the trees and shadows, I gently back away, keeping my head at an angle where I can make sure the coast is clear, and glance behind if I’m scared I’ll trip. My movements are as small and quiet as possible, but to my ears, it’s never enough. All the while, the air grows heavier, denser, and a cold tingle in my chest reaches my toes and fingers. My bag, at least, keeps me from feeling completely vulnerable.

That’s when I hear wingbeats, and see a dark shape emerge from the right, only to perch on a nearby branch and stare down at me. A crow. Like the other non-speaking creatures of this world, it has a very expressive face, despite sharing an otherwise identical appearance with a normal crow. Or abnormal, depending on one’s perspective. In this case, it watches me intently. What that intent is, however, is beyond me, though it does seem, in a certain light, genuinely curious.

It disturbs me.

I risk a second glance around and, to my mute horror, spy one, two, four other crows scattered about the trees, all with their eyes on me.

Whatever I saw before, if I saw anything at all, was bigger than a small flock of birds, but this is just as frightening. The last thing I need is to find myself stuck in an Alfred Hitchcock masterpiece, terribly dated as it is.

So, following my instincts and the movie’s advice, I slowly walk away.

And on the birds watch.

The pegasus doesn’t react to the sound of my approach. Instead, she stays seated on her rock, staring vacantly at the ground. Her ears are flat, her wings are limp, her eyes are half-closed, her cheeks are damp, her hair is messy and frazzled, and every now and then, her body jolts with the force of a sudden, silent hiccup.

A dismal wreck. A shadow of her former self.

This is not a sight I wanted to see. Not again.

But, if anything, at least she’s stopped crying.

That has to count for something, right?

…Right?

Carefully, cautiously, I take the last few steps towards her. For a moment, I consider reaching out to give her a kindly pat on the shoulder, but then I think better of it, remembering Rule Four, and what happened last time I broke it, and realising that this simply isn’t the right context for that sort of thing. I mean, whatever I’d said had cut deep, and now that I’m back, I’m not sure if we’ve spent enough time apart. Not that I’m keen on returning to the crows.

Still, I can’t just stand here and say nothing; that’s weird, and creepy, and could be mistook for intimidation. “I, uh… found some berries,” I mention hopefully, offering them to her. “Look.”

She doesn’t respond, nor do her eyes move, or her ears twitch.

I slowly squat down, peering up at her with concern.

Again, no reaction.

A heavy sigh escapes me and my head sinks into a waiting palm, and I stay like that for a good, long moment, thinking of what to say. “Okay, look…” I mumble, pulling away from my hand, “I won’t pretend to know what you’re going through, or why you are the way you are. And if you don’t want me to, I won’t ask. But we can’t keep doing this. We need to learn to get along. For our sakes. Not hers.”

Despite my words, she remains quite still. Emotional shock. Or, more accurately, withdrawal. Locked away in her own little shell, filled with thoughts ranging from empty at best, to dark at worst. I’ve seen it too many times to mistake it.

“Blazer, please,” I quietly beg, leaning a tad closer. “Don’t shut me out. I need you.”

Nothing changes. Not immediately, at least. But eventually, her eyes wander towards me, and they meet my gaze. They’re still unfocussed — fogged with the ghosts of tears, and red from it — but it’s a sign that I’m on the right track.

A genuine, if wary smile creeps its way across my lips, and I offer the berries again.

Her eyes linger on me, still vacant and glazed, but then begin to drift, gradually lowering to my shoulder, my sleeve, my arm, my wrist, and finally my open palm. And she stares at it for a while, the wheels in her head turning slowly and lazily. But then something clicks — a spark of conscious thought shines through — and her eyes snap wide in a desperate, panicked expression. “No!” she cries, slapping my hand away.

The berries spill onto a bed of packed earth and stone, and I stand up and back off.

She hops down from her perch and squashes each and every one with a few violent, frantic stomps, then turns back and looks up at me with the same horrified face. “Do you have any idea what those were?!”

I blink. “I take it they were bad, right?”

“They were juniper!”

“Juniper?” I raise an eyebrow at the pulpy remains on the ground. “That’s what juniper berries look like?”

“Yes!”

I pause for a moment, then blink again as a realisation dawns, and I return to her. “Wait a second, what’s wrong with juniper?”

“They’re…!” she begins, and quickly cuts herself off, as if choking on her own words. But soon, she recovers. Even if her ears lower a fraction further. “They’re poison.”

“Really?” I ask in surprise, then look away and narrow my eyes. “Could’ve sworn you can spice drinks with them…”

“Well, you can’t.”

The defensive tone catches my ear. “Are you sure?”

She, too, pauses. “I’ve been out here a lot longer you,” Amber slowly, quietly states. “If you won’t listen, don’t ask.”

Something in her voice sounds a little off — disingenuous — but I can’t pinpoint what, and eventually shrug and sigh. “Okay, so… what now?”

She continues to stare at me with feigned determination, then blinks and lowers her gaze. “I don’t know.” She rubs an eye and sniffs loudly. “But if you’re so insistent on helping… just sit back and let me be.”

“Well, that’s kind of what I’ve been doing, honestly.”

She snaps back to me, and I glimpse a hint of surprise.

“I could go back, if you want.”

“No,” she says, perhaps a little too quickly for her liking, because she shrinks away and shuts her eyes. “I mean… I’ll go. Because you don’t know what you’re looking for.”

I raise another eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” She shuffles around me and begins ambling for the forest. “If you do, you’re just going to mess it up.”

The parting shot irks me, but her tone betrays the intent; it was a blunt statement, not a jab. So, once again, I roll with the punch and let it slide. But at the same time, I’m suddenly reminded of a very similar set of circumstances. “Actually, maybe I should come with.”

“No.” She comes to a halt and looks back to me with a face of utter exhaustion. “I need to be alone.”

“What if something happens, and I’m not there?”

She pauses once more. “I’ll manage.”

“What if it’s another cockatrice?”

Again, she says nothing, and instead shakes her head and continues walking away.

“Amber…”

She stops, she sags, and waits for me to speak.

“…Just be careful, alright? The birds were giving me funny looks.”

A moment passes, then two, then three, and the longer the silence drags on, the more doubt seeps into me, and guilt along with it. But then she sighs and resumes her trek, and from behind the mass of pots and pans and dull blue canvas, I hear her muttered, subdued response, “Sure.”

I let my breath go, then seat myself on the rock she had just used and watch her wander off. Is it irresponsible to let her go alone, despite her protests? Probably. But in order for her to trust me, I need to prove that I’m trustworthy. I’ve broken enough rules for one day.

So, I sit, I watch, and when she disappears, I wait. And as the world around me falls quiet and still, I’m left pondering the answer to three very important questions. The first: how would Selene have handled this? The second: what was up with the crows? And the third: why, of all the things to hallucinate, would I imagine seeing a bright green flash?

2.3 | Games People Play

I don’t think I like silence anymore. It lets me think too much, and not in any good ways. Even as I pluck pebbles and splinters from the soles of my shoes, all I can think about is whether I’ve done, am doing, and will continue to do the right thing. And every time I assure myself, there’s a fog of doubt hanging over me — an incessant little whisper that won’t go away.

She would’ve done better.

Sighing for the umpteenth time today, I close my eyes and droop my head into a waiting palm. Comparisons won’t do me any good, but in this world, she’s my only other frame of reference, and I can’t deny that I feel some strange affinity for her. A certain respect — and she has been nothing if not respectable. Decent. Fair. Dare I say…

No. No, I can’t let appearances deceive me. A rose belies thorns, and I’ve yet to hear another perspective. Besides, someone who’s admitted to doing… that… can’t be completely good, can they?

Or is that too unforgiving? Plenty of on-screen heroes have done the same and I never thought less of them. Why can’t I use the same logic here?

…And there I go, assuming she’s in the right.

I drag my hand down my face and open my eyes, looking about. Nothing will have changed since last I checked, but I need a distraction, fast.

The wispy clouds I’d seen before have drifted into the sky above the valley, forming long, choppy streaks of white, like rolling waves on an ocean. A subtle breeze blows in the same direction, swaying clumps of tall, straw-like grass and a number of the smaller shrubs. In the distance, the lake is little more than splash of blue in a field of green; no bigger than a grape, so very far away, and considering I haven’t had a drink since this morning, just as enticing.

I turn my attention to the berries on the ground, or what remains of them, now dried up and wilting in the midday sun, attracting the odd fly or three. The point had been made clear enough, but it’s a tough pill to swallow, and I still can’t shake the feeling that there was something else behind that outburst. Something more than survival instincts. Besides, it’s hard to forget a line as iconic as ‘mead with juniper berries mixed in’ if you’ve listened to it a hundred times over.

Doubt. Everywhere, there is doubt. And, oh, how I’m sick of it.

With yet another sigh, I look to my right, then sit up straight when I see Amber emerging from the trees. Her gait is slow but steady; head bowed, ears low, eyes on the ground before her — no less glum, but far more composed. Maybe that’s a good sign, and maybe not, but at the very least, I can see her, and that alone takes a weight off my shoulders.

She continues walking, and the pots keep rattling, but in the end, they both stop when she comes far enough, standing just a few metres away.

Neither of us say anything for a good, long while. Testing the air, I suppose. But the silence gets the better of me — in a way, scares me — and I break the peace. “Feeling better?”

“Yeah.”

The quickness of the reply catches me off-guard, somewhat, but I don’t show it. I’d expected a pause, however brief, but this was straight and to the point; something she’s done before, but only when asking, for the most part, never answering. But at the same time, I can’t exactly blame her: that question could be seen a mile off. “…Would you like to about it?”

She looks up at me with a blank expression.

One that I feel I ought to shy away from, but don’t. I’ve nothing to be ashamed of.

She holds my gaze, sizing me up, perhaps, then blinks and turns her attention to the mountains behind me, and the valley to her right, giving each a very long, very impassive stare. “Maybe,” she says quietly, then returns to me with the same inexpressive face.

As the response sinks in, I have to remind myself to keep my brows from climbing. This was the answer I’d been seeking for two weeks, and I can’t let her see me act surprised about it. After all, if I couldn’t handle the opportunity, what right do I have in seizing it?

“Not now, though,” she continues, peering up at the pass. “We need to keep moving.”

I follow her gaze, finding that same rusted pole from before. The yellow tape is missing. Gone with the wind, I guess. “You don’t want to take a break?”

“I just did.”

“Fair point,” I say, wincing, then turn back to her. “You didn’t find anything else, did you?”

“No.”

I press my lips together and nod. “Alright, so… I guess we’re all set.”

“Yep.”

I watch her for a moment, quietly mulling over her neutral tone, and how it quite doesn’t fit such terse replies, then look away and reassess the situation.

She’s given me a chance. Not a guarantee, but a chance. It might not mean anything just yet, and there’s every possibility it could go as poorly as it has for the last fortnight, but it’s something. An opening. Finally, an opening.

I can excuse her behaviour for just a few more hours, right?

“Can we go now?”

I stare off into the distance a little while longer, then nod to myself and stand up, stretching my back. “Ready when you are.”

She, too, nods, then turns to her left so she faces the pass and begins walking again, this time with more purpose.

Slow to forgive, quick to forget; Amber Dart in a nutshell.

At the rusted pole, I stop and take a look back. The view is splendid, akin to the spectacle I saw on Day One. Picturesque. Simply beautiful. Especially the other end of the valley, and how it disappears around the corner. Soon, we’ll disappearing too, over the ridge and perhaps a few more, leaving this scene behind us, probably forever.

Fourteen days. It doesn’t sound that long, but it feels like a lifetime. Fourteen nerve-wracking days, and all I’ll have to show for it is a chipped tooth, poor company, faulty gadgets, and a few select memories that will, like everything, fade with time. I’ll forget details — nuanced, little things — until all that remains is an impression. A footprint. An echo. No more an image than a fossil is a dinosaur.

I suck at remembering things.

…I guess that’s why they invented cameras.

Swinging the bag off my shoulder, I set it down and retrieve the device. Cap off, power on. Sit down for stability, eye through the viewport. Zoom in, zoom out. Focus the lens. Make sure I’m steady. Take the shot. Examine my work. Too washed-out — not enough colour. Reduce the shutter speed and try ready again.

“What’re you doing?”

I lower the camera and look over my shoulder.

Amber stares back, facing me side-on with a quizzical eyebrow raised.

Staying quiet for a short while, I choose my words carefully, then turn back and take the modified shot. “Documenting.”

Another silence descends as I inspect my second attempt. This one’s tense — for me, at least — but I don’t intend to break it.

“Documenting what, exactly?”

I pause. Curiosity, even in a frank, unemotional tone, wasn’t what I expected. What I did expect, I have no idea. Ridicule, maybe, since I’m holding us up, but that might just be a sign that I’ve grown too used to the attitude. “This,” I say, giving her the benefit of the doubt. “The journey we’re on. May as well make the most of it, if we’re not talking.”

“Why, though?”

“Because it gives me something to do. It distracts me.”

“But that’s not what we’re supposed to be doing, is it?”

“So?” I return to her. “If you can have a memento, why can’t I?”

She doesn’t reply, and her pause stretches into yet another silence.

I sigh. “Look, I’m not happy with the way things turned out. I sure as hell know you aren’t either. But that doesn’t mean I can’t… try to look on the bright side of life. It isn’t easy… but it works. So, can I?”

“…Be my guest.”

Again, the response surprises me, and it takes a little while for the go-ahead to sink in. It also confirms my suspicions — that I’ve taught myself to suspect any leeway. Strange how that works. But I’ve trusted her so far, and if she’s beginning to trust me, even in some small, meagre way, I can’t afford to betray that trust. Better to just take her at her word and be done with it.

So, I look to the scenery once more and stare. And search. And stare. But nothing seems to stick out anymore. It’s beautiful, certainly, like a desktop wallpaper, but that’s just it: it feels generic. Uninspired. Of course, this is for a diary, not professional photo album, so it’s not like I need to make everything look so glamorous, but I’m not in the mood for subpar.

There has to be something special about this shot, just like the one at the cottage. There has to be some kind of significance behind it. A meaning. A story.

“Well?”

…Our story…

“What’s the holdup?”

I hesitate, and with good reason. It’s too soon, too bold, too much of a demand… but it’s the only thing I can think of. So, with a tightness in my chest and an anxious wrinkle on my brows, I turn back to her yet again and ask her plainly and simply, “Do mind if we took our pictures?”

She blinks, but doesn’t seem completely shocked. “Why?”

“Because…” I begin, and quickly scramble for a reason that doesn’t sound like I’m trying to get all ‘touchy-feely’, as she put it. “Because I don’t want photos of the landscape all the time; that’s boring. There needs to be something else — something not… natural-natural. A human element.”

“A… what?”

I shake my head to myself. “Never mind. The point is, may I? Or, may we?”

This time, she hesitates, looking increasingly confounded by the proposition, but not aversely so. She takes a brief glance at the pass behind her, opens and shuts her mouth, frowns at the ground in thought, then peers at me from the corner of her eye.

“I’m not trying to get personal, if that’s what you’re worried about,” I half-lie, and instantly hate myself for it. “I just want some variation. Whether it means anything is up to you.”

Her hesitancy remains, still staring at me. But eventually, she lifts her head and shares a resigned expression. “Portrait or landscape?”

“Portrait,” I answer, opting not to question whether I expected anything else.

She slowly nods once, then walks toward me.

I stand up and offer her the camera.

She sits down and accepts, taking it from my grasp and holding it between her forehooves, inspecting the screen and buttons and dials.

“It’s the big silver one on the top right.”

“I know.”

“Oh.” I take a few steps back. “Well then, don’t mind me.”

She glances up impassively, then turns the camera sideways, closes one eye and peers through the viewport. “Full body or bust?”

“Bust.”

She twists the lens and zooms in.

I strike a modest pose, angling my head to the side with a simple smile. Showing teeth has always felt forced to me, as if I’m way too happy for my own good, like an advert or a stock photo. So, mine is closed-lipped.

A wing unfolds and wraps around to her front, stretching in a way that surprises me, like so many things before and no doubt countless more after. The last, largest and longest feather — a primary, if memories of high school biology serve me correctly — rests against the button like a finger. And, after giving me a moment to get over the fact that I had just seen her use a wing as a hand, she presses down, the shutters click, and she pulls away to examine her work.

I stroll back.

“Looks good,” she says, handing me the camera and walking past.

I watch her with a raised eyebrow as she goes. If she were anyone else, I wouldn’t hesitate to say her tone sounded nonchalant, or even amiable. If she were anyone else. As it stands, though, I can’t help my scepticism, and I’m not sure if it’s called for.

Dismissing the conundrum with a shake of the head, I take up position and, too, review the shot. Perfectly centred, perfect colour balance, and crisp, clear edges. “Not your first rodeo, I see.”

“I’ve had experience.”

I look up at her and raise another eyebrow.

She returns my gaze with a slight frown. “What?”

I blink. “Oh, nothing. It’s just a little surprising. Considering your background, I mean.”

“Background?”

“Your… technological isolation, pardon my French. You said it yourself: you’ve never even seen a phone before.”

She pauses, relaxing her expression. “Just because I’ve never seen a phone doesn’t mean I don’t know how to use a camera.”

“Ah. Yeah, sorry, should’ve figured.” I nod to myself, then plop down and bring the viewport to my eye. “Bust as well?”

“Sure.”

I frame her from the shoulders up, catching some of the sky above her head. With the sun high and the clouds softening the light, I don’t have to worry about tiptoeing around any shadows, and that’s a welcome relief. Don’t want this taking longer than it needs to. Doesn’t hurt that her colours are easy on the eyes, either. “And smile,” I say automatically, and give myself a mental slap on the wrist for not watching my language.

To my absolute shock, however, she does. Slowly, slightly, subtly, her lips curl upwards into a small, subdued, yet altogether sincere grin. Without a hint of hesitation or an inkling of reservation, and no glint of some hidden emotion in those large, blue, almost luminous eyes.

It’s as if…

“What’s wrong?”

Blinking myself out of my thoughts, I realise I’ve let the camera slip and was now gawking instead of aiming. “Nothing, nothing,” I quickly reply, shaking my head and setting up the shot again. “It’s just… the first time you’ve done that.”

“Smiling?”

“Yeah.”

She blinks too, expression contorting into a similar sense of shock. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

With a wary frown, she glances left and right, then shares that frown with me. “…Should I not?”

I pause, lips parted for an answer that’s so simple and easy, but tries its best to elude me. “…Nah,” I mumble, finally catching up to it. “No, go ahead.”

She looks me up and down, still unsure, but eventually allows herself to relax once more, and the faint, genuine, perhaps even warm or friendly smile returns.

I focus the lens and take the shot.

…Something’s not right…

Clambering over the rounded surface of a large, sunken boulder, I keep the weight off my bad foot as I hop down and continue walking. The path before us continues to rise, though not as sharply as the initial climb, and quite a few more shrubs now sprout from the steep wall of rock on our right. The air is chilly, but bearable; I don’t see any snow on any of these mountains, so I think I’ll survive, especially if it only takes a day to cross.

“How long have we been at this?” I call to the figure ahead.

Her ears perk up, and she turns her head slightly. Not enough that I can tell what her expression is, but enough that she can look at me out of the corner and keep hiking without much of a problem. “This journey?” she queries, without a hint of hostility.

“Yeah.”

“Since when?”

“Since this morning.”

“Ah.” She nods to herself, barely noticeable with the natural bob of her gait. “Well, if dawn’s at six, and we left at… seven?”

I raise an eyebrow. “You’re asking me?”

She angles her head a little further and raises one of her own. “You mean you don’t know?”

I blink. “No. Of course not. You’re the one with the crazy internal clock — why would you think I know what the time is?”

She lingers on me for a long moment, then returns to the path ahead. “I just thought you’d have gotten used to it by now.”

I laugh once, breathily, breaking into a bemused smile. “Me? In fourteen, fifteen days? When you’ve had, what, a lifetime of experience?”

She pauses. Why, I’m not sure. Maybe waiting for a certain mood to pass. In which case, at long last, she’s finally learning. “Five hours,” she answers tamely. “Give or take.”

“So, it’s midday now?”

“Thereabouts.”

I nod to myself, then scan the landscape and, as expected, find nothing of interest. We’re about halfway through the pass between the two peaks, which still tower above us in an almost fantastic sense. We’ve already left the source of the river behind us, vanishing up a waterfall on the southern height, and are now traversing the rocky badlands from here to the next valley, and however many more after that.

There’s no wildlife here, except for a lone hawk circling high in the air to the southeast, watching, waiting, biding its time. It makes me worry for the birds at the lake, before I promptly remember that the birds I’m thinking of aren’t there; they’re all the way back on my Earth, and have probably moved on by now. Their kids will have had kids, and I’ll just be a footnote in the long, proud history of their clan; a story the elders tell the younglings, of a giant who brought gifts of bread and crackers.

…My mind wanders to some really weird places, sometimes.

But now that I’ve snapped back to reality, I realise that I’m staring at the lake again, and another thought strikes me as I resume the trek. Risky, definitely, and more than a little demanding, but she seems different now — more open. I need to test the waters. “You know, I’m still waiting for a thank you.”

“What for?”

“The bath.”

Her ear twitches, and she turns her head to the same angle. “What about it?”

“…Well, the…” I drift off, already lost for words, with the shameful weight of a broken taboo slowing me to a halt. I sigh heavily and look away, shaking my head. “Never mind, never mind. I’m just being selfish.”

She stops and faces me side-on. “How?”

“I said never mind.”

“And I said how,” she states candidly, borderline reassuringly. “If you have something to say, say it.”

Did I expect her to let it go? No, of course not. But to… encourage, instead of ridicule or reject or outright lambast me?

I’m… torn. It’s a good thing, but it doesn’t feel completely… right, somehow. Change is supposed to happen gradually, not like this. People don’t behave differently just because the going gets tough — she’s proven that time and again.

…And yet I know from experience that that’s not always the case.

I should stop being so jumpy, shouldn’t I? Start trusting her more; cut her some slack and just roll with the punches again, even if they aren’t exactly aimed at anyone.

“…Look, I know I don’t deserve any forgiveness for putting you through this, Amber,” I murmur, shrugging, both weary and wary, “but I want to make it up to you, somehow. And if I don’t hear any kind of acknowledgement… how am I supposed to know if I did any good at all?”

She lowers her eyes for a moment, thinking, tapping a forehoof against the earth. “Then what do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know.” I shrug. “Just a thank you, I guess.”

“Then thank you.”

I blink, having expected more of a fight, but quickly dismiss the thought. Trust is key, and she can trust me to trust her. She can also trust me to do my best to defuse any given situation. “You sure you don’t want to jazz it up a little?”

“Should I?”

“Well, I mean… you could if you wanted.”

She looks to her right with a light snort, tapping her hoof again. “Well then, thanks,” she says, returning to me. “For everything. Maybe I’m not the best travelling companion, but… you’ve made it tolerable, so far.”

“Since we met each other, you’ve knocked me out and chipped a tooth, and I’ve made you cry twice. I’m not sure I’d call that tolerable.”

She pauses, then shrugs, then turns around and continues walking. “Take it or leave it, Adam; that’s the thanks you’re getting.”

I blink again, staying in place. “What, that’s it? No snark, no… parting shot?”

She stops and looks over her shoulder. “Is that what you want?”

“…Well… no…”

“Then quit being so on edge,” she says coolly. “You said it yourself: always look on the bright side of life. So, that’s what I’m doing. What happened, happened. I can’t change it, and I’m not proud of it, but I can learn from it. Right now, that means being a little nicer.”

I stare at her, stunned. Gobsmacked, rather. Her voice is the same, her eyes are the same, mouth, snout, ears, mane, tail, wings — everything — and yet it’s like a whole new person standing in front of me. Since when has Amber ever been… motivational? Heck, she’s never been this forthright outside a fit of rage.

Was that breakdown really so severe that she pulled an about-face? That she reached some kind of epiphany and saw the error of her ways? Threw all caution to the wind? Stranger things have happened, I suppose, maybe, but this looks, sounds, and most importantly feels too good to be true. And I can’t tell if I’m being reasonable or just overly cynical. I hope the latter, but…

Something’s not right here. One way or another, something’s not right.

“So, can we get going again? Please?”

I continue staring, trying to keep my face neutral, reminding myself that we’re a team. Doubt has its place in the world at large — not between us. I know where she stands, she knows where I stand, and that’s what matters.

So, I force myself onwards, and our long and arduous journey resumes.

And I am doubtful.

The terrain has flattened somewhat and become more or less one solid surface of stone — still between the two peaks, of course. There’s no dirt here, only thin cracks and weeds. Boulder of various sizes sit in the open, rooted in place by their own weight and years, decades, centuries of erosion. On the right, a large, deep pit with sheer, craggy sides offers its water to the sky above, and any would-be traveller with a dry mouth. A nearby sign, bleached and weathered as it may be, warns against it.

My eyes linger on it as I pass by, taking in the details: the faded words and minimalist images of ponies forbidden to drink or dive; the flecks of rust on the very edges and beneath the flaking paint; the silvery blemishes of the screws binding it to the pole. Why it catches my eye, I don’t know. Perhaps I’ve gained some newfound appreciation for any sign of civilisation — pun not intended. Sure, it’s old, and it’s not the same as a phone booth or anything like that, but still, it’s something.

Good in the bad. Good in the bad.

Speaking of which…

“So,” I begin, looking to the figure ahead of me, “what’s the deal with you and Selene?”

She freezes, hindleg midstride, ears perking up once more.

I slow my pace, then come to a halt as well.

She turns her head to that same ambiguous angle, letting her hoof gradually fall to the ground. “Excuse me?”

“Do you two know each other?”

She blinks, then faces me side-on yet again with a stupefied look and an eyebrow raised. “The princess?”

“Yeah.” I frown slightly. “Who else?”

She stares at me a little while longer, expression morphing from surprise to suspicion. “What makes you say that?”

I pause, then shrug. “Well, she certainly seems to know more about you than I do, and the way you two were talking last night… it sounded like you’ve met before.”

Her eyes take on a familiar hardness.

“You have, haven’t you?”

“What does it matter?”

“Because…” I glance away and sigh, in case I’d sounded a little too snappish. “Because I want to set the record straight. I’m tired of being in the dark all the time, with you and with her. And if there’s going to be some kind of breakthrough anytime soon… I’d rather it happen with the person I’ll be travelling with most.”

She doesn’t reply, glaring at me resolutely, ears angled back, head bowed slightly, as if ready to pounce. But then she lowers her eyes, and her expression softens somewhat. The scowl remains, but it’s thoughtful as well as irate.

“I know we have rules, Amber, but… I just can’t do this anymore. I want to get to know you; to understand you — the real you — because I know you’re a good person, deep down. And I know we can do better.”

Her scowl fades to little more than a slight tension in the brows.

“So? Can we… move on, at all?”

She closes her eyes, letting out a long, quiet breath through her nose. “We have… history,” she mutters, looking up at me with her head angled low. “A lot of people do.”

I raise an eyebrow. “What kind of history?”

“The sore kind.” She looks away again. “The kind you can’t forgive.”

I nod slowly and understandingly, though my teeth clench from being given the run-around yet again. “Like what? A family dispute?”

“…Something like that.”

I blink in surprise. “So, you two are related?”

“No,” she sharply states, snapping back to me with a warning frown. “We are nothing alike.”

“Then… what do you mean?”

She pauses, then lifts herself to a more relaxed posture. Her face relaxes, but her eyes remain steadfast. “If you can talk, you can walk,” she says matter-of-factly, turning around and striding off. “Walk, and maybe we’ll talk.”

The brisk pace catches me off-guard and I break into a jog to keep up, then match her speed when I’m a comfortable distance from her side. “Was that really necessary?”

“We need to get to Vanhoover, don’t we?”

“Well, sure, but—”

“Then we’re doing this my way.”

My brows crease, then I glance away and roll my eyes. At least we’re back in familiar territory. “Okay, so… what happened?”

She doesn’t reply. Not immediately, at least; the air around her feels tense, but pensive, choosing her words carefully, gaze fixed on the horizon. “It’s hard to say.”

“…What, like, you don’t really know, or—”

“I know what happened. It’s just… hard to put into words. The right words.”

I nod, once more, slowly and understandingly, giving the next question a little more thought. “Alright then, what’s Selene like?”

She winces. “What’s she like?”

“Yeah. What’s her… moral character, shall we say?”

She gives me a long, sceptical look, inspecting me carefully, before returning to the way ahead with a troubled frown. “The princess is… problematic.”

“How so?”

“…She is… strong. And competent. But she claims to be an advocate of peace and harmony, when she’s done nothing but burn the world around her.”

“Again, how so?”

Her pace slows and her head sags, sighing. “Do I need to get specific?”

“It helps.”

She looks at me again, more jaded than frustrated, and then back to the horizon once more. “I had a family, once.”

I freeze. My insides sink. My eyes widen, my jaw hangs open and I stare at her as she presses on.

I’m shocked. And not just at this new piece of information — this bombshell —I mean that she’d be so willing to simply come outright and say it. Mumbled and reluctant, sure, but still… And on top of that, the pieces from last night are coming together; why she seemed so… disturbed after I’d rambled on about Mum and Dad and…

No. No, I need to focus on the here and now, and that means catching up to her and talking it out. So, that’s what I do. “You… had?”

She nods idly, focussed on the road onward. “Where I used to live… there was a disagreement — a divide. The princess was heading down a path that many of us weren’t comfortable with — that Equestria wasn’t comfortable with.”

“And what path was that?”

“Fear. Paranoia. She couldn’t trust anyone.”

“…But why?”

“Because that’s who she is,” she snaps, glancing at me. “Fearful, manipulative, deceitful, power-hungry, despotic. She doesn’t care for the good of the kingdom — never has — she’s only in it for herself. Anything outside of her control is a threat. She once sank an entire city for daring to question her.”

“Sank?”

“Yes. Crashed them into the Appleachians, just west of Baltimare, and banished them from setting foot on Equestrian soil ever again.”

“…A literal city?”

Her frown turns on me. “She raises the moon every night; it’s not that hard to believe.”

I shut my mouth and look away, a familiar tightness in my chest taking hold, and the weights on my shoulders return. “Is she… sorry, at all?”

“Of course not. The Great Destroyer knows no shame.”

“…She seemed pretty humble last night.”

“Lies, all of it. A ruse to get you on her side — to play the victim.”

The tightness grows tighter, and the weights weightier. I need to change the conversation; it’s shifting towards me when it should be on her. Moral dilemmas come later. “Okay, so… all this was happening… and the people where you lived weren’t happy about it. There was some kind of vote, I take it?”

She lingers on me, then looks ahead again, neck slumping, ears flattening. “As a matter of fact, there was. We’d either stay with her or resist her. I voted we resist, and so did a lot of others — a few thousand, maybe. My family and the rest of the kingdom, however…”

“…I see…”

“Yeah. That’s what generations of relative peace does to you; it makes you weak. Spineless. Doesn’t help that there was this cult of pacifism ever since The Reformation.”

“Reform…” I blink and shake my head. “History lesson aside, what happened? You just up and left, because you didn’t see eye to eye with your mum?”

“…I didn’t make that choice lightly,” she says after a lengthy pause, glancing at me with a subdued, gloomy expression. “And you don’t need to make it sound so petty. But yes, that’s the long and short of it.”

“You couldn’t have talked it out?”

“There was nothing to discuss. We fought, I left. I’ve made something of myself since then.”

I raise an eyebrow. “By living alone for two years?”

She yanks herself to a halt.

I stop just in front and face her.

Her eyes are wide and pointed at the ground, purposely avoiding me, and her ears are angled back and tense. “I…” she begins and fails, then closes her mouth, gulps, and peers up at me with a determined, but unmistakably panicked face. “I’m making my own fate. I won’t let her or anyone else take that away from me.”

“I’m not saying you should.”

“Then what are you saying?”

I shy away from her gaze with a heavy sigh and creased brows, and notice that our path ahead leads to a cliff; a sheer drop straight down, easily a mile high, if the other side of the upcoming canyon is anything to go by. Two trails branch off to the north and south, both comfortably wide as they follow the gorge’s edge, but only the northern one has the next marker.

“I don’t know.” I shrug and facing her again. “Suggesting more dialogue, maybe.”

Determination and panic slowly fade to blankness. Not surprise or shock or a vacant expression, just an unreadable one. In a certain light, almost pitying. “You sound like one of the heroes of old,” she says quietly, bleakly, but otherwise unemotionally. “Idealists, the lot of them.”

“And it sounds to me like you’ve given up too easily.”

She continues to stare, gazing into me, as if searching for something worth saving. But then she blinks and lowers her eyes, and softly shakes her head as she walks by. “It’s too late for me, Adam. The age of heroes is over — there’s no room for them. We’re all that’s left.”

I watch her go and raise another eyebrow. “We?”

She stops again.

“…What happened to ‘us’ not being a thing?”

A long moment passes. “Priorities change,” she says impassively, then resumes her course.

…I’m lost for words. Partly because this feels out of character for her, but mostly because, somehow… it feels right. Deserved, in a way. To hear those words come from her mouth, at long last, after two weeks and a bit of constant stonewalling, belittling, and flagrant disregard for a modicum of civility…

No. No, that’s unfair; she’s been getting better, slowly but surely, and this is just another step up that ladder. I need to be patient. I need to try harder.

And then I notice where she’s heading. “Uh… the next marker’s that way, Amber.”

“We’re taking a shortcut,” she replies, maintaining her southern course.

“…Why?”

She stops once more and turns to face me, pointing to her left. “You see that chasm?”

“Yeah?”

“That’s a highway; airships pass through it all the time. If we’re lucky, we can flag one down and catch a ride to Vanhoover, but only if we head south from here on out.”

“…But Selene said—”

“Forget her.” She stomps the outstretched hoof. “She doesn’t know this place; I do. And what good’s her word when she turns on her own people at the drop of a hat?”

Here comes the doubt again. That horrible, dreadful, oppressive fog of doubt. Whether it’s between me and her, or Selene, or even myself, I don’t know; I just want to see things clearly. I want to know who my allies are. And, most importantly… who of them are really, truly good at heart.

“This way’s just as safe, Adam. Trust me.”

I snap out of my thoughts and focus on her again, and see the look in her eyes; resolute, but somehow vulnerable.

We’re in the same boat. Neither of us like each other very much, but we’re all we have, and I’d much rather brave this storm with company than without. And if Selene’s as treacherous as she says — which I’m honestly having a hard time believing — then siding with my counterpart is probably for the best.

…Strange how that works. First, I’m looking for any reason to doubt her, and now I’m trying to defend her. What a splendidly confusing web to unravel.

“I trust you, Amber,” I answer, hoping that saying it aloud would convince me too, then readjust my bag and walk towards her. “I just don’t agree with you.”

The airship highway is nothing short of astounding, made more so by the fact that it doesn’t appear to be artificial, which would be a marvel in and of itself. It feels completely unreal, like I’m a miniature in one of those giant models they build for fantasy movies, and enhancing the effect is the mountains to the north — the ones I saw while searching for water. With the chasm carving a relatively straight path through the range, I can see them on the horizon again at long last, and they have not lost their majesty.

Down in the canyon below, a long, healthy strip of foliage runs parallel to a wide, fast-flowing river, rapids poking through every few hundred metres. Shrubs find purchase wherever they can on the steep cliff faces, adding spots of green and brown to an otherwise grey canvas. The scent and feeling of moisture in the air is a welcome change from the afternoon sun, and the ambient shade of the southern peak helps.

These are the distractions I find while trying not to think about how unnervingly narrow our path has become. There aren’t many loose rocks, thank goodness, so I’m at no risk of tripping, provided my laces stay tied, but what comfort’s that when there’s nothing keeping me from a sheer drop no more than two strides away?

“Where are those airships you promised?”

“I didn’t promise anything; I said ‘if we’re lucky’.”

Figures my luck would run out today. “Well then, how much further along here?”

“At this rate, two hours.”

I laugh uneasily. “Funny, funny. That’s… that’s very funny.”

The pony in front of me looks over her shoulder. “You’re afraid of heights?”

“No.” I glance at the edge. “I’m afraid of falling.”

“Same thing.”

“Not really. Believe me, I know; Dad had acrophobia.”

She lingers on me, and then returns to the way ahead. “Just try not to think about it.”

“I am. But talking about it doesn’t help either.”

She sighs. “Alright then… what’s your favourite colour?”

I raise my brows. “Sorry?”

“You wanted to change the subject, didn’t you? Well then, there’s your subject: what’s your favourite colour?”

I hesitate. Were the Rules done away with? Yes, probably. But for her to ask the questions, however trivial? “Red,” I lie, though I can’t rightly say why.

“Well, how about that? We both like the same colour.”

“…Yeah. Neat.”

Her ear twitches and she looks at me again. “Something up?”

I blink and shake my head. “No, nothing. I’m just… still a bit nervous, I guess.”

She nods once, then halts before she rounds a corner. “Well then, you’re not going to like this part.”

I stop by her side, and I instantly feel hollow. “Oh, for pity’s sake…”

A gap. A freaking gap. Three to four metres of thin air with nary a ledge to shimmy across, and only two strides’ worth of a runup.

“I thought you said this way was just as safe.”

“I did and it was. This must’ve happened since the last time I came though here.”

“…Well, that was a waste.” I sigh. “North it is, then.”

“Who said we’re heading back?”

I raise an eyebrow and find her sitting on her haunches, unbuckling the bag. “You brought climbing gear?”

“No.” She shrugs it off her back and turns around, making sure everything is nice and secure. “We’re jumping.”

My mouth drops, and my single bewildered laugh feels more like a gasp. “…Excuse me?”

“We’re jumping,” she repeats, looking at me calmly.

“Oh, I got that, but… why? I mean, did you forget what I literally just said about falling? Why can’t we turn back, or build a bridge or something?”

“Because we’re halfway there, and if we turn back now, we’ll be stumbling through the dark for a place to camp. If I were you, I wouldn’t be too keen on taking my chances.”

“And this isn’t?!”

“I’ll catch you if you fall.”

“How?!”

She cocks her head and narrows her eyes, lips parting in an all too familiar expression of incredulity. Then she shakes her head, grabs the top of the bag, and drags it to the edge of the outcrop.

“Amber…” I take a step closer. “Amber, what’re you doing?”

She jumps off.

In the split moment I have to react, my eyes widen and my heart leaps to my throat, and I dash forward in a single bound, reaching out to grab and pull her back. But by the time I get there, she’s already cleared the ledge, and I plant my feet and wave my arms about, struggling to keep myself from plummeting after her.

But she doesn’t plummet; she soars. And when I find my balance after stumbling back a couple of steps, I realise that she’s not falling, but floating — flapping her wings, taking her rucksack to the other side.

“You can fly?” I wonder aloud, still a little out of breath.

“Of course I can. You’re not a pegasus if you can’t.” She sets the bag down, leaning against a boulder, then turns back to me. Her body is angled upwards as she hovers, hindlegs drooping, forelegs folded to her chest, eyebrow raised curiously. “You mean you’ve never seen me fly before?”

I pause for a long while, staring at her, realising what peculiar thought that was. “No,” I say, keeping a frown from sneaking through. “Not once.”

“Hmm. Strange.”

“…Yeah. Strange.”

A silence descends.

“Is there something you want to tell me, Adam?”

I blink, then shake my head. “No, no. I’m just… wondering what the plan is.”

She nods. “Well, I was thinking of something along the lines of kitesurfing; you run up, I carry you, and then we both plop down on the other side. Quick and easy.”

“That… doesn’t sound easy.”

“It is. Just leap before you look.”

I shut my mouth and voice my concern with creased brows.

She hovers closer and offers her hooves. “You’ll be fine, Adam.”

“You can’t promise that.”

“I can and I am. Trust me.”

My frown deeps. Not into a scowl, but just that little bit more. Even as I slowly, reluctantly reach up and grip her forelegs just below the elbows, I keep my eyes locked with hers and continue to frown.

She wraps her ankles around my forearms in a similar fashion as I back up, but as soon as they’re both in place, a frown of her own appears on her face and she glances between them in surprise.

“Magic-resistant, remember?”

She looks up at me, clearly confused, then quickly, vigorously nods. “Yeah, yeah, right. Just… hold on extra tight, okay?”

“…Sure.”

She nods again. “On three. One.”

I focus on the way ahead slow my breathing.

“Two.”

I bob up and down on my knees, ensuring my feet are positioned correctly and tensing my fingers and toes. This is it; the moment of truth. All or nothing. In it to win it, and all that motivational garbage. Funny thing is, it doesn’t feel all that different from any of my high school’s athletics competitions.

Does that say something about me? About how much I value myself?

…I hope not…

“Three.”

A tug in my hands tells that I’ve almost missed my cue, and I take one, two bounding strides, look down to make sure my foot’s in the right place, catch a glimpse of the chasm below, feel the shock, then leap as far and as high as I possibly can. My ‘kite’ picks up the slack, pulling me up and away, gritting her teeth. But try as she might, it won’t be enough; I’d faltered.

Already, I can feel myself losing momentum. Up becomes stillness, forward becomes down. Instead of being pulled, I begin to pull, and I barely have time to register the fact before I start falling, dragging her with me.

She gives one final heave as I kick my legs out, trying desperately to keep us moving in the right direction, but with time short, there’s only so much either of us can do.

I should let go.

And then a solid wall of rock slams into my abdomen.

I lose my grip and bend over with the impact, winded, gasping; stomach, chest and arms on the ledge and legs dangling over the edge. And I’m slipping. My feet scramble for a foothold on the rockface, and find nothing, and my efforts on the top are no luckier. “Help!”

My companion lands a little further up, skidding on her hooves across pebbles, and quickly darts back, eyes wide, reaching for my hands. All she does, though, is pat them.

“Bag! Get the bag!”

She glances at me, panicked, then leans closer and extends her wings, looping her primaries through the handle atop my backpack, and pulls as hard as she can.

The straps tug at my armpits and I stop sliding, and I waste no time; I set a palm on the ledge, pushing down, lifting myself with a long, strained groan. I swing my good leg once, twice, finally hook my knee over the lip, and as soon as I can, keel over and roll onto my back, wheezing.

With that final haul, my rescuer jerks back and falls on her rear. “What did I just tell you?!” she pants. “Look before you leap!”

“I know, I know!” I cry breathlessly, squeezing my eyes shut and nodding weakly, gulping down as much air as I can. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

A long pause as we both try to calm ourselves. Our lungs, our hearts, our minds. Return things to normalcy. Get over the fact that we had nearly… or that I had nearly…

“It’s okay, it’s okay. Don’t worry about it. Happens to the best of us.”

After another, shorter pause, my brows crease and I look at her from the corner of my eye. “You’re… forgiving me? Just like that?”

She blinks in surprise. “Well, yeah. We’re still alive, aren’t we?”

“…But…”

“I said don’t worry about it. It’s no big deal — I’m sure you’d have done the same for me. I’m sorry for blowing up at you like that.”

…Something’s not right. I think I’ve known it for a while, but that word right there takes the cake. She may admit defeat from time to time, even if she won’t say it aloud, but she would never, ever, not in a million years, ever say sorry. She wouldn’t be so open about her past either, come to think of it, or say a genuine thank you, or even smile for a picture, especially if I ask; that’s not who she is. Amber Dart is stout and defiant, not…

My frown becomes a scowl. “Say your name.”

She blinks again. “…Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” I roll over again and stumble to my feet, then simply stand and glare. “Say your name.”

“…Amber Dart.”

“Your real name.”

“…I’m… not sure what you’re talking about—”

“Don’t give me that. We started on the wrong foot because of it and you’ve been making a damn fine point about avoiding it. So, if it’s so special to, say it now; say your real name.”

She stares at me confusedly for a good, long while. Much, much too long.

“Where is she?”

For a little while longer, she maintains the charade, but it soon dawns on her that I’ve officially called her bluff, and her face morphs from confusion to a calm, cool, collected expression.

“Where is she?”

The imposter says nothing, standing up instead and walking to Amber’s rucksack.

“Answer me, damn it.”

“Safe,” she replies, unphased as she sits down, buckles up and heaves herself to her hooves again. Then she looks at me, almost threateningly.

“Who are you?”

Her gaze is firm and unwavering, but not completely hostile.

“What are you?”

Her lips remain sealed. And then she turns and strolls for a crevice. “Come.”

My shins, knees, and elbows are sore, grazed from struggle at the cliff’s edge and the pressure of bone on stone, and the haphazard nature of this narrow, twisting path isn’t helping me in the slightest. Much less the walls on either side. I can still see the sky, though, and stretch my arms comfortably, so there’s that.

But at the same time, I’m travelling in the footsteps of a creature who looks and sounds like, but isn’t actually the person I’ve come to know and trust over these past fifteen days. Maybe I don’t know or trust her as well as I’d like to, but the fact remains, and I’d take her at her worst in a heartbeat if it meant knowing she’s okay. This imitation can promise her safety all she likes, but where’s the obligation to keep it when the cards are in her favour?

Could I resist? Buck the rules and fight my way out of here? Possibly. But I could also lose, get myself beaten up, put myself and Amber — the real Amber — in even more danger, if we aren’t in enough already. Besides, it isn’t easy to think about hitting her when she’s… like that; in her form.

“Why’re you doing this?”

The imposter’s ear twitches, but she doesn’t miss a step, hopping into the air, flapping her wings and landing atop a steep ridge blocking our path. “We have questions,” she says simply, turning back to me and offering a foreleg. “You will answer.”

As much as it hurts my pride — what little sense of pride I have — I grab hold and climb up with her help, then lean down and wipe the sand and dirt from my hands on my shorts. “And who are ‘we’, exactly?”

She doesn’t reply, turning away and walking off.

I roll my eyes and follow. “Can I at least have your name?”

Still nothing.

“Is anything you’ve said true? All that stuff about your past and Selene and—”

She stops and snaps to me with a warning frown and ears pinned back. A face I know all too well.

I stop alongside her and cock an eyebrow. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

She slowly shakes her head. “Don’t you ever, ever say that name around me.”

I fold my arms and lift my chin expectantly.

She continues to stare, drilling that warning in, then blinks and trundles on. “It’s my job to lie, Adam,” she says, glancing back to make sure I’m following. “The entire point of my kind is to turn others against each other. You’re not the only person I’ve done this to. But if there’s one thing you can trust me on, it’s this: it takes one to know one, and the Great Destroyer is anything but honest.”

“You called her that before.”

“Because it’s true. Her Equestria is built on the ashes of the old — a world her forebears poured hearts and souls into. And she tore it all down. She…”

The catch in her voice catches my attention, as if she’s choking on her own words. As if what she ought to say shouldn’t be said.

“…She did something unforgiveable — something no good person should ever forgive.” She peers up at me, more upset than angry. “That is who your princess is. If that isn’t reason enough to oppose her, I don’t know what is.”

I look down, frowning in thought at the ground in front of me, only to have my thoughts interrupted when I realise we’re not walking on rock, but grass.

A small grove; a sort of clearing in a forest of stone, bordered on all sides by crags and overhangs. It dips a little on the right, ending in a tiny pond and a stunted, twisted, gnarled tree. Four crows sit perched on its barren branches.

I stare at them.

They stare back.

“Chitin.”

I return to the imitation.

“My name’s Chitin. I’m a changeling.” She comes to a halt and faces me front-on, though she doesn’t look me in the eye. “You deserve that much.”

I halt too, but don’t react. Not outwardly. “Thanks.”

She pauses, taking a deep breath in, then out, and then meeting my gaze. “I tend to value people based on their intuition. It’s not often you get someone who can see through a disguise, so for what it’s worth… I’m sorry this had to happen to you.”

My frown deepens. Something about an apology from a self-confessed liar doesn’t sit well with me, and I open my mouth to object. But as soon as I do, I feel something dig into the back of my neck; something long, thin and sharp. And when I reach around and yank it out, I discover that it’s a tiny, wooden dart, with a dash of red staining its tip.

I look to Chitin again with wide eyes.

Her somewhat troubled expression hasn’t changed. “Do yourself a favour, though,” she says, a bright green glow sparking at her hooves and moving up her legs, burning away the fur to reveal some kind of… blackish…blueish… chitinous surface. Ponylike in shape, insectlike in appearance. And as she transforms right before my eyes, much to my shock and awe, her voice does too, from female to male, and from clear to… distorted. “When you wake up, don’t say her name around the dogs. They can be very… aggressive.”

2.4 | Molossoi

A thin sliver of blurred light illuminates the darkness.

I don’t want to wake up.

I’m not sure why, but I don’t. It’s a feeling. A mood. A hunch.

Something’s not right.

The only smudges of colour I see is a dark grey surface beneath me, and auras of gold from above; nothing like the whites, creams, browns, beiges and oranges of a room lit by firelight. Each aura ebbs and flows like a hearth should, but there’s no heat in the air — it’s cool and stale, and feels heavy to breathe. Not unbearable, but noticeable.

I’m slumped over too, lying on my side, head, shoulder, hip, knee and feet resting on smooth stone. There are no dark lines in the surface that I can see, which means the floor isn’t tiled; concrete, perhaps, or carved rock. Whatever the case may be, it isn’t wood, and I’m not in a position I’d be in if I were on the bench.

The smell is off as well. Instead of freshly baked bread, I’m welcomed to the waking world with… age. Dust and moisture and years upon years of slow, musty neglect and decay. A place doesn’t smell like this unless it’s been abandoned to the passage of time — a home without an owner. Or at least, not a loving one. Amber takes care of hers.

Took care of hers.

Now we’re somewhere else. Not the cottage, not the lake, not the pass, and I think I can hazard a guess and say not Vancouver either, or whatever it’s called. My memory’s still a little fuzzy, but I can remember something bad happening — a shock, and then a pain in the back of my neck, which is now sore and stiff. There was red too. And green fire. And black birds. And… deception.

That word sticks with me, for some reason. I’ve heard it a few times already. Warnings.

…I should’ve listened to her. I should’ve been more careful — I should’ve…

…I need to focus. Focus on the here and now. Focus on what I can address.

I need to get my bearings.

With a weak grimace and a soft whine, I try to lift my arm, only to find it held back. Not pinned under my body or too limp to move, but bound at the wrists behind my back. Braided rope, by the feel of it, with a few fibres fraying, but not nearly enough to snap, and tied too tight to wrangle out of, not that I’d have the strength for it anyway.

Instead, I roll onto my stomach, and after I’m finished giving myself a breather from such a simple action, I slowly — excruciatingly so — edge my knees as far as I can to either side. Another rest later, I grit my teeth and scrunch up my face and let out a long, pained groan as I heave myself up to sit on my knees. A minute more of panting, and I open my eyes and blink a few times, then squint at the world around me.

A circular room. Dark, barren, rather featureless at first glance. Upon a second, the lights dangling from above aren’t lights, but glowing, crystalline rocks, too bright to look at directly, but somehow not bright enough to illuminate the space.

What they do illuminate, however faintly, are the walls; smooth as the floor — probably plastered, and flawlessly so — and every square inch decorated in frescoes too faded to make out. Inset gems shine in the light and draw attention to where there may have been an eye, or a star, or a piece of jewellery. The rest is guesswork.

Ahead of me, sitting atop a stone dais, is a stone throne. Elaborately carved, covered in gems of red, blue and green, decorated in silver and gold, it truly is a sight to behold. Above it is a banner, so still I could mistake if for part of the wall; an auburn field, in the centre of which is an azure diamond framed in an eight-pointed halo of amber.

I stare at both for a while, transfixed by the artistry and coming to terms with the fact this is indeed the real deal: I’ve been kidnapped. For what purpose, I’m not entirely sure, and I’m not sure I want to think about it too hard, but the why isn’t the problem here: it’s the what. And it scares me.

My mouth suddenly feels very dry.

I look over my shoulder, then shuffle on my knees to get a better view. Circular double doors behind me, metal reinforcing wood, with slots for a bar to jam it shut. Either side of the only entry into the room, two figures stand guard — not pony, but not human either. They’re too far away and too well shaded to pick out the finer details, but they’re big and bulky — quite easily twice my height on two legs — and their eyes glow in the dark.

It’s one thing to be kidnapped and left alone in a room, but to be watched from the shadows in absolute silence by creatures that I can’t properly see, and are probably far more dangerous than they look… That’s something else entirely. And I find myself beginning to shiver, and my teeth begin to chatter, and my skin tingle, and my chest tighten, and that bottomless, gnawing pit of dread open up again.

I slump and stare at the floor as the chill sets in, and I try to find something to latch onto — some event or word or phrase I can use to calm myself down, because focussing on the present isn’t doing me any favours. The immediate past is hazy and muddled, so I shut my eyes and shake my head, desperately trying to delve deeper, but all I can focus on is how much strain I’m putting on my cheeks and brows.

This is happening. I can’t shy away from it, and I’ve never been able to. Telling myself otherwise is just… foolish. Unproductive, dangerous — whatever I’m supposed to call it. And I feel wretched because of it.

I glance around again. Why, I’m not sure — some primal instinct to find a single ray of hope, I guess. Predictably, I find nothing, and I don’t know what I’d do even if I did, especially with two menacing pairs of eyes on me, watching my every move, and waiting.

Whatever they’re waiting for, I doubt it’s anything good, but it’s not like I can sprout wings and fly out of here, wherever here is; dark and cavernous, like a… cave…

…I’m in the mountain, aren’t I? Knocked unconscious and stolen away, trapped beneath a million tonnes of rock and stone and earth and sand and gravel and… everything else above, which could very well come crashing down at any second and…

I wouldn’t be able to stop it.

I can’t do anything.

All I can do is sit and wait.

And I pray the walls don’t crack.

They haven’t moved.

In the hour or so I’ve been awake, neither creature has moved a muscle. They’re more like statues than sentries at this point, but they blink from time to time, and keep their eyes on me always. I still can’t pick out any specifics, but they seem armoured, judging by the subtle sheen on their heads and shoulders, and that just adds to the mountain of trouble I’m already in.

I hate feeling like this. Helpless. Pathetic. Walking blindly, and sometimes knowingly into traps every which way, never sure what to do, and when I am, too late to realise it. Running on autopilot, essentially, lacking the confidence to take control, because every time I have, I’ve only made things worse.

How could I have thought I was in control of anything?

How could I have thought I could make a difference?

Why did this have to happen to me?

Suddenly, three loud, heavy knocks on the door echo throughout the room, each like the toll of a cold and terrifying bell, and I shrink at the sound.

In response, one of the guards turns and pulls on a knocker, and a soft light pours through as a small gap is formed. With it comes a shadow, large, long, and imposing. And as it steps through into the space, the visitor takes on a familiar shape: another one of these creatures.

It stops and waits for the door to close behind it, then shares a look between its comrades and mutters something.

They whisper something in return.

It appears to nod, then locks eyes with me, makes some kind of gesture, and strolls onward.

The guards follow.

My teeth start chattering again.

Every step they take is a soft thud — a vibration through the stone — though none of them are stomping. Their silhouettes gain a little clarity; details catch the light, and colours seep through. The new arrival walks on all fours, kind of like a gorilla, and is built like one too, though its fingers are stubby and tipped with blunt claws, and look more like paws. The guards, on the other hand, walk upright, towering as high as a truck, and if they weren’t hunched over to keep balance, they’d be even taller.

Their bodies are visible now: furred. Their faces likewise. Canine. Not wolves or even dogs, but something else. Beneath large, heavy brows, three pairs of eyes are trained on me, beady and shrewd, pupils thin and narrow. Fangs protrude from exaggerated underbites, which don’t seem to be abnormal. Their arms are thick, their legs stocky, if short, and their tails unkempt and bristly. One’s grey, one’s brown, and the visitor’s a pure, sooty black.

The guards each hold a spear as long as they are high, heads angular and sharp, glinting in the glow of the crystals. They wear open-faced helms, each with a short visor like a hat, cheek guards patterned like scales, and a flowing plume of dark hair. On the dominant arm is a splint vambrace, and on the other, a rectangular shield mounted on the shoulder. Protecting the torso is a vest of scales, with what appears to be a plain, padded tunic beneath. Simple pants cover the legs. Every piece of metal varies in a pattern of iron and bronze.

Unlike its friends, the visitor wears no armour, and is instead well-dressed. At least, as far as I can tell. It certainly looks rather impressive, with a red, long-sleeved tunic, hemmed at the edges in elaborate designs of yellow and blue, fastened around the waist by a belt of gold squares. Over the tunic is a brown waistcoat, trimmed in grey fur, buttoned-up from the front. Its pants are zigzagged in stripes of red, white and blue. Around its neck, bizarrely and jarringly enough, is a spiked collar. A golden diadem, bejewelled in gems of so many colours, sits upon its crown.

Another leader, no doubt. Probably royalty, knowing my luck.

With nowhere to go and nothing to do, I sit and wait and dread my fate, and shudder at the thought of it.

They stop within arm’s reach, staring at me in silence, chests rising and falling in slow, measured breaths — the only sound in the room. They judge, but show no judgement. They anticipate, but hold no expectations.

The leader takes an extra step and brings a forepaw to my jaw. Four padded digits and a thumb carefully angle my head this way and that, claws pressed into my skin. Even though it’s being surprisingly gentle, I’m in no position to resist, and I can sense the sheer strength in those… fingers? Toes? Whatever they’re called, it doesn’t matter; if it chose to, I’m sure it’d do a lot by damage by simply squeezing.

All I can do is watch on in mute horror, and hope I don’t do anything to provoke it. I try to stop, or at least lessen my trembling, but the chill’s set in, as has the fear, and that bottomless, gnawing feeling of dread. Like cold, silent tentacles from the darkest depths of the ocean come to drag me under.

It seems satisfied with its mock inspection after a while, and so releases me and backs up half a step, sitting on its haunches, ears tall and attentive, eyes never leaving mine.

“Speak.”

His voice is deep, gruff, and rumbling, and echoes very faintly despite the quiet, slow tone.

I continue to gape, lost for words. Stuck. Frozen in place. Petrified like the two rabbits, except I’ve no one to cling to; one’s far away at a fancy ball, and the other’s missing in action.

“Speak,” the gorilla-dog repeats, louder, but less of a command and more a request. Not that he’d sounded completely hostile to begin with.

I frown to myself and lower my gaze, narrowing my eyes as if to peer through a fog. There’s a question here worth asking — I know I’ve asked it before — and I’m sure they have the answer, if only I could remember what it was.

“Please.”

Amber… is missing. She was taken. My… not friend… but not enemy… was taken.

They stole her.

“You stole her…”

The creature doesn’t reply.

It came out as little more than an absent whisper — a stray thought caught in the wind — but as soon as I realise I’ve said it, and no more than a second later, what I’ve said, the full weight of my words crashes down on me: she’s been kidnapped. These are her captors as well as my own. And with that, I share my hurt, betrayed, accusatory frown with them. “You stole her.”

Still, the gorilla-dog says nothing. And then he slowly nods.

“Where’s Amber?”

“The pony is safe.”

The quickness of his response takes me by surprise somewhat. It didn’t sound forced or unnatural, just prepared; he was expecting it. But I don’t let anything show. “What are you?”

He raises an eyebrow.

“You.” With my newfound confidence already waning, and hoping to latch on to some semblance of control, I glance at and throw the spotlight on the two guards behind him. “All three of you. What are you?”

His expression doesn’t change, and he doesn’t look away. The guards don’t react either.

The silence drags on, and my breath begins to stutter again.

“Diamond dogs,” he finally says, calmer than before. “And you?”

I give myself a moment, swallowing, thankful to be thrown a bone. “Human.”

“Where from?”

The pit at my core opens up again, and I don’t doubt it shows on my face either; I’ve been in this exact same position before. Not kidnapped and bound and stuck under a mountain, but sharing a midnight snack with a princess who can move the stars. And I remember all too well how that ended: caught out in a baseless claim with no way to defend myself, where the only saving grace was her mercy.

The circumstances have changed, and yet they remain the same. Poetic, but unwelcome. And there is one major difference: she never abducted me.

As for these creatures, their ill will has already been established. One wrong move and I could find myself at the sharp end of a very long and pointy stick, or worse. I don’t want to consider the possibilities too much. If I do, the fear will come back in full force, and I’ll have less legs to stand than I do now; namely none.

But honesty will do me as much good as lying here, and saying nothing will make me look just as guilty. But what could I say? A half-truth? Like what? I don’t know what they know, so how can I be sure I won’t be found out?

I’m a stranger in a very, very strange land, and I’m in way over my head.

Shamefully, I lower my gaze once more. “If I told you… you wouldn’t believe me.”

“Maybe.” His shadow cocks its head to the side. “Maybe I would.”

I crease my brows and return to him.

“You’re human. Not dog, not changeling, not pony, griffon, hippogriff, dragon, yak, buffalo, minotaur, kirin, zebra, donkey, deer, Abyssinian, or storm creature.” He leans a little closer with a small, sly smile. “The world’s known, Adam. You aren’t.”

I don’t think he means to be unnerving, but the teeth jutting from his lower jaw don’t help my nerves in the slightest. And using my name like that leaves me with an unpleasant tingle. But if he knows mine, it’s only fair I get to know his. “Who’re you?”

“Duke,” he answers with a cordial bow of the head, then glances back and gestures to the two other dogs. “My brothers, Ziggy, Rex. Pups of Clan Topaz. Founders of New Dimondia.”

“…New… what?”

“This.” He pats the floor, softly by his standards, but I feel it from here, and he looks up and scans the walls with a hint of pride in his eyes. “This city. Abandoned, it was, long ago. Lost. Forgotten. Found it by chance, we did. Attracted others — hundreds. Changelings too. Now it lives again.”

“Changelings?” I echo, remembering the word, and a split second later, where I’ve heard it from. “You mean, like… Chitin?”

“Among others.” He meets my eyes again, but keeps his chin up, pride fading to a certain smugness, and his smile turns sly. “You saw through him. Admirable. But also his fault.”

I don’t reply. At the very least, he respects me, but that doesn’t change the fact I’m the one restrained — I’m at a disadvantage. An equal in name only. And wanting to have a simple chat wouldn’t be why a group of… maybe not bandits, but whatever these people are, they wouldn’t kidnap two random travellers out of the blue; we don’t have anything of value, and I don’t think I’d be that much of a curiosity. Which leaves only one explanation.

Duke’s eyes narrow, and his smile widens. “You know why we’ve brought you here.”

I slowly shut my mouth, and I feel my expression harden. Perhaps I do, perhaps I don’t, but in any case, they’re treating me like an enemy, and I don’t know their true intentions.

“You know what we want.”

My frown deepens. Whatever it is, a hunch tells me it’s nothing good. Maybe it’s their appearance, the rope around my wrists, the dungeonlike atmosphere, or that they stole Amber and lured me into an inescapable trap, but I don’t feel like being cooperative. I have as many questions as they do, so if they want answers, they’ll have to do some answering of their own.

He rotates his jaw in a small, slow circle, emphasising the fangs, intentionally or not. “Tell us, human…” he lowers himself to eyelevel and leans closer again, to where his nose and mine are a finger’s length apart, “what has she told you?”

Still, I say nothing.

“You know of whom I speak. You’ve confessed as much to Chitin.”

Something grabs the inside of my chest. I’m not short of breath or emotionally devastated, but now I know I can’t deny anything — which I really should’ve figured from the start — my only option is to delay, delay, delay. Coax out what info I can and give them the run-around in return; a process I’ve grown all too familiar with.

“So, tell us. What does your friend want?”

“Amber?”

He pauses, unphased, face unreadable. “The princess,” he corrects, no louder than a whisper, with a deep, rumbling undertone that betrays his true feelings.

“You mean… Selene Flurry Heart?”

Ziggy sharpens his gaze and narrow his eyes, and the fur on his arms and neck bristles. He tightens the grip on his spear and pulls back his jowls in a low, predatory growl. Rex, on the other hand, appears unmoved.

My heart almost skips a beat.

Duke merely raises a forepaw, never looking away, and in an instant, Ziggy backs down. His expression has darkened somewhat — smile falling completely, ears angled to the sides — but he remains calm and collected. “The Great Destroyer, we call her,” he coolly warns. “Remember that. My brother’s more brash than I.”

Once more, I don’t reply. And I hope I don’t show just how rattled that little display has left me.

He lets his paw fall gently to the floor, then leans even closer and takes a deep, long sniff of my hair. And then he snorts and sits back on his haunches. “You stink of her,” he says with a faint snarl at the end. “She’s not one to give gifts idly.”

“Why’s that?”

He pauses again, letting the moment pass, and he dons an irritated frown. “I’m no fool.” His tone has taken on a distinctly hostile quality, but he wields it with care and diligence. “Tricks have humbled dogs before. You aren’t the enemy, but you work for her. She trusts you. Spoils you. We don’t take that lightly.”

I keep my mouth shut. She’s not spoiling me, but I don’t need to correct them. The less they know about me, the better. Besides, I’d appear to have a fragile ego. I’m not sure how they’d use that against me, but they could. Somehow.

“But why? Why trust you? Why spoil you?”

I offer no response.

“What’s your purpose, human?”

My lips remain sealed.

Duke continues to stare into me for a good, long while, half expectant, half doubtful, and when no answer comes, his gaze becomes cold. Without so much as a sigh, he rocks back and stands up, balanced on his hindlegs, almost twice the height he was before and many times more intimidating.

My breathing quickens, and my jaw quivers.

His eyes stay locked on mine for a moment, and then, slowly, he pads around me.

I watch him closely, wary of the claws and the sheer bulk of him. He doesn’t swagger, but strolls, and slightly bobs with every step.

“Loyalty’s good.” He continues to the wall two or three metres behind. “It inspires. Motivates. Keeps us strong in times of doubt. Dogs know this more than most.”

I glance at Ziggy and Rex.

Their eyes are still on me, and still as piercing as ever.

“But we also know its flaws.”

I return to Duke.

He’s stopped beside a fresco, facing me, forepaws behind his back. What little that remains of the scene on his left depicts, as far as I can tell, another dog sitting upon a pile of diamonds, holding one up to inspect it, a sceptre of some description in the other paw. “Too little, and the world’s meaningless. Friends don’t matter, family doesn’t matter — the ones who love you don’t matter; they’re tools, if that. Too much, and you’re the victim.”

I stare at him, then look at the painting, and then back to him. “That’s why this place was abandoned, right? Infighting?”

Without warning, Duke suddenly returns to all fours, scowling, growling, ears pinned back, and with an unexpected burst of speed, stomps toward and glares down at me.

I scoot away as far as I can, feeling small and insignificant, and I don’t doubt my panic shows. But when Ziggy’s massive paw grabs my shoulder, and his claws press into my skin, I know there is no escape.

“Don’t feign ignorance,” Duke thunders. “There’s no use in stalling. Your loyalty, your pride, your… arrogance, will be your end. Try us, human, and you will fail.”

Ziggy’s grip tightens. His claws are going to leave marks, if not tear through my shirt outright.

I look up at him, and see an upside-down face full of contempt and disdain. One who’s surely had experience in dealing with unwelcome guests and overconfident pests.

It chills me, like ice to the heart.

“The princess never risks betrayal,” Duke rumbles, lowering himself to eyelevel once more. “You’re the exception. Why?”

My teeth are chattering feverishly, and I’m shivering like I’ve swum in the Arctic.

“You’re magic-resistant.” He leans close again. “You pose a threat. Why side with a threat?”

I can’t even remember the answer anymore. All I care about is making sure those teeth stay as far away from me as possible, because his eyes are starting to look ravenous.

“He’s useful.”

Duke looks to his right.

Fearfully, shakily, I follow.

Rex stares back at me. Not unkindly, but studiously. “There’s a greater threat,” he says in an even tone, then shares his thoughtful gaze with Duke. “Enemy of enemy is friend.”

He lingers on Rex for a short while, then turns back to me, still as riled, but with a new and dangerous look of understanding.

I shake my head. Why, I don’t know.

“You know this threat.” Duke nods. “What is it?”

“Who,” Rex corrects.

Duke gives him a curious look, which soon becomes something else: realisation. His scowl lessens, his eyes widen, his ears perk up and his jaw droops open. And then he returns to me. “Who do you search for?” he mumbles, as if his breath had been taken away.

I shake my head harder, grimacing as my teeth continue to chatter away.

He latches a forepaw around my neck. “Who?!”

“I can’t,” I choke.

“Give us a name!”

“I can’t!”

“SAY IT!”

“No! I can’t! I swear!”

He sneers for a moment, tensing his digits and threatening to squeeze, but then lets go.

I pant and gasp, less to catch my breath and more to calm myself — get over the fact I’d nearly been strangled by a monstrous creature twice my size. “I can’t,” I wheeze, squeezing my eyes shut and shaking my head at the floor. “I can’t. I just… just can’t.”

“Why not?”

“…Selene promised me—”

“THE GREAT DESTROYER PROMISES NOTHING!” he barks, slamming a fist against the floor. “Nothing but ash and heartache! She scatters clans, burns homes! I won’t hear you tell me otherwise!”

I freeze, stunned. The echoes fade, and silence takes its place. My mouth is open, my eyes are wide, and still I say nothing.

Duke seizes the initiative, taking one, two steps closer, bringing himself to full height on all fours, glowering down at me with malice.

A whimper tries to escape me, but catches at the back of my throat.

“Ask this,” he growls with a scornful snarl. “When you’ve outlived your purpose, what then? Would she just… let you go?”

No answer comes. I simply stare and gawk and shiver and sweat.

“Her words are poison. Her kingdom is sick with it.” Once again, he leans in. “She will betray you, human. That’s all she knows.”

My eyes are welling up. I’m not at risk of breaking into tears, but all this preaching of darkness and despair, and my inability to think straight anymore, and this constant, oppressive fog of doubt, where nothing is true and no one can be trusted… And I can’t have a moment to wrap my head around it…

My companion? A liar.

My guardian? A liar.

My enemies? Liars.

There’s only one thing I know for certain anymore — only one path that gives me the best chance of getting what I want. Morals be damned. If everything’s false, it doesn’t matter anyway.

“I can’t,” I whisper, shaking my head with pained expression. “I need to go home.”

Duke stays there, staring into me for a good, long while, making me feel hollow and pathetic under the gaze of his piercing, luminescent eyes. And then he rises again. “Maybe you can’t,” he muses, though his tone’s just as menacing. “Maybe your friend can. Maybe we can hurt her.”

If my heart hadn’t skipped a beat before, it sure as hell does now. “You wouldn’t…”

“No?”

“…Amber’s… done nothing to you.”

“You’ve doing nothing for us.”

My whole body aches and burns. I’m not sure if that’s the emotional torment, fear-induced shuddering, a bit of both, or something else entirely, but whatever it is, I’m exhausted from it. “Please…” I beg, shaking my head yet again. “Please…”

Duke remains where he is, watchful, cold, and calculated. Unmoved by my words, it seems; his mind is already made up. And the longer he waits to respond, the worse the feeling of dread inside. And then he looks up to Ziggy. “Put them together. One final goodbye. Maybe they’ll change their minds by then.”

2.5 | The Third Wheel

The sack comes off, and before I have a chance to blink and let my eyes adjust, I’m given a hard shove from behind and stagger forward, eventually stumbling over and landing on my shoulder, rolling onto my back as I groan and hiss. The pain is warm in contrast to the cool of the air.

I’m in a dark cell. It’s unusually spacious, as far as my knowledge of such things go — maybe four metres wide, three deep, two high — and all the walls bar one are made from rock and scarred with claw marks. There are no murals here, no inset gems, and the source of light comes from one of those luminous crystals dangling outside. Its ambient glow silhouettes the iron bars of my cage, as well as the figure that stands in the open doorway.

Ziggy handed me off to another dog when we entered what I’m now convinced is the dungeon. Their exchange was brief and whispered, but from what I could glean, this one’s female. And now I can see her, she certainly looks different compared to Duke and his brothers: half their height, lankier physique, shoulders less broad. She has a different head too; more pit bull and less boxer.

Whether that’s the appearance for all other females here, I can’t say, but just because she’s smaller doesn’t mean I can take her. Not when I’m still bound and not when she’s armoured like the other two. And even then, claws and teeth beat fists hands down. One blow to the head and I’m out. Amber proved that clear as day.

The guard approaches, bludgeon in hand — or paw, or whatever I’m supposed to call them — and never breaks eye contact with me. Not hostile, but cautiously confident.

I sit up, thinking I should back away, only to realise how pointless that would be. Instead, I watch on in mute terror, mouth shut, brows upturned, breathing through my nose like I’ve run a marathon.

She grabs me by the shoulder rolls me on my stomach, not aggressively, but hard enough to say that we’re not friends. Nothing personal, just business as usual.

I can respect that. Heck, after feeling Ziggy’s steely claws, hers are like a tender caress. But a whimper escapes me as I’m lain on the floor, fearing what comes next.

Her paw goes from my shoulder to the bindings, and by tugging at a single loop, the rope comes loose and my hands fall free. “Thirty minutes,” she says close to my ear in a gruff, but nevertheless matter-of-fact tone of voice. “Talk by then, or she goes next.”

I glance from her shadowy image to the ground, and then back to her. And then I nod.

She nods in turn, then stands on two legs again and heads for the door.

After a moment’s hesitation for fear of a club to the leg, and a moment of clarity where I realise I’m being let go, I prop myself on my elbows and twist around to watch her once more. This time, however, there’s no anxiety. Shock, perhaps? My nerves still getting used to the myriad new sights, sounds, smells, and dangers in the past… however long it’s been since I woke up? Or maybe it’s curiosity.

She shuts the iron gate behind her, latches it and locks it with a key, which she stows on a cord hung round her neck. “Thirty minutes,” she repeats, looking directly at me again. “Don’t waste it.”

Maybe it’s just the sheer strangeness of being treated with decency — relatively speaking, of course; the first impressions weren’t exactly flattering. Or am I being unfair again? How many people could possibly enjoy making the lives of their captives miserable, even if it’s in their job description? Am I dealing with the exception or the norm?

…Or is there something more to this?

She holds my gaze a little while longer, measuring me and making sure I get the message, then turns to her left and starts walking down the hall.

“Chitin?”

She halts, then peers at me from an angle with an eyebrow slightly raised. “Changeling?”

I hesitate, but slowly nod.

She shakes her head. “No. Elsewhere.”

At least she has the courtesy to answer.

She leans closer to the bars, and although it’s difficult to see in the shadows and the contrast of a crystal glowing from behind, I’m fairly certain a hint of sympathy shines through. “Don’t waste it, Adam. For both your sakes.”

There’s my name again, and for some reason, it feels off when a stranger says it, as if it’s something they shouldn’t know. But at the same time, it’s a lot better and far less demeaning than being called ‘human’ every other sentence.

“Thirty minutes,” she says once more, then blinks and walks off, leaving only the soft sound of paws on stone in her wake. Even then, they fade the further she goes, until all that’s left is the slow, quiet breath of the underground.

I still don’t like that — how easily I’d be crushed, if only a crack would spread — and now that I’m left to my own devices, the small confines of my cell only exacerbates the fear. It’s constricting. So, I put my mind to work on the task at hand.

I turn back around and plant my palms on the floor, holding my upper body up, squinting and searching the darkness for a sign. “Amber?”

The only response I’m given is the immediate echo of my voice.

I hope they haven’t lied and locked me in with some rabid beast. The last thing I need is another enemy in this hornets’ nest, much less another cockatrice. It would certainly explain the claw marks.

Blinking a few times and shaking my head, just in case I still have any fuzziness left over, I squint harder, trying as much as I can to block out the light from behind and focus on what’s bouncing back. No use. I need to either wait and let my eyes adjust or explore by touch. But I wouldn’t have to if she’d just reply, and unless they’ve done something to her, she wouldn’t hesitate with at least making a snide remark.

I’m not sure which is worse: knowing or not knowing.

And then I see it: a very, very faint blot of orange in the far corner on the right. It could be an illusion, but everything I thought I’d seen so far has turned out to be correct, so I’m not really at liberty to argue with myself.

I crawl toward the splotch of orange in the gloom.

A flitter of movement, and two little rings of blue I hadn’t already noticed vanish.

I freeze, my suspicions confirmed, giving her some room to move if that’s what she wants. But when nothing further comes, I crease my brows and resume crawling, slower and warier than before. “Amber?”

Still nothing. Even as I approach and features become clearer in their vague way as they do in the dark, I’m offered no answer.

Orange fur, hair and feathers are defined from grey rock by faint veil of black shadow. She sits on her rump, tail between her legs and the large, voluminous bundle of hair hugged close to the chest. The other foreleg cradles her head, apparently grabbing her mane at the scalp and holding fast. Her ears are pinned back, her eyes are squeezed shut, and her teeth chatter behind closed lips, which are teetering on the brink of blubbering.

“Amber?” I scurry the last metre and sit in front of her with my good leg folded, the other laid out straight. “Amber, what’s wrong?

Again, no answer, though I’m sure I see her wings twitch.

“Please, talk to me.” I lean closer, peering up at her. “Are you okay?”

Her feathers tense up, and I hear a stifled noise come from her throat.

The thought strikes me that maybe she can’t speak, and that sends icy water down my back. “Did they hurt you?”

At last, a response. But instead of her voice, a long, pained whimper takes its place, and she pulls her head lower, angling away from me as both her wings unfurl and try as best they can to shield her from sight. And there she stays, sitting, quivering, whimpering, wordlessly pleading for me to leave her be. And it breaks my heart to see her like this; if there’s one thing Amber’s not supposed to be, it’s vulnerable.

Once upon a time, many days ago, I would’ve wanted nothing more than to see her at her weakest. No more. She can be as mean as she wants, and I’ll hate her for it, but it beats seeing someone so… resilient, I suppose, become a nervous wreck. Every obstacle is challenge to her, and the way she overcomes them is by getting mad.

This isn’t the Amber I know. But no one — no actor, no changeling, no natural talent or lifelong dedication — can ever cry the same as someone else. And that’s how I know these tears are hers.

“It’s no use.”

I blink, then look to my right, beyond the bars, across the hall to the cell on the other side, where figure lies slumped against the cage with his back to us. Another pony, by the looks of it, with a blue coat and white mane and tail — it’s hard to get specific when there are two walls obstructing my view and the light dyes everything a shade of gold.

“Trust me, I’ve tried. Not a peep.” He has a Russian, or at least East European accent, and sounds oddly chipper despite the circumstances. “Crying’s a first, though, and it’s good to finally know her name.”

I glance back to Amber, or what little of herself she lets me see, and after taking a moment to weigh up my options, I decide to let her be. Whatever’s wrong with her, my presence doesn’t appear to be helping. Maybe she just needs to get used to me. Again. More curious than frustrating, but bothersome all the same.

“I take it you must be a friend of hers, Mister…?”

“Adam Mackenna,” I answer, crawling over to the iron bars again.

The pony’s ears perk up, and there’s a short pause. “That’s a strange one.”

I sigh and lean against the wall. “I’ll be hearing that a lot, won’t I?”

“Depends where you’re headed, I guess.” He shrugs. “If you weren’t locked in here, that is. It’s just rare to hear a name like that in mainland Equestria.”

“I’m not from mainland Equestria.”

“Ah, a tourist!” He spreads his forelegs out wide, gesturing to the cell. “Welcome! I sure hope the locals haven’t been any trouble.”

Needle-teeth, midnight hair, and an orange hoof aimed for my jaw come to mind, as well as an imposter, and three pairs of glowing eyes. “No more than usual.”

“Ha! That’s rich. And funny — funny’s good too."

A small, subdued smile sneaks through, which quickly disappears when I remember one of the locals is in this prison with me.

“So, we’re persons of interest to all the wrong people.” He turns his head to peer at me from the corner of his eye. “What did you do to…”

I hold his gaze.

His silence stretches on as he shifts in place to gain a better view, eyes wide, lips parted, ears attentive. He examines me up and down, fascinated. “A strange one indeed.”

“Is that bad?”

He shakes his head. “Just means I haven’t seen the whole world yet.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You travel a lot?”

He smiles. “Part of the job description.”

I pause expectantly.

“My name’s Razzmatazz.” He sits up and faces me. “I’m what you’d call a self-employed courier: I get things from A to B in my airship.”

“You’re a pilot?”

“An aeronaut,” he corrects with a smirk. “Sounds better.”

I gently nod. “Well then, what’s an aeronaut doing in here?”

His smile falls, and he turns his head and pokes an ear through a gap, aiming it down the hall, no doubt measuring how far away the guard is.

I try having a look myself, but find no luck.

“Let’s save that story for later.” Razzmatazz returns to me. “What say we skedaddle?”

I blink, stunned. I honestly hadn’t even fantasised about escaping, much less consider it. I mean, of course I don’t want to stay here, but the only thoughts I’d ever really given any credit to were the ones involving me and literally anywhere else — they didn’t involve making those thoughts a reality. That gets my hopes up over nothing, and nothing can be done if I don’t ground myself in the here and now.

But what would I hope to achieve, anyway? What good can I do for Amber as things stand? Tell her everything will be fine and lie? I only have thirty minutes to comfort her before they drag her off, all because I’m too selfish and cowardly to risk severing the only known chance I have for my life going back to normal. How am I supposed to explain that, and to her of all people? How deep will that betrayal cut?

There’s only one option left — one way forward where I won’t have to live with the guilt of whatever Duke and his pack have planned for her, and where I can still stay true to Selene. And that, I realise, is what Razzmatazz is offering.

I need to find a way to shorten that down.

“How?” I quietly, desperately ask.

He grins. “Are you a good actor?”

“What?” My brows crease. “Why?”

“Because that’s the plan: we’re putting on a little show.”

I blink again. “We?”

He glances away, ears lowering sheepishly. “Well, when I say we, I mean you and your friend over there. Trust me, if we were all in the same cell, I wouldn’t hesitate to join, but the only way this can work is if it seems we’re a danger to each other. We can’t do that if we’re apart like this.”

“…You want to stage a fight?”

“Yes, exactly! Shouting, yelling, screaming, insults! Loud and proud! And when the guard comes to break it up, we… you two pounce her, get the keys, get me out, and we run off into the sunset!”

My confidence — or what little of it remains — suddenly vanishes; I’ve seen this stunt pulled a hundred times in so, so many films and TV shows. Does that mean it wouldn’t work? No, maybe not. But I wouldn’t hedge my bet on a tactic I’ve seen portrayed so often in fiction. “How long have you thought about this?”

“Three days. That’s how long I think I’ve been here, at least. But believe me, if there were another way — which there isn’t — I’d tell you. I know it’s a stretch, I know it’s risky, but it’s all we have. And when we get out of here, I promise you, we’ll be snugger than a bug in a rug.”

“…The last time someone promised the impossible… I found myself here.”

“But I’m not promising the impossible: I’m promising an outcome.”

Not much difference, technically speaking, but I guess it’s what my nerves needed to hear, because as much as I doubt myself, I nod.

“Righty-bitey. Now, can Amber play along?”

I hesitate, but nod again.

“Goodie-goodie! I’d shake your hand, but…” He taps the bars. “If there’s one thing dogs do well, it’s smithing. No rinky-dink metalwork when they’re on the job.”

Despite his sunny disposition, the enthusiasm isn’t rubbing off on me, and the idea of asking Amber to be… that again… is daunting. Scary. Because this wouldn’t be some simple favour— this’d be… a whole lot more. As far as I’m concerned, on par with Selene’s debt to me.

“So, are you ready?”

I hesitate once more, wondering first how to snap Amber out of whatever funk she’s in, and second, how to convince her to join us. Neither task sounds easy or pleasant. But eventually, as I have with every other tough decision I’ve been faced with, I go with the flow and nod.

“Then I’ll leave you to it.” Razzmatazz backs away. “Here’s to hoping things go well, yeah?”

Yet again, I nod. Sometimes, I feel that’s all I’m good for anymore: bowing my head and saying yes. It’s like I’m not my own person, as if I’m not in charge of what I do. Running on autopilot. The route has been set, and any deviation is just begging for failure. Everyone knows better than I do, knows more than I do, and hold more cards than I do.

I’m a pawn being played, and I can’t tell by whom.

But still, I obey; I stand up, look, pause, breathe, and then slowly, quietly, cautiously approach the huddled form in the corner. And the fact she doesn’t appear to have moved an inch since I left… only makes me feel worse. She doesn’t want this, I don’t want this, and yet I close the distance.

Does that make me a bad person, or am I doing what any rational being would?

…Is everyone else as horrible as me?

Yes or no, both answers are awful.

But I need to do this. I have to. I must.

I sit down in front of her.

Her shivering has stopped, and she makes no sound, wings still hiding herself from view.

“Amber…”

A faint twitch of the ear and some ruffled feathers, but nothing more. She’s receptive, at least. Anything less and I think I’d have lost her for good.

“Amber, I know you can hear me.”

She breathes through her nose, and her breathing becomes slightly heavier. More fearful.

“We need to—”

“I told them.”

I freeze.

She didn’t mean…

No, of course not. If she did, why would they question me?

…But that’s not the only thing, is it?

Her voice…

It came as a broken whisper. Mumbled. Weak. Like a fading ember caught in a breeze; she burned brightly once, but no longer. And this change, this… stark contrast is giving me as much pause as any shout or slap of hers ever could.

“…Told them what?”

Silence. For a long while, there’s silence. And then a hint of movement — softly, slowly, secretly, a wing pulls its feathered veil aside. Her eyelids are open less than halfway, and the eyes themselves are staring at the floor, too nervous to even risk a glimpse of me. “Your name,” she breathes. “I told them your name.”

I say nothing, unsure of what to say, if anything. It sounds rather trivial, but if it means this much to her, it has to count for something. I don’t feel comfortable asking her directly, in case I come across as dismissive, so I simply watch and wait, and hope she doesn’t take my silence as a bad sign.

“They took me,” she continues, as feeble as before, but at least she’s still talking. “I was scared. And when they asked me questions, I panicked. I told them your name. I…”

I remain quiet, painful as it is to watch.

She takes a sharp breath in and out… and another… and another… and then slowly meets my gaze. Her eyes are wide, her brows upturned, and mouth and snout twisted in a grief-stricken grimace. “I sold you out,” she whimpers, on the brink of actual tears. “You. Of all the ponies in the world, you. I said nothing about Selene, I said nothing about the mission, I said nothing about anything… just Vanhoover and you.”

I sigh, deflating somewhat. “Amber…”

“What kind of pony does that? Who sells out the only… decent pony they’ve met in years, as soon as the going gets tough?” She shakes her head. “That’s not what good ponies do.”

“Amber, please—”

“No!” she snaps, stomping the hoof that used to grab her mane, but it’s a meek, feeble attempt. “Don’t deny it, and don’t you dare forgive me. I don’t deserve it. I never have, I never will. I just…”

Part of me wants to give her a firm shake, not because I don’t care, but because I don’t know how much time we have left. But the rest of me — the majority of me — can’t help sitting and listening.

Amber looks away. “You don’t deserve me,” she murmurs, voice cracking. “You’re better than me in every way and all I do is spit in your face. I’m bitter, I’m miserable, I’m just plain disgusting, and it’s not fair on you to think I can change.”

“Amber…”

“You’re better off leaving me here.”

My eyes widen. “No.” I shuffle closer. “I’m not doing that.”

She shakes her head again. “I’m not worth the effort.”

“You are to me.”

“But why?” She meets my gaze again, desperate and confused. “Why give me a chance, after the way I treated you? What’ve I done to make you care so much?”

I don’t reply. I don’t have an answer. Not really.

“Why, Adam?”

Instead, I offer the only solace I can. I reach out my hand and gently place it on her shoulder.

She looks down at it, and then back to me.

I don’t smile. That would be insincere. What I do instead is look into her eyes, however faint the sapphire circles are in such low light, and simply wonder, “Why not?”

Her face falls from sadness to recognition. She knows I’ve said those words before. Cheap and uninspired, perhaps, but that doesn’t make them any less true, and I’m running out of ways to say the same thing twice.

“So, we good?”

She remains quite still and silent.

“Amber?”

And then something changes.

Her brows crease; a frown forms.

Her mouth shuts; her lips curl into a snarl.

Her eyes narrow; her gaze hardens like cold steel.

This is a look I know all too well.

“Rule Four,” Amber grumbles.

I blink in confusion. “What?”

“Rule Four.” She brings a foreleg to my hand and glares at me dangerously. “Get your stinking hoof off me, you piece of LIVING TRASH!”

I recoil and back away.

“If there’s one thing I expect you to know by now, it’s that you don’t break the Rules! How many times have I told you?! How many teeth do I have to chip before you finally get the memo?! Don’t ever touch me!”

“But you—”

“But nothing!” She stomps as she stands, wings hanging open, eyes loaded with venom. “You know — you know — what the Rules are, and yet you keep pushing me! If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you actually want me to change, which’d make you a liar as well as an idiot!”

I frown. “Where the hell is all this coming from?”

“It’s coming from me, Amber Dart, after living with you for the past sixteen days, and having to leave the house I built behind, all because you can’t — you won’t — say no!”

I slap my forehead. “Oh, for crying out loud, we’re still on this?”

She stomps again. “OF COURSE WE’RE STILL ON THIS! You know why? Because I’m a petty, vindictive little cuss, and you stepped on the wrong tail.”

“But I never meant to.”

“So what?! The damage is done and I have to live with it!”

“So do I!”

“You’re not the victim!”

“Yes, I am! Both of us are!”

“Because you agreed to this, and look where we are now!”

I baulk. “You think I saw this coming?! That I could’ve done something to stop this?!”

“You could’ve.”

I pause, scowling in exasperated disbelief, then shake my head. “No,” I growl through clenched teeth, backing up half a step and pointing at her. “I’m not giving up on going home.”

“Why not?! What makes your home more special than mine, dingus?! Why do you want to go back so badly?!”

“BECAUSE I HAVE A FAMILY, OR WHAT’S LEFT OF ONE — I HAVE SOMETHING TO GO BACK TO!”

Amber doesn’t react, but she doesn’t reply either.

“What do you have? Some dirt hut in the middle of nowhere. No friends, no loved ones, no obligations of any kind — just you, yourself, your toxic attitude, and a hundred acres of nothing. That’s all you have.”

Her eyes widen, and her expression falls from anger to genuine hurt. “How dare you,” she croaks, almost breathlessly.

“How dare I?”

“How dare you!”

“Hey,” a third voice interrupts.

I look to my right.

The guard’s come back, brandishing the bludgeon as she watches on from the outside. She appears more concerned than annoyed. Probably heard more than she wanted to. “Both of you, stop.”

I open my mouth to respond, but a sharp jab to the abdomen shuts me up and I stumble back a few steps.

“How dare you compare your life to mine and say yours is worth more!” Amber returns her hoof to the floor and marches on, her eyes now awash with outrage and anguish. “That’s not nice! That’s not what good ponies do!”

“Guys, please.”

I recover my balance and nurse the point of contact, sneering down at her. “Well then, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m not a pony.”

“You’re a better pony than me!”

“Oh, wow, what an achievement.” I give a slow clap. “Stellar effort on my part, huh?”

She rears up and places a forehoof on my collar, the other wound up for a punch.

“Whoa whoa whoa,” the guard exclaims, “let’s all calm down, please!”

At full height on two legs, Amber’s only slightly taller than me by a thumb, ears notwithstanding. Her expression’s desperate, pleading, but altogether furious, even with tears in her eyes. “You’d better snap out of it right now,” she orders, a tremble in her voice, “or I swear…”

“Or what?” I scoff, not believing her for an instant. “You’re going to hit me again?”

Her hoof connects with my temple.

I stagger off to the right and collapse.

Sights and sounds are muted and blurred. There’s the clang of metal, I think, and the clop of hooves on stone. A voice in the background, frantic and muffled. Another that’s closer, crisp and clear. “You don’t get to act like that!” it bawls, betrayed. “I can, you can’t! That’s not who you are!”

I blink and try to orient myself.

“You’re better than me.” An orange shadow hovers over me, standing on three legs, a fourth prodding my shoulder. “You don’t insult, you don’t punch or kick, and you don’t lash out. You’re the good guy. And if it takes a hoof to the face to make sure you don’t forget that, then so be it.”

A metal door opens. A second form appears. A dog in armour, armed with a club.

“Amber,” I call out absently. “Amber, wait.”

“What, you want a second?” The fourth leg rises. “Fine by me.”

“No, wait!” I try sitting up and pointing behind her. Try and fail. “There’s—”

A paw lands on her shoulders.

In a flash, she’s up on two legs again, wings flinging open, and whips around. Her forehoof already pulled back, now swings for the guard’s jaw, and in the split second she has where she realises what’s happening, her eyes are filled with shock and panic. But then the hoof reaches its target, and there’s a hard, meaty whack as the guard’s head bows with the blow, and she’s swept clear off her feet, spins around in the air, and falls to the ground.

Stillness. The rattle of metal echoes and fades the longer the pause continues, but the heavy breathing remains. Panting. A heaving chest is the only movement I see.

Amber stands with a hunch, watching the unconscious form of the guard, making sure she’s down for the count. One foreleg hangs lower than the other. When enough time has passed, she brings the hoof up and inspects it. “Great,” she grouses, wringing it through the bend of her other leg, “got slobber all over me.”

I stare on in silence, wide-eyed and speechless.

She regards the guard for a few seconds more, still huffing through her nose, and then looks back to me. Her ears lower, but only slightly, though her brows are already furrowed and her eyes display a lingering tension. Unresolved conflict. Something to do with me.

I continue to stare.

She stares back. And then she takes a step closer, still on her hindlegs, and offers a hoof.

I hesitate, glancing from her to the hoof and back to her. My lips part as if to mutter some half-baked question, but the faint shimmer in her eyes silences me. Tears, but no sadness. Not really. Not quite.

I accept the offer and grab her ankle.

With a quiet, laboured groan, she helps me to my feet, at the same time falling onto all fours and folding her wings. And as I dust myself off, she turns away and sniffs, rubbing a foreleg against her snout.

“You okay?” I ask automatically.

She meets my gaze with a frown and holds it.

I’m not dissuaded, even though I get the feeling I really should be.

Amber blinks, and then looks away again. “Think about yourself for once,” she murmurs, ears lowering a little further.

“Amber, please. Are you okay?”

She doesn’t reply. Not immediately. “We’ll talk later,” she says in a noncommittal tone, then trots over to the guard and rolls her over for the key. “You took five minutes to wake up last time, maybe less. A girl this big can’t be far behind.”

I pause, then slowly nod in understanding.

“We’re getting out of here, and we’re doing it together.” She gives me a pointed glance over her shoulder as she removes the key from the guard’s belt. “No more fighting, no more anything. Just you and me.”

I pause again, caught up in her words and just how… strange it is to hear this from her.

In fact, the last time she spoke out of character…

But no. It wouldn’t make sense. That wasn’t their plan, and they’d have nothing to gain by pulling a bait and switch, and they wouldn’t risk me escaping just to get some information. This is her and this is real, and we’re really doing this. I can’t allow doubt to cloud my sense of judgement.

I nod once more, then glance to the other cage. “What about him?”

She follows my gaze, and, after a pause of her own, walks for the open door, key in hoof.

Cautiously, I follow her.

She continues across the hall — a spacious six paces wide — with a heaviness in her step. Regret, perhaps. Maybe guilt, on some level. I know I’m feeling both right now. But I can’t tell her state of mind when I’m looking at the back of her head. And the closer she draws to Razzmatazz’s cell, the more uncertain I become. The more worry I feel. The more piercing the latest pain in my forehead becomes.

Razzmatazz sits on his haunches with wide eyes and attentive ears, watching with mouth open as he tries to form a response, and ultimately fails. He leans back as his forehooves scrape against the floor, as if trying to retreat, and yet knowing there’s simply no escape. Not so much scared as he’s… unsettled.

I don’t blame him. We make an awkward duo.

Amber stops at the cell and stares, her muzzle a hair’s length from the bars. “How do we get out of here?” she questions calmly, but firmly.

He doesn’t react for a moment, then blinks in confusion and narrows his eyes. “What?”

“Either you’re an earth pony or a changeling spy. In any case, you know the way out.” She puts her brows against the metal and adds a growl to her voice. “How do we get out?”

“A spy?” he echoes with a breathless chuckle. “Me? Why would I spy on you?”

“You tell me, friend. It just seems awfully convenient to find the right pony in the right place at the right time. And time’s wasting.”

I glance over to the guard.

No movement yet.

“I’m not a spy.”

“I don’t care what you are. You’re telling us where to go and you’re telling it now.”

“Amber,” I whisper.

She pauses yet again, still staring at him, then takes her brows off the bars and peers up at me with a frown.

“We’re not leaving him behind.”

There’s a pang in her eyes, though her expression doesn’t change. Realisation. And with it, a hint of shame. “We can’t trust him,” she mutters, barely moving her lips. She means it as a statement, but the tone is imploring; she wants me to back her up on this.

“Then what’re you doing asking for directions?”

She lowers her gaze as well as her ears, the shame now making itself evident.

“Trust has to start somewhere, Amber. We don’t have time to argue about this.”

“I’m not arguing, I’m just…”

I wait for her to finish, but when no answer comes, I look up and lean toward the cell. “Do you know the way out of here?”

Razzmatazz glances from me to her and back to me, and then nods shakily. “I believe so, yes.”

I nod in turn, then return to Amber.

She hasn’t moved, but she now wears a pensive, if apprehensive mask, mulling over our brief exchange. Part of her doesn’t want it to be so simple, but she can’t deny our window’s shrinking. So, she gives Razzmatazz a hard stare, rolls her jaw in thought, and then strolls over to the door and unlocks it, never breaking eye contact.

He doesn’t move for a moment, stunned, but then hops to his hooves and trots toward the open entrance, sharing a wary, anxious look between us.

“If you double-cross us,” Amber warns, stopping him with a hoof aimed directly for his throat, “so help me, you’ll wind up the same as Moxie over there.”

He nods vigorously. “Okie-doke.”

“Good.” She returns her hoof to the ground. “Now, where’s our stuff?”

“Storage room, end of the hall.” He glances to his left, our right. “They took my things too.”

“Then lead on.”

He nods again, walking out of the cell, but stops midstride when something catches his eye.

At the same time, now I see him in the open, I notice two very obvious differences between him and Amber, besides the colours and the unmistakable fact one’s male and the other’s not. The first is a lack of wings — he’s a completely normal, not too fantastical pony.

The second is the stylised image of an eagle in flight, tattooed upon his flanks.

He’s looking for something similar on Amber, and finding nothing. And seems equal parts disturbed and curious for it.

“Where’s your—”

“Lead. On.”

I frown at her behind her back, cautious and ready to intervene, yet intrigued.

Razzmatazz shuts his mouth and gulps, then looks away, nods once more, and turns and heads down the hall at a canter, Amber sharp on his heels, and me jogging with a limp not far behind.
Just when I think I’m beginning to figure out what it is that makes her tick, another layer reveals itself. Such is the mystery of Amber Dart the Private.

2.6 | What Lies Beneath

I stare ahead with wide eyes and a slowly drooping mouth.

The storeroom is…

“No time for gawking.” Amber passes by and trots down the small flight of oversized steps, but I can tell she’s also disturbed by the sight, even if she doesn’t completely show it.

There are… piles and piles of… stuff. Things, possessions — items that have no place in a dungeon such as this; camping bags, cups, pots, pans, hats, hiking helmets, jackets, shoes of varying shapes and sizes. It all looks extremely out of place in an otherwise medieval setting.

Nothing in this room was made here. These came from someplace else. From other people. Hundreds, easily, judging by the number of backpacks stacked in the centre, heaped so high the mound’s taller than me by a head, and that’s not counting the dozens massed in the corners.

I swallow and take a heavy step, still fixated on the fact there are…

“So many…”

“And plenty more, no doubt.” Razzmatazz pulls a jacket from a pile against the wall on the right — a brown bomber with a high collar and fleece lining. He checks it front and back, then sits on his haunches and slings his forelegs through the sleeves. “I get the feeling the dogs have been here for a while.”

I blink, and then continue down the steps. “Is kidnapping people normal behaviour for them?”

“Normal?” He looks at me as he fastens the zipper, then shakes his head and does up the buttons. “Once upon a time, maybe, but no longer. Selene was supposed to have reformed them, but I guess she didn’t impress everyone.”

My brows crease; I’ve heard that word before. “Reformed?”

“Quit your yapping and get to searching,” Amber urges from the left side of the main pile, giving me a harsh glance as she rolls a sack over, then puts it back in place. “Get the bags and then we’re gone.”

“And the sunstone too,” Razzmatazz adds.

She stops and peers around the pile to him. “The what?”

“Sunstone.” He points to the glowing crystal bound in rope above her, dangling from the centre of the ceiling. “There’s a lot of darkness from here to the outside — we’ll want it for then.”

She stares at the crystal for a moment, and then frowns at him. “We’re trying not to be seen, thank you very much.”

“But if we don’t take it, we won’t be seeing anything. My sense of direction’s not that good.”

She pauses, then blinks and shakes her head in frustration. “Fine, whatever.” She glances over to me as she resumes her search. “You take it.”

I nod and stride forward, then waddle over the mound, careful not to trip or get in Amber’s way, and reach out for my quarry. This close, I have to squint through the light to see the details in the rope, let alone the quartz-like surface, but I see a knot on my right and gently tug at its bond, keeping one hand on the crystal itself for support.

For what appears to be a solid rock no larger than my head, it feels surprisingly… well, light — less than a kilo, certainly — but I don’t take any chances. As soon as the knot comes undone, I quickly slip my palm to its surface and slowly, gently ease it down to eyelevel. And I notice how all the shadows in the room shrink and stretch with the slightest movement.

“Good, good, goodie-goodie two-shoes.” Razzmatazz breathes out a quiet sigh of relief. “If you broke that, we’d be in trouble.”

I pause for a moment, wondering what new insults Amber would curse me with for wasting precious time. “They’re all over the place,” I reason, holding it up and wading out toward her side. Maybe some extra glow would make her job easier. “If this one broke, I’ll just grab another.”

“Uh, no, that’s… not exactly what I meant.”

“Then what?” I ask absently, bending low and checking a red-looking bag. Not mine, as it turns out, but I catch a name: Liberty Belle. Strangely normal in its own way, if a little on the nose, and another pang of guilt rings through me.

“Well, what I mean to say is… broken sunstones don’t just go kaput.”

I stop, then look up at him.

So does Amber.

He’s still sitting on his haunches, now facing us with lowered ears and upturned brows, baring his teeth in a half-grin, half-grimace, anxiously twisting an aviator hat in his forehooves.

“They go kaboom.”

I frown. “What?”

“You know, kaboom. E-e-explode.”

I glance at the crystal, then back to him. “Freaking what?!”

“Quiet,” Amber hushes, peering up at me from the corner of her eye. Whether she’s frightened by or even believes this new piece of information, I can’t say. If she does, she hides it well.

I shut my mouth and huff through my nose, feeling like I’ve been gagged. “You mean to tell me,” I whisper with a growl, scowling Razzmatazz as I gesture to the crystal, “that I’m literally holding a ticking timebomb?”

“Only if you’re not careful,” he shakily assures, waving his hooves in an effort to calm me down. “And you didn’t break it, so we’re all good, right?”

“All good?”

“Enough,” Amber hisses, silencing us both, and then frowns at me as she points to the main heap. “You, search.”

“But—”

“No time to argue, remember?”

Again, I shut my mouth and huff, then shake my head to myself as I resume the hunt.

“And you…” she returns to Razzmatazz, pointing the same hoof, now accusatory, “don’t forget what I said about double-crossing us.”

“I haven’t.”

“Good. From now on, you tell us everything upfront.” She lowers her hoof. “Now, what did you have when they brought you in?”

“My jacket, cap, and climbing gear.”

I find her rucksack on the top layer, still with all the pots and pans attached.

“Do we need to climb out of here?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Then forget the gear. Stand on lookout.”

There’s a pause — a nod, I assume — before hooves clop along the stone floor toward the entrance.

As he leaves, I gently pull the bag from its place, careful not to make too much noise, but with so much metal, it’s next to impossible. “Found yours,” I murmur, glancing at her. “Looks intact. Food, tent, bedroll. Everything’s good.”

She glances back. “Blanket?”

I look again. “No blanket, sorry.”

“Find it,” she orders, trotting off to another pile. “And get rid of all that metal, or we’ll be a walking dinner bell.”

I nod and get to work, kneeling cautiously on a canvas duffle bag and gently setting the sunstone beside me. “Explosive, huh?”

“That’s what he said.”

“Then why fill your halls with them?”

“No smoke, no fuel, and they take a long time to fade,” Razzmatazz answers from the doorway. “Catch the sun’s light once, and they last for half the year. The brighter the stone, the bigger the boom.”

Without much in the way for a point of reference, it now feels like I’m sitting next to a tonne of dynamite. “Not helping, Razzy.”

“Oh, sorry. I just thought you’d want to know.”

…Well, I can’t deny it’s useful info, but was it really the right time?

Alternatively, when would be the right time? When I’m juggling it around idly and accidentally drop it? When I beat a guard over the head with it? When I’m tossing it to either him or her and misjudge the distance? No, of course not. I’m just overreacting, aren’t I?

“Better late than never, I suppose.”

“Better early than late,” Amber counters humourlessly, turning around with a red backpack held in her forelegs. “Found yours.”

I nod again and continue with the lacing, now working on the other side. “Everything still in?”

“Feels like it.”

“Good. Just give me a minute, and then we can go.”

“Not without my blanket.”

I pause, brows creasing, but I keep on task. “We’re on the clock, Amber.”

“I’ll be quick.”

Somehow, I don’t think that’ll be the case. But I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. For now, I need to finish off these last four cups.

A small, thin patch of sweat builds along my hairline; the stress is starting to show itself again. I can keep my nerves in check, easily, especially now there’s no restraints and no trio of anthropomorphic gorilla-dogs towering above me, but it’s a sign I’m not out of the woods yet.

Well, cave, but the point remains: I’m still underground, I’m still in enemy territory, and I’ve thrown all my weight behind a complete stranger, who claims to know the way out of here, though I’d very much like to ask why he knows this. Something about being an earth pony, I’ve gathered, whatever that means, but that’s not enough; I want specifics and no room for doubt. There’s been far, far too much of it already.

The final mug comes free and I hoist the rucksack upright, turning to her. “Ready?”

Her rummaging continues.

“Amber?”

“Yeah-yeah, just give me a minute.”

“We might not have a minute.”

She doesn’t reply, rolling a few bags down her pile. Zippers and buckles jingle and clatter.

The bridge has been reached. Now I need to cross it. “Amber, we need to go.”

“Not yet.”

“It’s only a blanket.”

“It’s my blanket,” she snaps, spinning round to face me with a frown, and then canters back to the main heap and begins sorting through the luggage at the top. “I’m not about to let it gather dust in some stinking trophy room.”

“And if we don’t go now, we might be the trophies.”

Again, no reply, but her ears point back and her lips press together.

“We have food, we have a guide. What more do we need?” I shuffle about to face her directly. “Does a blanket really matter that much?”

“It matters to me.”

“Why?”

She stops. It isn’t a sudden stop, nor is it a slow one: it’s one where, as soon as both forehooves are on the pile, she bobs back and forth a few times, chewing her bottom lip with her mouth closed. She huffs through her nose, head bowed and steadily bowing further, shrunken pupils staring off into nowhere. No anger, no panic, but something else. Probably a lot of things.

My brows upturn and I lean closer. “Amber, if we don’t leave now, we never will,” I whisper, glancing for the door and a waiting Razzmatazz. “Whatever that blanket means to you, I’m sorry, but we have to go. We didn’t come all this way just to end up here, did we?”

She doesn’t react for a moment, but then slowly looks up and meets my gaze.

“Did we?”

A pause, and then a hesitant shake of the head.

“No, of course not. And we’re getting out of here, aren’t we?”

Another pause, and then a tentative nod.

I nod in turn, then lower my eyes and wait a moment, thinking, before pulling the rucksack from behind me and setting it between us. “I don’t know where I’m headed, Amber,” I confess, allowing myself to sound a little shaky, “but I know I’m not getting there without you.”

That unknown feeling in her eyes, whatever it is, fades slightly. Her breathing slows until it’s barely noticeable, her lips part a crack, and her ears begin to rise, as if all the pressure keeping them down had lifted.

I give her rucksack a soft nudge, offering it to her as I meet her gaze. “Together?”

Yet another pause, until she looks down to the bag, then back to me. And then she closes her mouth, accepts the offer with a hoof, and gently nods. “Together.”

Razzmatazz pulls the door open a crack and peers through, waits a few moments, then pulls it a little further and waves us closer, ducking out immediately after.

Amber follows him.

I follow her, poking my head through before I leave completely, just to be extra safe, but as soon as I realise what I’m seeing, my jaw drops.

A cavern. Just as wide as the airship highway, but even deeper. There’s no sky, though; we’re still underground, but the entire scene is illuminated by some kind of… ambient light, as if a single source were reflected and magnified by the rocks themselves. And I suspect that’s the case: certain sections twinkle with the faintest movement of my head; not sunstones, but veins of ore and unmined gems. Scores of it. A number too big to guess.

The dungeon opens out to a stone balcony with a stone railing as tall as me, each baluster a circle with a diamond inside. A staircase carved from the wall of the canyon leads off down to the left, disappearing behind a bend. The floor of the balcony is perfectly flat, if a little dusty in the corners, all one solid piece of rock.

I find myself idly strolling forward, spurred by the… awe, I guess, of seeing something so remarkable, and the curious urge to duck under the banister and peek over the edge.

The smell of rich, damp earth welcomes me, as does the sight of greenery at the very bottom, as well as a running river. To the right, the cavern stretches far off into the distance, circular windows pockmarking the tapering cliffs. Bridges of all sizes span the gap at every height, the largest exhibiting two giant statues on either entrance, sitting on their haunches, heads bowed as they welcome travellers.

But there are no travellers. No silhouettes in the windows, no… activity. No life. It feels like the darkest part of a closet or attic: forgotten; abandoned. Even the ambient light seems to obey this unspoken rule, fading out long before I can see the end.

To the left, however, things are more animated. The river coursing down the centre the main cavern flows into many little tributaries, forming miniature islands, upon which crops appear to grow. There are huts too, and sunstones held aloft in small towers, and gorilla-dogs tending to them all, along with a few creatures that look… somewhat like ponies, but not quite. It’s hard to tell what’s off about them from so high up, but I just know.

Some of the creatures fly on their translucent wings, either hovering above the fields for an unknown purpose or darting for one of the hollows in the northern rockface — assuming forward is north, of course. And these hollows — no more than a dozen — are distinct from the windows of the east in that they’re larger, and don’t seem to be a part of a bigger structure: they’re one room and one room only, each with a sunstone as the centrepiece, like a campfire.

In total, I count at least fifty dogs of a wide range of shapes, sizes and colours — overall, more earthly-hued than any pony I’ve seen, but still with a few blue-grey coats here and there — and about twenty of the as yet unidentified creatures. Changelings, I’m starting to think, in their true forms.

I haven’t forgotten why I’m here. I haven’t forgotten who put me here. But I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel right now. There’s the wonder of something new and undiscovered. There’s the fear of falling and impending danger. But there’s also… what?

Recognition?

Empathy?

I hear a laugh rise from below, echoed and hushed by the distance, and the conflicted knot in my chest grows; they’re my enemy, and yet they’re not acting like it.

…Who among them even know I exist?

“Hey.”

I almost jump, quickly stepping back from the ledge and blinking, looking to my left.

Amber watches me with a… strange expression. In a certain light, it’s tense and unwavering, but the raised eyebrow, angled head and ears suggest curiosity. Of the disturbed kind.

Behind her, Razzmatazz waits a few steps down the staircase, also watching me, his expression decidedly more concerned than anything.

“We need to go, remember?”

I blink again, then nod. “How long was I staring?” I ask, perhaps sounding a little absent, like waking from a spell — something I can say I’ve had experience with.

“Too long,” she says after a short pause, then glances down to the sunstone under my arm. “You should put that away too. Don’t want to be drawing attention to ourselves.”

I let the words register, then kneel down and unsling my bag, opening up the pocket with all my clothes; the more cushioning, the better. “Won’t it be dark?”

“Would you rather face the dark or a dog?”

“…Point taken.”

“They’d probably smell us long before they see us, anyway,” Razzmatazz comments.

We both turn to him.

“But don’t worry,” he quickly assures, eyes bulging for a moment as he realises his mistake, “the air’s damp, see? Scent won’t go far in damp air.”

“Sound will, so keep your voice down,” Amber replies with a warning frown. “Now, where are we heading?”

Razzmatazz waits a moment before responding, making sure the air had, metaphorically, cleared. “Down,” he answers, still a little shaky. “Way down. The river has to go somewhere, right?”

“…The river?” I disbelievingly gesture to our supposed destination. “Down there, where the changelings and dogs are? You’re taking us into danger to get us out of danger?”

“Not if I can help it.” Now he sounds more resolute. Not by much, but enough. “That river’s our way out, but there should be other ways to get to it.”

Amber takes a step closer. “Are you sure?”

He hesitates, but stiffly nods. If he weren’t wearing his hat, judging by the look on his face, I’m certain his ears would be pinned right back.

She continues to stare, testing him. “Then let’s get going,” she says, walking down the stairs, giving him a stern glare.

Razzmatazz watches her go for a few moments, then returns to me with the same look as before, but this time with an inquisitive, imploring eyebrow raised.

I pause, then scrunch my mouth up and softly sigh, and begin to follow Amber again, giving him a small, mindless, ineffectual pat on the head as I pass. “You’ll get used to it.”

The staircase descends a number of levels and takes us to the southern end of a bridge — another large one, also with massive statues adorning the entrances. These twins stand as mirror opposites, armoured in full suits of plate, mail and scale, a crescent shield held close in one paw and an axe in the other, which looks like a weaponised version of the climbing sort Miss Bishop used; a blade on the front, a pick on the back.

It looked vicious when she showed it to the class, and these ones are no exception.

But the statues themselves, in terms of sheer scale and artistry, are without a doubt some of the most astounding works of masonry I’ve ever seen, and that includes the old temples of Vietnam. Their paint has faded, either worn away by the passage of time or hidden under this fine layer of dust coating everything. Solid pieces of gold — actual blocks and bars of the stuff, not just golden leaf — accentuate certain edges, sometimes in jagged, triangular patterns. Gems of all colours glisten with what little light they catch, inlaid in swirling lines on the shields, pauldrons, and full-face helmets.

Beyond the giant arch the two statues guard is a room the likes of which I never thought possible — not outside the wildest imaginations of visionary directors, at least; a hall as tall as a short skyscraper, rows of pillars like ancient redwoods reaching up to a vaulted ceiling, stretching back as far as the eye can see. Bejewelled frescoes, murals, friezes and other sculptures cover every facet, the floor criss-crossed in swirls and zigzags and diamonds, as if it were tiled, but without the faintest hint of a seam in sight. Sunstones rest securely in planters protruding from the pillars, thankfully quite a bit dimmer than most.

As clichéd as it sounds, I feel like an ant in comparison. And not just in size; this place is old. It has age. History. A story to tell. Rome wasn’t built in a day, and this most certainly wasn’t either. Centuries, perhaps. Maybe even longer.

“Amazing, isn’t it?”

I look down to the left.

Razzmatazz smiles at me. “A shame we can’t stop and take pictures.”

I dumbly nod, casting my gaze to where the columns meet the roof. Some holes are cut into the ceiling, leading up into other rooms. Access hatches of some description, I assume, made more plausible by handholds leading away and down the pillars. The strength it would take to climb like that…

“Hard to believe they once had kingdoms of their own.”

I return to him and blink. “You mean there are more cities like this?”

“Oh, certainly.” He strolls past me with his neck low; chipper, but alert, keeping close to the nearest statue. “One or two are known and mapped, but the rest are lost.”

I begin to follow again. “Lost?”

“Yes. I don’t know the details, but at some point, things fell apart. Most dogs went nomadic, abandoned their cities, and that’s how they lived until fairly recently.”

“What changed?”

“Voices down,” Amber scolds, though it lacks her usual temper. She brings up the rears and gives us both sharp glances. “We’re better off not talking from here on out.”

“What?” Razzmatazz asks innocently. “The boy’s interested — who am I to disappoint?”

“You can save it for later. They don’t know where we are, and I’d like it to stay that way.”

I let out a small, defeated sigh, my efforts to gain a little more context thwarted once again. “She’s right, Razz.”

He looks behind from the corner of his eye, but says nothing, instead sighing much like I do.

So, we creep along at an average but notably cautious pace, heading as far as we feel comfortable going into the shadows while staying out of the sunstones’ light. All the while, I gape at my surroundings. Somehow, none of this feels real — something on this scale just shouldn’t be possible, no matter the effort, no matter the expertise. And yet, here it is.

It really is amazing, as Razzmatazz said. And despite our situation, I can’t help but marvel at it all. The skill it took, the… logistics, time and sweat — if gorilla-dogs sweat. What tools did they use? What techniques? How did they get it to stay so pristine? Just… how? And what was such a big space used for?

And then I step on something.

Everyone freezes.

It feels like the hall does too — some kind of metaphysical consciousness training all its eyes, ears and pointed teeth in my direction.

There’s a tense, collective breath.

Nothing.

Razzmatazz and Amber look to me.

I look down.

As my eyes adjust, I make out the colours and shapes of my shirt, shorts, shins, ankles, socks, shoes, and then a series of little white specks on the floor beneath my sole. I slowly, carefully reach for one, pick it up, and after feeling a snag and lifting my foot out of the way, the rest come with it.

“What is it?” Amber wonders, trying as best she can to peer over my shoulder without taking another step.

“A necklace,” I answer, holding it by the string at eyelevel and squinting through the dark. For as long as I can remember, my interest in finery was limited to picking out Mum’s earrings for her from the jewellery box, but something about this piece is different. “A… bone necklace?”

“Aquitanian quartz,” Razzmatazz corrects, “with pearls from… Saddle Arabia, I believe.”

My eyes widen and I gawk at him.

“Incredible,” he muses, still staring at the necklace, either oblivious or choosing to ignore my dumbfounded expression. “Five hundred years old and it still looks brand new.”

“…Saddle Arabia…”

“Yes.” He meets my gaze and appears unphased. “It must’ve been a very well-off city to have traders that far south. Back in the day, dogs weren’t fond of overland travel.”

“Saddle frigging Arabia?”

He draws his head back and creases his brows curiously. “It’s not that unbelievable, is it?”

“He’s from out of town.”

I blink, then peer back at Amber.

She fixes me with an ostensibly neutral stare. If I never knew her, I may very well have left it at that. But I do know her, and I see that warning, commanding glint, even through the gloom. However, she doesn’t threaten violence, but something just as harmful in its own special way: discovery. “I’m his guide,” she continues, switching to Razzmatazz. “He’s still getting used to Equestria.”

He keeps his eyes on her a little while longer, then looks as if he’d slapped his forehead in realisation. “Of course, a tourist — how could I forget?”

“Let’s just focus on getting out of here.”

“Yes, right, of course, let’s…”

A cold tingle dances across my shoulders at how he cuts himself off, and especially how he frowns at the ground, as if an infallible plan had gone horribly wrong. “What?”

He puts a hoof up to silence me.

The tingle grows stronger, and the longer our silence stretches, the colder it gets.

“Patrol,” he says quickly and quietly, then returns to me and Amber with an urgent look. “There’s a room not far ahead to the left. We should hide in there.”

I open the door, peek through, deem it safe, duck inside, wait for the soft patter of four hooves to follow, then close it again.

Another hall welcomes us. Much smaller, though — of a more comprehensible scale, if that makes any sense — and for the most part, seems less… artificial. The floor, walls and ceiling are bumpy, but smooth enough to walk across and sit on. The only flat segments come in the form of a footpath lined with gems and tiny sunstones, and a number of frescoed alcoves to which it leads.

In some strange way, it’s almost like a prestigious art gallery set inside an actual cave.

“Did they hear us?” Amber asks, looking to Razzmatazz.

He closes his eyes and bows his head for a moment. “They haven’t changed pace, no,” he answers, then turns to the door, “but they’re still coming this way.”

She snorts and looks away, pinning her ears, tensing her wings and frowning as she grinds a hoof on the floor. After a short pause, she questions, “How long?”

“A minute and a half, maybe?”

“Alright.” She nods to herself, then raises her head and shares a determined look with him. “We go deeper, find someplace to hide, sit tight. Sound like a plan?”

“Yep.”

She turns to me. “And you?”

I blink, hesitating. Why single me out, even though that’s next to impossible in a group of three? Had I missed something? Crossed another line? Or am I overthinking it, and she’s just asking my opinion? If so, why? Since when did she ever ask for my approval? Most importantly, is now the time to really be asking myself this? “Sure,” I say, trying to keep as much uncertainty out of my voice as possible.

She nods again, then sets off at a hurried march down the walkway.

Razzmatazz is close behind.

I blink once more and shake my head before I fall in line. Why I’d taken so much issue in being asked a simple question, I’ve no idea. Pent-up nerves, I assume — I want to assume — but I somehow doubt that’s the case; maybe there’s something else at play here. Or maybe I’m just jumpy and talking nonsense. Whatever the matter is, I’m glad to be on the move again.

So long as the ceiling doesn’t get any lower.

The flattened path descends a few long, shallow steps, winding around natural pillars, small nooks cut into them for… candles, surprisingly. All of them have been extinguished, granted, and old wax drips over the edges, but the fact remains: this place is different; they’d use a light source that needs more replacing than a sunstone to illuminate the space. A question thus arises: why?

Reaching the first alcove offers no answer, but the fresco, as it turns out, is actually a mosaic, and I find myself slowing my pace; in a civilization that seems to pride itself on mineral wealth, this is the only mosaic I’ve seen. And frankly, it’s spectacular.

A lone mountain stands proudly in the centre of a green field, hollow on the inside, home to a hoard of gold and silver jewels, upon which a dog wearing a diadem of sunstones sits nobly and happily. Outside, more dogs idle around aboveground huts and fires, talking, crafting, tilling fields, trading with a small group of… yaks, it looks like, in horned helmets. Each tile is finely shaped and crafted, interspersed with gems of matching colours that catch the light like glitter. Despite its stylised look, it shines line a printed photograph.

Everything’s peaceful. All is well.

In the second alcove, however, winter has come. Snow covers hills like rolling sand dunes while the sky is clogged with storm clouds and… floating cities. Pegasi, unicorns and earth ponies battle each other in the whitewashed landscape, on the ground or in the air, armed with spears, swords, axes, shields, bows, javelins, slings; all the panoply of war. Spells erupt from horns like lasers. Lightning from above decimates the masses. Figures lie strewn across the battlefield. There are no eyes, no faces, only hundreds of plumed helmets.

And below it all, dogs huddle together in caves, safe from the fighting, with only a few sunstone fires for warmth, and nary a jewel in sight.

At the third alcove… I slow to a halt and gawp.

Two alicorns stand side by side, one the with a coat of the purest white, and the other as dark and blue as midnight, their resplendent wings spread like wreaths in which they frame the sun and moon. The first and taller of the pair, whose eyes are a pale, sweet, flawless magenta, has a pink mane and tail that flow like a gentle river. The second, whose eyes are a fresh, cool, minty cyan, has her hair flowing in much the same way, but instead of being a single colour, and it reveals the deepest, darkest reaches of space and all the stars therein. One is dressed in gold regalia, the other is dressed in black.

They’re… a sight to behold. As calming as they are beautiful. Like a chilled vanilla milkshake on a balmy summer’s day, or a warm and fuzzy blanket in the depths of a winter’s night. And I find myself struck with a certain longing — a yearning to stay and bask in their splendour; to hear their soft words and heed their wise counsel, if they’ve any to give.

To simply know them, and for them to help me know myself.

“What the heck do you think you’re doing?!”

I jump, muttering some startled drivel as I duck away from and turn toward the sharp, cutting, but nevertheless whispered voice.

Blue eyes stare into mine. “They’re right on top of us! We have to move!”

“…But—”

An orange blur darts around and headbutts me in the small of my back. “Leg it, dingus!”

I stumble forward and the spell is broken, and I remembered where I am, who she is and what we’re doing, and I refrain from smashing my head against a wall at how stupid I’d been to let my guard down.

Amber quickly pulls in front, cantering as fast as she can while trying to stay as quiet as possible.

I follow, jogging with a limp yet again, zippers jingling with every bob and sway, not paying attention to where I’m going, only the path directly ahead.

We pass by another alcove, this one displaying the twins facing off against a menacing, serpentine creature with a goat’s head, mismatched wings, and legs and arms from various other animals. In the next, they battle a giant, horned, bearded, centaur-like creature with black fur and red skin. And the next, an armoured unicorn challenges them from atop a spire of dark crystals as two armies clash in the snow below, some dogs on both sides.

I want to stop. I want an hour, or even a spare minute to just stop and observe and think about what this all means. Who are these two? What did they do? How many enemies did they face? And why were their lives so important to the dogs who built this place?

But at the next alcove, and by far the largest, I do stop.

At the end of a long, high hallway, in the midst of a moonlit night, the white alicorn lies with back against a podium, upon which five diamonds — red, pink, blue, green, yellow — float about a globe. She’s beaten, but not broken, a purple, six-pointed star raised in her defence.

Screaming towards her, crashing through a window at the opposite end, trailing darkness and black fire, forelegs like lances, horn ablaze, eyes white-hot with fury… is the other alicorn.

Or what remains of her. This one reflects nothing; the gems used opaque and sinister. Wraithlike. As if this creature, this… hollow form, this… husk… was too wicked for any worldly light. Too far fallen from grace. Too overcome with rage.

There’s so much I don’t know. So many questions yet unanswered. And this silent tragedy only raises more, and strengthens my resolve to answer them all.

A foreleg wraps around my neck and yanks hard, so sudden and forceful I don’t have a chance to resist before I’m dragged to the floor with another hoof over my nose and mouth.

In a blind panic, I bring my hands up and try to break free, kicking and writhing, eyes wide, muffled cries echoing in the cavern.

“Shut up,” Amber hisses, tightening her grip as she glares down at me from the very edge of my vision. “Do you want to get us caught?”

I pause, still grappling with her chokehold, but soon stop completely and shake my head.

“Good. Then—”

Some way off in the distance to our right, over the ridge behind which we hide, comes the creak of metal hinges.

Amber sucks in a sharp breath, lying back and squeezing harder.

The pressure on my throat builds.

Paws and claws pad and scrape into the hall, but only from a single dog; there’s a set of hooves too, and the flitter of wings — insectile, rather than feathered. Three individuals, I reckon, before the door is shut behind them. Then there’s silence.

The air grows colder.

“Well?” a deep, gruff, rumbling voice questions in a quiet, impatient tone. “What do you want?”

Another long silence. I notice I’m blinking more than usual.

“Rex…” another voice calls, distorted and scratchy, but clearly female, and sounding more than a little pleading, “we’ve known you and your brothers for a long time now. We were the first changelings to find this place, after all. You took us in when you had no real reason to, and we’ve been nothing but thankful for that ever—”

“Get to the point.”

More silence. The shadows seem darker.

“…Well, you see… it’s just—”

“This has to stop,” a third voice interrupts. Male. Just as distorted, but steadfast.

“What needs to stop?”

“This… operation your brother’s running. We can’t keep doing this forever.”

“Then leave.”

A stunned silence, this time. I think my vision’s growing blurry.

“We’re not saying we disagree with the premise,” the female replies, slow and careful, as if she’d just been slapped and didn’t want to show how much it hurt. “The princess should pay. But…”

“You can’t kidnap and enslave the innocent and call it a retribution.”

The changelings’ words cut through the encroaching fog, and in an instant, I find myself wide awake, tapping Amber’s foreleg.

A flicker of movement from above, and then she lets go.

The respite is immediate, like loosening the valve on an airtight container, or pulling the trigger on a garden hose. The strange build-up of weight in my head starts to drain out, and I have to keep myself from gasping in relief.

“They support her,” Rex counters flatly.

“Not all of them,” replies the second changeling. “You know that.”

With my neck free, I take the opportunity to assess my surroundings.

I’m currently lying on my bag with my head propped up on Amber’s chest, parallel to the ridge. She meets my gaze with a blank stare, but says nothing. Behind me — or above, depending on how the compass works when flat on the back — Razzmatazz also sits curled up in the shelter of the ridge, holding Amber’s rucksack for her, surprisingly. He peers over the edge and watches curiously, which I’m sure is nowhere near the safest bet.

Of course, I go for it anyway, in spite of Amber’s bulging, pinpricked eyes and frantic gestures.

A few tens of metres away, at the peak of the gradual descent, Rex and his two much smaller companions stand on the plateau in front of the doorway. In the dim light, I can see his spear is gone, but he’s kept his armour. On the other hand, the changelings are unclothed and unprotected.

They look very much like ponies, having the same general form and proportions as the two on my right, but that’s where the similarities more or less end; their bodies are chitinous, multihued, and somewhat segmented, their tails membranous like a dragonfly’s wing, their eyes lustrous and one solid colour, their ears thin and lined with tiny barbs. They also have a single, curved horn at the top of their foreheads, and two short fangs protruding from their upper lips.

“And they aren’t the ones who wronged us,” the second and closest changeling continues. He’s a muddy brown with highlights of yellow, and striking turquoise eyes. “You know that too. Now, we went along with this scheme of his because we thought, maybe, there’s something more to it. We weren’t in a position to know any better and you and your people were all we had.”

“Again, we’re very grateful for all you did for us,” the other consoles, discomfort clear in her voice, if not her expression. She’s a smoky green with highlights of purple, and eyes a brilliant fuchsia. “It’s just… well…”

“You think he has no plan,” Rex finishes, his tone heavy with disappointment.

“Does he?” the second queries, sounding dangerously close to an open challenge.

Rex pauses for a long while, staring at the two with relative indifference. At least, that’s what I gather from so far away. “Why’s this a problem now?”

“It’s been a problem for years.”

“But why now?”

“Because of the creature,” answers the first. “That… human.”

The cold tingle returns, pricking the hairs on the back of my neck and tensing my joints.

“What about him?”

“Whatever he is,” the second continues, “wherever he’s from, he knows the princess personally, and she’s sent him on a mission. That never happens.”

“But if it did, she wouldn’t trust him to do it on his own,” the other carries on. “We’re not sure what role that pegasus plays, but she’d keep tabs on everything about them: what they say, what they know, how they act. Where they go.”

“We were lucky enough to get away with random nobodies for so long, but two royal spies?”

“She’d flatten the whole Unicorn Range to find them.”

“We won’t stand a chance.”

I feel hollow, and the tingle runs icy trails down my back. I look down to Amber on a whim, perhaps for reassurance, but find her anxious gaze fixed on Razzmatazz.

He’s retreated from the edge somewhat, now watching us both with creased brows and parted lips, though it’s impossible to say what his mood is. There’s tension in the air, definitely, but whether it’s fear, mute outrage, disgust, or something else entirely, I can’t say: the light’s too dim, and the shadows too dark.

“We’ve punched above our weight, Rex. We’ve gone too far.”

“Then what do you suggest?” he grumbles, irritated, leering at the second changeling. “We free them on good faith?”

“Provisionally,” the first answers. “If we open talks—”

“No,” he snaps. “Duke would never—”

“We’re not asking Duke,” the second interrupts.

Rex pauses, then draws his head back and retreats half a step. He’s genuinely shocked, and a creature less than half his size had done that to him. “I won’t betray my brothers, Rostrum,” he says almost breathlessly. “I won’t sink to her level.”

“Even if it means the end of us all?”

Another, much longer pause.

“There’s more than just your honour at stake,” Rostrum states imploringly. “We know loyalty’s important to you, but loyalty also means saving the people you love from themselves. You need to think about the greater good.”

“For all her flaws, she can be merciful,” says the other changeling, just as pleading, but less resolute. More timid. Trying to convince herself as much as Rex. She takes a few hesitant steps toward him. “By negotiating, we show our diplomatic side, and she’ll be more open to us. We let the pony go, and she gives her our terms: another Cloudsdale, in exchange for the human and all the sla… Hostages.”

My brows rise slightly. I’m not sure why; there’s nothing particularly fascinating or surprising being said — nothing pleasant or welcome, at least. Maybe it’s that hesitation at the end: she can’t call their captives for what they are, because it’s just too distasteful to say out loud.

Is that irony? She has the courage to stand against Selene — the leader of an entire nation, and a living, breathing, superpowered being — but not to face the truth.

Rostrum too takes a step closer. “What we’re asking’s difficult, we know, but we can’t sweep this under the rug. We have to make a choice: survival or blind loyalty. And I for one think it’s more virtuous to live and fight another day than stick by Duke’s short-sightedness.”

Rex’s eyes narrow. “Don’t you dare insult him,” he slowly rumbles. “You owe him your lives.”

“And in twenty years, what’s he done? Have we breached the walls of Canterlot? Have we turned Equestria against her? Established contacts with other rebel groups? No. We’re stuck in this mountain mining gems, drawing attention to ourselves with every new captive.”

He doesn’t respond.

“Our loyalty lies with the cause, not just family. Make a decision soon, or we’ll—”

A noise cuts through the relative quiet, and all three look to the door.

A horn?

No.

A howl. Long and chilling, loud and resonant. Three more join in rapid succession, and more still — dozens; a call to reach every corner in every hall of this ancient, forgotten hold.

Rex turns back to Rostrum, staring at him for a moment. “Do what you must,” he snarls, equal parts dismissive and threatening, “but you’ll find no friend in me.”

“Are you telling Duke?” the female queries in fright.

He snaps to her with a glare, but doesn’t immediately reply. “Not another word,” he says on the brink of a growl, lifting a single digit to her, then swings about, heads for the door, and holds it open expectantly.

The two changelings hesitate, but soon share an anxious look between themselves, then take their leave at a canter, giving him a cautious glance as they pass.

Rex watches them go, then moves to leave himself. But then he stops. And then he looks to the door. And then then he sniffs the handle.

I almost gasp as I duck below the ridge, and I feel every joint in my body freeze up, and all the hairs on my arms, legs, and the back of my neck and hands stand on end. The tingle has struck with a new, terrifying vengeance — enough to make me shiver all over. But even then, I have to be sure I don’t stutter my breath or chatter my teeth: the smallest sound, however slight, could make all the difference.

Amber stares at me with wide eyes and ears pinned flat, no longer scolding, just nervous. Frightened. Scared. As petrified as I am, or possibly worse; if it weren’t for me, she’d still be home, living her life in peace and quiet, and safety. But then I showed up, and I had to ruin everything — act selfish and take her along for the ride.

Razzmatazz has bowed his head and shut his eyes, a pleading grimace plastered across his muzzle and brows, also with his ears pinned flat. He’s just an innocent bystander caught in the crossfire, way in over his head, dragged into this, once again, because I said so; because he could be used. Not Selene, not Amber. Me.

And now here they are, by my side, hiding from a danger they have no business facing, all because I can’t bare the thought of leaving behind the only life I know. All because of me and my stupid need to make things right. All because I’d packed my things and walked out the door one morning.

…If I’d just kept my mouth shut…

But then another round of howling comes. In response, clawed paws pad away, and the door closes behind them, its final, reverberating click lingering in the still, cool air for what feels like an age. And our breaths at long last return.

A weight’s been lifted. The space feels larger. If I close my eyes for a second, I can actually imagine myself aboveground in an early morning mist. And so I relish what relief this fantasy gives me, because I know the rest of today won’t be so forgiving.

“So… royal spies, huh?”

Amber and I turn to Razzmatazz.

He inspects us closely, but not cynically despite his tone; again, he’s rather unreadable. Or perhaps he’s simply impassive and I’m reading too much into it, looking for something that isn’t there. Letting my nerves get the better of me.

“What of it?” Amber asks guardedly.

He pauses, then shrugs. “Just feels like something you should’ve told me sooner.”

“And if we said anything, we’d have gotten bogged down in questions like we are now,” she bluntly states, rolling over and standing up, fixing him with a hard stare. “But for the record, no, we’re not spies, we’re just…”

“What?”

Her eyes have lowered, as have her ears. Not in fear or anger, but something else entirely: the realisation of a sobering thought; the words to describe us escape her. And after a beat, she looks to me.

Frankly, I’m fairing no better than her on that front, but now’s not the time to say anything like that out loud. So I keep my mouth shut and hold her gaze, letting her find inspiration on her own.

But still, nothing comes to her, and her brows faintly crease with some faint sense of mute frustration, not quite confused, but vexed. Puzzled. “I don’t know what we are,” she says quietly and calmly, but still with a slight hint of tension, then returns to Razzmatazz, “but we’re not that.”

He nods, lips pursed, eyes narrowed in an expression caught somewhere between suspicion and sly amusement. “Spies who aren’t spies — the perfect spies.”

She rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “Look, whatever we are, we just want to get out of here. If they know we’re gone, they’ll lock this place down, which means we have to go now.”

“What about the slaves?”

Her ears perk up and she freezes.

Razzmatazz looks at me.

Slowly, very slowly, she does too.

An impatient frown worms its way across my face as I switch focus between the two, their silence stretching on for an uncomfortably long while. “We’re not doing nothing, are we?”

Her brows upturn in dismay, and her ears lower with them. She opens her mouth to say something, but the words don’t come. What’s left is a stifled breath of anguish.

“We can’t,” I baulk in disgust, shocked she’d even consider another option. “Didn’t you hear them? They’ve been doing it for twenty years and they know it’s wrong.”

Another pained breath as her gaze falls away to the right. “I’m… not saying we should… overlook it,” she mumbles shakily. “It’s just… getting us out will be hard enough. But a couple dozen, few hundred ponies extra?”

“We can do it.”

“How do you know?” She returns to me with a desperate look in her eyes.

I hesitate for a moment, but answer devoutly, “I just do.”

She shakes her head. “That’s not good enough.”

“It was good enough to save you.”

Now she’s the one hesitating.

“I told you before, I didn’t know what I was doing, I just… did. I convinced myself there was a way, and I went for it. Why should this time be any different?”

“Because dogs and changelings aren’t the same as a cockatrice.”

“Only if we let them.”

“That’s not how it works.” She shakes her head again, slowly and sorrowfully. “You got lucky once — twice, if you count me finding you on my doorstep — but you can’t rely on luck for everything.”

“We have to try.”

“You’re not a heroine. Neither am I. Things don’t happen just because we want them to.”

“Why can’t they?” Razzmatazz interjects.

We both turn to him.

He sits more squarely on his haunches, more engaged with the conversation, a hoof holding the rucksack upright as he raises a thoughtful eyebrow. “It worked for the Element Bearers, and all they had to do was believe in each other.”

“We aren’t them,” Amber insists, sounding evermore despairing. “Maybe that’s how things were once upon a time, but not anymore. If they were, none of us would be here.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do, and you do too. Both of you.” Her focus switches back to me, practically begging. “There are some things you just can’t change, however hard you wish, however hard you try. Believe me, I know.”

“How?” I demand.

She doesn’t answer, instead shaking her head once more in rueful silence. “This won’t end well.”

I pause for a long while, steeling myself against that nagging, doubtful little whisper at the back of my mind she’s calling to. “Maybe not,” I admit, though I try not to believe it, “but we’re doing it anyway. I didn’t give up on you, and I’m not about to start with a hundred other lives on the line. A good person sees the odds and fights on regardless.”

“A smart pony doesn’t.”

The whisper grows a little louder, but still I ignore it. No more fears. No more doubts. So, I lean closer, eyes locked with hers, and candidly reply, “I’m not a pony.”

She stays on me for a while, searching for something — any lingering shreds of reservation — but eventually relents; either I hid my misgivings well, shameful as they are, or she can’t be bothered. In any case, she lowers her gaze and looks…

Broken.

It tears me apart to see her like that, but I know deep down she agrees with me. She has to, or else she’d be putting up more of a struggle. I look up to Razzmatazz. “Can you find them?”

He pauses, then nods. “Aye,” he says, an adventurous smirk growing on his lips. “I think I can.”

2.7 | A Price to Pay

Two diamond dogs plod up the staircase, a changeling following them overhead, its carapace open and wings buzzing, lighting the way with a sunstone headlamp. The large dog walks on two legs, armoured like Rex had been, but holding its shield in its paw, and wields the same style of axe the statues used. The squat one, however, shorter than me by a head, walks on all fours and makes do only with a helmet and padded vest. It’s easy to mistake it for being unarmed if it weren’t for a quiver of barbed javelins slung across its back.

They march and fly with purpose, scanning left and right, keeping eyes on their flanks despite the narrowing walls on either side; they don’t want to miss anything. The dogs slow every dozen paces or so to test the air, and the changeling takes the opportunity to adjust the headlamp or dust itself off. None of them talk, however, too focussed on their task for idle chatter.

It’s rather unnerving, watching them gradually pass. They probably won’t see us, hidden in the dark of this small offshoot tunnel on their right, but they seem professional. Trained, experienced — whatever I’m supposed to call it. Everything we aren’t. For all I know, they’ve been preparing their whole lives for this job, working with each other, forming bonds, understanding each other’s mindsets. Twenty years is a long time, after all.

As for me, I’d met one of my companions just an hour ago, and the other… no more than three weeks earlier. At least, I think that’s how long it’s been.

Regardless, neither timeframe’s enough to really get to know someone, are they?

But eventually, the patrol passes by, and the golden light of their sunstone with it, and I remind myself to not think too hard, lest I put us all in danger like I had in the Hall of Stories, or whatever the original builders called it.

I wait until they’re completely out of sight, and then until the sounds of their footsteps, armour, and humming wings have faded, and then a minute or two after that, just to be safe, before I shuffle out. Instantly, the air feels lighter and easier to breathe, though it’s dry, and motes of dust hover like mayflies. But I relish the feeling of being able to spread my arms out wide — the first time in the last fifteen minutes, I reckon. Fifteen nerve-wracking minutes where the only thing keeping me from freaking out was the knowledge that there are people somewhere in this forsaken place who’re worse off than me.

Responsibility isn’t my jam. It never has been, and I don’t think it ever really will be. But I’m not doing this because it’s my responsibility, either to myself, Selene, or the slaves, I’m doing this because it’s the right thing to do. If we leave, so does everyone else. It’s not fair otherwise.

And standing in this winding staircase, I don’t need Razzmatazz to tell me where to go next. I can hear it loud and clear from below, where a strong orange glow illuminates the exit: the faint clink of metal chipping away at stone; the occasional bark of an order; the crack of a whip; the cry that follows.

I glance behind me, double-checking patrol has well and truly left, then to the tunnel, where Razzmatazz creeps out and into the stairway, and Amber on his tail, and then I start descending. I keep close to the wall and angle my body on instinct, minimising my profile as much as possible, what good it’d do me should another guard stand by the entrance and simply look up. But there isn’t a guard there, and no one’s looking up; we’re safe for now, and that’s all that matters.

Baby steps, as Selene once said.

The passageway itself is about as wide as the average bedroom, if quite a bit taller, but the ceiling, walls and stairs are irregular and crudely carved. There are no decorations, no sense of style or pride, just rounded edges and uneven surfaces, and steps that are annoyingly tricky to cross with any sense of rhythm.

Either the old masons were more concerned for function over form in this part of the city, or it was made by another, more recent set of hands. Or paws, as the case may be. I’m leaning toward the former option, though; I get the feeling these people are more rebel than colonist. Under Duke’s leadership, at least.

Finally, I reach the bottom, and the clinking and barking and cracking are louder, each impact and shout and echoing snap plucking at my nerves like a harp, trying their best to whittle me down. But on I press, crouching lower, sneaking across a fine layer of pebbles and powder as I make my way to the entrance. I look left and right before I exit, and once I see the coast is clear, I ease myself onto my hands and knees, careful with my bad leg, then clench my teeth as I crawl forward to the edge of this outcrop. And what I see when I lie down and peer over… equally awes and sickens me.

Another huge cavern, and while it’s nowhere near as expansive as the first one I saw, it’s still intimidating; a giant, layered pit, rather than an impossibly long trench, like a football stadium. But there’s no cheer to be had here.

On every level, an armoured dog oversees a group of ten or so miners. Ponies make up the vast majority of the workforce, their fur and hair of all colours and styles marred by dirt, grit and sweat. Some swing their pickaxes like a normal human would, others use their mouths, and a rare few their magic. But there are others too — creatures I can’t rightly put a name to with absolute certainty from this high up, in case I get them wrong; the only one I recognise is a minotaur, cloven-hoofed and black all over.

A dozen yaks — normal-looking, for all intents and purposes — haul baskets of rocks away from the teams and down the levels the bottom, where more ponies sift through the piles left for them. But these seem… different; their colours are washed-out, and their coats and manes glisten in the light, like glitter. Dust from the ore, most likely.

A dog at the bottom on the far end toys with a whip in its paws, looking smug as two changelings drag a limp, snivelling form away. Ziggy, I realise — no other dog has a coat as grey as his. Duke’s right hand man, by the looks of it, and he doesn’t seem too unhappy with the current state of affairs.

If there’s to be a coup, it can’t come soon enough.

I blink and assess the situation more thoroughly; about a hundred captives, less than twenty guards. No walk in the park by any stretch of the imagination, but not entirely impossible. After all, where there’s a will, there’s a way.

I can’t be that…

…Best not finish that thought.

Amber and Razzmatazz sidle up on either side, careful and quiet, and peer over the edge with me. There’s a tense pause as they too make their assessments, she as disturbed as I was, and he the most composed among us.

In fact, he seems almost… determined. Resolute. From a certain angle, keen. His eyes betray a subtle glint of trepidation, as do his parting lips, but there’s daring in them too, and his mouth stretches into a very faint, very small smirk; he doesn’t just see an obstacle, but a challenge. And then he turns to me, and the smirk becomes more confident. “You’re a bold one,” he says, nodding in approval. “I like that.”

Just like Selene perking up outside the house at how I’d accepted her deal, hearing something similar from him does nothing to ease my mind.

“Are you insane?” Amber hisses, staring at us with wide, anxious eyes, then glances at the pit again. “Sweet Selene, look at it. What’re we supposed to do?”

“Help them,” Razzmatazz answers straightforwardly.

“But how? It’s just three of us against all those dogs and changelings, and they’re armed and armoured. What do we have?”

“Hope.”

She baulks. “What hope? Since when does hope change anything?”

“We can’t leave them, Amber,” I interrupt, feeling the dread inside me well up again, like I’d knowingly doomed us all. “If we were in their place, we’d want someone to help us too.”

She meets my gaze wearily, burned-out from the arguing and the stress. Even the sapphire blue of her almost luminous eyes seems to have dulled. It’s a look that tears at me — begs me to listen, because I’m teetering on a cliff’s edge, and she wants to talk me down before I jump.

She slowly shakes her head, ears flat and brows upturned. “It can’t be done.”

I turn to the mine once more. Shackles are clamped around everyone’s ankles, rattling as they walk or shift their feet to swing their pickaxe. A dog smacks a creature that looks like a griffon across their beak, sending them staggering to the floor. A changeling prods a yak with a spear to get them moving again, even when it’s clear to all how exhausted they are. Ziggy beckons for the next insubordinate slave — a ponylike creature with frilly mane and scales on its back — with a small, sadistic wave of his paw.

Twenty years.

For twenty years, they’ve been doing this, knowing it’s bad, knowing they’re hurting the wrong people for the wrong reasons, and persisting anyway. Some of the captives in this chamber may have been here from the very start.

Who knows how many slaves they’ve worked to breaking point — how many lives they’ve stolen from friends and family, only for them wind up in this damp, dark, dusty ditch, treated no better than the tools they use, and replaced just as easily. Spared no punishment. Cast aside. Forgotten.

“Aut inveniam viam aut faciam.”

She blinks, an ear rising a meagre fraction.

I return to her with a soft, yet determined frown. “We’ll find a way or make one.”

She continues to stare, looking…

Betrayed…

I switch to Razzmatazz before my heart leaps to my throat. “Is there an exit here?”

He nods, pointing with a hoof as well as he can to a tunnel entrance on one of the lower levels, large enough for maybe only two at a time; three, if everyone squeezed, or a single yak, large dog or minotaur. “The river’s not far down there. All we need to do is make sure we’re not spotted.”

“Any ideas?”

He shrugs. “Pick off the stragglers?”

“Start small, work our way up?”

He nods again. “Sounds like a plan.”

“Good.” I nod in turn, taking a moment to fathom what I’d just agreed to, then look to Amber.

She appears dismal, her despondent gaze travelling from one end of the pit to the other, growing ever more hopeless. She’s not about to quit — and when our guide’s on my side of the debate, I don’t suppose she can — but she’s absolutely daunted by the task ahead.

So am I. I guess I’m just better at hiding it. “Amber.”

She slowly comes back to me.

“We can’t do this without you.”

She pauses, then morosely shakes her head. “I can’t fight.”

“If we have the element of surprise, we won’t need to.”

“If.”

I shut my mouth. Yes, that’s definitely a very big if — better to have said when — but I can’t back down. “Please, Amber. I need you on this. Together.”

Her ears twitch, and her eyes gradually go from pleading to peeved, brows lowering to a frown. I’d struck another nerve, and this one’s genuine. “You say that again, I’ll chip another tooth.”

I nod understandingly. At least she’s out of her funk. “Is that a yes?”

She winces faintly — perhaps in surprise, though I can’t rightly say at what — and goes back to analysing the situation. And I can tell she’s trying to see everything the same way twice, and failing; it seems more tangible now, and if it can be hit, it can be broken. Daunting, no matter how anyone slices it, but in the same way Selene was by the lake: beyond reproach at first, and then fair game.

I feel horrible, pushing her buttons so deliberately and knowing what response I’d get. But if it needs to happen so we can help the many… I suppose, in this very rare and singular instance… the ends do justify the means. Or at least, they should.

It’s not a bad thing to do, is it?

…Or does the fact I have to ask myself that mean I already know the answer?

“Fine,” Amber grouses, shaking her head and rolling her eyes, then returns to me. “Screw it, we’re doing this.”

“Well,” Razzmatazz laughs, “that was fast.”

“Shut your face or I’ll bite it off.”

His grin falls.

She continues scowling at him, making sure the warning sticks, then takes a fleeting glance at me, which turns into a long, pensive stare. “This still won’t end well.”

“Only one way to find out,” I say, hoping to feel more resolute, and I’m not sure if it works.

We creep along the deserted floor beneath our initial lookout point, about five or six generous strides wide from wall to drop-off; plenty of distance, unlike the airship highway Chitin led me down, and that’s something I can be thankful for. There are only a few sunstone lanterns we have to watch out for too — the majority concentrated where the work is below. A small alcove here and there offer additional shelter, where the workers dug deeper to find whatever ore, gems or precious stones they were after.

Funny, how the shadows are scary when I just want to get to the fridge late at night, but as soon as I need to get from point A to B without being seen, that fear more or less goes away. I guess there’s some kind of anxiety pecking order at work, prioritising one phobia above the others.

Whatever the case may be, we continue to sneak as far from the edge as possible. I take up the centre, Razzmatazz ahead, and Amber behind. Both ponies walk with their heads lowered while I walk with a hunch. All of us are careful with our footing, wary of any loose rocks we might send skidding, or crevices we might trip up on and twist our ankles.

But Razzmatazz doesn’t do any of that; he’s as surefooted as they come, never once looking down except to slake his interest for a broken pickaxe we pass, as if this were a walk in the park for him. A dangerous walk in a perilous park, granted — he acknowledges that by behaving the same as Amber and I — but he never misses a step, as if he knows the place like the back of his hand. Or hoof.

If Amber hadn’t put faith in his navigational abilities from the start, I’d be growing suspicious right about now. I’m still curious, of course, but at least I’m sure he’s not leading us into a trap. He’s had plenty of opportunities to do that before, and it wouldn’t make sense to start now.

Eventually, the end of the our level comes into view, as well as the tell-tale clink of chains and metal on stone; we’re approaching the closest and most isolated group. And the anticipation builds — there’s a tightness in my chest, knowing what’s about to happen, how much is at stake, and not just for myself. And on top of that, there’s the knowledge that, for any of this to work… we’ll probably have to hurt someone.

Someone who might just be doing a job, like Chitin.

Someone who might bear no ill will towards me, like the guard Amber knocked out.

Someone who might not totally agree with what they’re doing, like Rex and Rostrum.

More realisations, more dread; there are no mindless goons here, just people. Bad people, twisted by false ideals and corrupt worldviews, but people all the same.

But if they get in the way of justice…

…They’ve brought this on themselves.

Razzmatazz sinks to the ground like a tiger stalking its prey and Amber and I follow suit, each step now slower and more deliberate than they were already. My knee’s good enough to bend, but too far in and the pain stings like a needle straight through, making me grimace and hitch my breath every so often. Hopefully not loud enough for anyone to hear.

But as we approach the ledge, fortune appears to favour us.

A lone dog of medium build, wearing no armour and armed with only a spear and shoulder-mounted shield, watches over a group of three: a pony, a griffon, and the minotaur. They swing and chip away at what I can only assume is the start of a new tunnel. They’ve already made it a solid metre in. The dog hasn’t heard us or caught our scent yet — too much noise and dust in the air, I suppose.

Good. That’s good. Very… very good.

Now all we have to do is… well…

Subdue it.

And risk everyone and everything we’re trying to save.

Much, much easier said than done, but… we’ve made it this far. And by breaking out of the cell, we’ve already crossed the Rubicon. We have no choice.

I look over my shoulder to the right.

Amber continues staring at the scene before her with a taut expression for a moment, but notices I’ve turned away and meets my gaze.

I don’t say anything. Not just in case I might be heard, but because I don’t need to.

She knows what I’m asking for.

It’s not her face that changes, or the angle of her ears, or anything else about her I can see; it’s in the air between us — a connection neither of us want to sever, but it’s sure as hell being stretched to breaking point. And the more I ask, the more that connection’s strained.

But with a soft, silent, outward breath through her snout, she goes back to the scene before us. And, just as quiet, she slowly, carefully shimmies closer to the edge, lifting her belly from the floor, wings tensing and opening a fraction — maybe only a handspan away from her body on either side. Eventually, she finds herself perched like a gargoyle, neck low, ears alert, waiting for the right moment to strike.

Unlike a gargoyle, however, her heart isn’t made of stone; her delay’s less about opportunity than it is about steeling her nerves. She may hide it behind that brooding, stalwart mask, but her eyes betray her. She tries assuring herself, convincing herself there’s no other way; it’s the right thing to do, and she can do this. But there’s doubt in her mind, and fear. This could go so very wrong so very quickly, and it all hinges on her.

And I’ve put her in that position.

…This is wrong, isn’t it?

I should… stop this, shouldn’t I?

But before I’m able, she leans forward and leaps off.

My voice is sucked back into my lungs like water down a drain before it even reaches my throat.

She sails through the air for what feels like an eternity, rear hooves aimed for the guard’s back, forelegs bracing herself, falling with wings unfurled, but limp and trailing behind uselessly.

The only warning the dog’s given — to which his ears perk and his head slightly turns — is the faint scrape of hooves of rock, and rush of wind through feathers. But by the time he realises there may be something more to those sounds, a little under two nerve-wracking seconds later, it’s already too late.

Amber sends him straight to the floor, flopping forward with a heavy thud, head slamming into the ground without so much as a startled whimper. She keels over from the force of the impact, landing awkwardly on her shoulder and skidding a short distance away from him, kept from rolling by the bag on her back. And by the pained look on her face — wide-eyed, ears low, mouth clasped shut — she’s this close to yelping herself.

The prisoners stop their mining and turn around.

Work continues as usual in the rest of the pit.

Somehow, we’d done it.

Amber sways onto her stomach, and from there, slowly, unsteadily heaves herself up to her elbows, grimacing as she gathers the strength to rise any higher.

The prisoners watch on for a few seconds more, before the minotaur kneels and, just like that, breaks off his shackles with a metallic snap as if they were plastic. He does the same for the pony and the griffon, who simply stare at him and Amber in bemusement, and when he’s done with them, he strides over to her.

She takes notice, observing him from over her shoulder in silent alarm.

My insides hollow. Icy talons run down my spine.

But all he does, much to everyone’s relief, is kneel once more and offer a hand.

Amber hesitates, glancing from his small, beady eyes to the massive, open palm in front of her and back again. But she doesn’t accept, instead slowly, unsteadily lurching to her hooves and standing shakily, facing him, a wing drooping, its feathers ruffled.

The minotaur rises with her, letting his hand fall by his side again, showing no outward reaction to her rebuttal — neither smiling nor frowning, merely accepting things as they were. And when he’s satisfied she needs no further attention, he turns to Razzmatazz and I and stands under the ledge with arms outstretched, beckoning us down.

Razzmatazz looks to me with a raised eyebrow and an approving smirk, lightly bobbing his head. “Not bad at all,” he whispers, before shuffling forward, sitting on his rump, and sliding off and falling into the minotaur’s waiting grasp, who cradles him to the floor.

The words don’t sit well with me, like a pebble in my shoe, and they only grow more upsetting when I look at Amber again and how she’s nursing her wing and dusting herself off. But now’s not the time for that. I need to focus. So, I shimmy over and sit on the ledge, then hop down when the minotaur’s ready again.

He catches me under the arms, not unlike a baby, and I feel just as fragile in his grip as he carefully sets me down and lets me go. And as he returns to full height, I’m left in awe, my jaw dropping.

He’s easily as tall as any of the bigger dogs, and while he lacks their claws and teeth, and his horns have been shaved to a nub, he shares their strength. Even through the fur covering his torso, denser and shaggier from the waist down, his muscles are sculpted like a bodybuilder. I wouldn’t be surprised if he could shove his fist through a solid brick wall without flinching.

“Thanks,” I weakly mutter.

He merely nods, unphased, giving a small grunt from his dust-covered, bovine snout.

The strong, silent type. We can work with that. Intimidating, but better on our side than not.

I nod as well, then turn to Amber, who’s still tending to her wing, and cautiously wander over, careful to steer clear of the unconscious guard. “You okay?”

“What does it look like?”

I shut my mouth, but don’t respond. I need to give her a moment to blow off the steam.

She sits on her haunches, frowning at the ground as she kneads the joint and all the points around it as best she can with her hooves. “No, I’m not,” she corrects, softening her tone, but still agitated. “Landed wrong.”

“Anything serious?”

A pause. “Nothing a day’s rest can’t fix,” she huffs, then looks up at me and shakes her head, eyes revealing just how scared she’d been. “Please don’t ask me to do that again.”

“I won’t,” I answer automatically, and feel all the better for it. Then I look behind me to the minotaur. “I don’t think I’ll need to, anyway.”

He bows his head.

“But you have to admit, that was pretty darn impressive” Razzmatazz chimes in, standing beside me, gesturing to the guard. “Not anyone can take out a dog like that.”

Amber follows his gaze, and her massage stops after a short while as she lingers on her fallen opponent. Her frown grows troubled. “Let’s just… keep going,” she mumbles, now sharing that frown with us. “The sooner we’re done, the better.”

I nod once more, choosing not to dwell on any of this, and turn my attention to the griffon and the pony still frozen in place at the entrance of the tunnel. The pony — a unicorn, I realise, taller than Razzmatazz and Amber by at least half a head, and more slender — stares on in disbelief at the guard. The griffon, however, about as tall and white all over, is focussed on me. Together, they remain perfectly quiet, mouths agape as they continue processing what’s happened.

But there’s no time to dawdle. “What about you two?”

They glance at each other, somewhat stunned I’d acknowledged their existence.

“Are you coming or what?”

They share another glance, hesitating still, but when the unicorn meets my gaze again, she shuts her mouth and upturns her brows, then bows and shakes her head as she stiffly backs away. Her midnight blue coat and mane of a paler shade blend well with the shadows — so well she’s almost pitch black in the shelter of the tunnel.

The griffon watches her retreat without a word, as shocked as I am, but then blinks and looks to me once more. His beak and claws are a silvery grey, and markings of a similar hue dot the plumage on the snout and around lilac eyes, which betray a sense of regret — the very same I feel. But with an inward breath and a shuffle of his wings, he plods his way toward us.

Two would leave, one would stay a slave; so far, an attrition rate of thirty-three percent. Not ideal in any circumstance. I wish we had time to argue this with her, but we don’t. Maybe if we take out more guards — build momentum, show her we mean business — then she’d be more receptive. Trying to escape couldn’t be worse than this.

Yeah, we’ll come back for her. No one left gets behind. Not if I can help it.

“We set?” I ask the group.

There’s a pause as they all share even more looks between themselves, some apprehensive, one stoic, one eager, and they all mumble or nod in agreement.

“Good.” I nod in turn. “Then let’s get this show on the road.”

The dog’s ears twitch when it hears the sound of gravel shifting from the cavern behind it, and it turns its head up the slope to the entrance. Whether it saw me hurriedly duck behind the corner, I can’t say, but deep in my pounding heart, I somehow know.

“You sure about this?”

I peer down at Amber through the gloom.

Her eyes catch the ambient light radiating from outside. Despite her brave façade, I can tell she’s as scared as me. Neither of us let it show, though, and I’m pretty sure it’s for the same reason: fear’s a sickness, and we can’t let it spread.

“No,” I answer quietly, and then I press my back against the wall as a hear and feel the heavy, padded footsteps of the dog approaching. But I don’t move; it’d give chase, and that wouldn’t do us any good. Better to just stay here and stick to the plan, even though my muscles, nerves, and every fibre of my being screams for me to bolt.

Its shadow creeps through the opening, and then its bare foot, and then the other, and then the trousers, tunic, armour and axe, and it quickly catches sight of us. A deep frown creeps across its brows beneath the visored helmet — a plainer version without the plume or scale patterning — and it stands quietly on its hindlegs, towering over and watching us closely.

We simply stare back.

And in the momentary and relative peace, I somehow get the impression it is a she. Compared to the Topaz brothers, her teeth are less pronounced, and her features are softer, even with the fur and the shadows keeping everything from clarity. She isn’t as bulky as them either. Still intimidating, to be sure, else I wouldn’t feel so cold, but not as thick in the arms or torso.

I suppose some differences are universal, even between dimensions.

“You picked the wrong side, human,” she rumbles.

My gaze hardens in response, and I suddenly don’t feel so cold. “Doesn’t look that way to me.”

She opens her mouth again, either to reply or call for help, but before she can, an arm as big and strong as hers wraps around her throat and yanks her into the darkness. There’s a struggle on the floor; feet and hooves flail about. The fuzzy silhouette of a pony grapples dangerously with her axe as a griffon heaves a rock above her head, and with the dull thump of stone on metal, a sudden stillness descends on the cavern. And finally, there’s silence once more.

“She’s out,” Razzmatazz announces, retrieving the axe from the dog’s paw and hobbling toward Amber and I with it clasped to his chest. He pants lightly through his nose and, but doesn’t seem too bothered overall, even looking directly at me with a hint of a smile. “We’re in the clear.”

“Good,” I say, and I’m surprised to find myself mean it as I relax from the wall and peek around the corner again.

Seven ponies, two more griffons, and another of those ponylike creatures with a frilly mane and scaly back. One of their number watches the entrance with a single eye — the other patched over with a bandage. Before long, the whole group’s turned in our direction, all with desperate looks on their faces.

I’m more than happy to oblige. They’ve waited far too long for this. “Someone grab the shield too — we might need it at some point.”

“Way ahead of you,” Amber answers, trotting over to the massive, limp form and the griffon already fiddling with the straps.

And then the thought strikes that we’re basically stealing. Alternatives like requisitioning and appropriating come to mind, but they’re nicer, more flowery words for the same action. The dog’s not innocent, and if she woke, she’d more than likely do everything she could to hurt or hinder us. And yet… I can’t help asking myself if it’s the right thing to do.

Everyone else certainly thinks so, or they wouldn’t be giving the minotaur the axe and shield.

But we’re gaining momentum and we’re gaining confidence, and seeing that final, thankful ray of hope in those captives’ eyes makes me all the more determined to see this through to the end. I can do this. We can do this. And we’ll be coming back for that unicorn before it’s all over. We just need a little luck.

The changeling buzzes past the corner, and upon seeing our motley crew of fifteen on its left, is immediately welcomed by a swift and decisive punch. It flies back, hitting the opposite wall, then slumps to the floor, unconscious. The spear it carried is claimed and passed down, and our resident minotaur flexes his hand while he keeps an eye on the comatose guard, his axe held alongside the shield for the time being.

With the threat cleared, the white griffon steps closer and peers around the bend. “One more,” he whispers. “Diamond dog, medium build, lightly armoured. Four slaves.”

This’ll be the last of the outlying groups, by Razzmatazz’s reckoning. Afterwards, things will be markedly more difficult without alerting anyone, not that it wasn’t hard enough already.

“What about Libby?”

The group collectively turns to a pony behind me, somewhere towards the centre. A male, judging by the voice, and now there’s a sample to choose from, I can tell the differences between them. As a whole, they seem to be more or less about the same build, even the unicorns — the one up top must’ve been an exception — but the males have broader, more robust snouts.

This unicorn has a cream-coloured coat and a wavy, windswept mane of soft yellows and oranges, and watches the griffon closely with turquoise eyes. “My wife, Liberty Belle. Do you see her? Pegasus, pink coat, green mane?”

A terrible sinking feeling overwhelms me.

“No, sorry,” the griffon replies, going back to way ahead. “Only two ponies, and one’s…”

His sudden silence is deafening, but it manages to shake me out of my momentary stupor and I look to him again. “What?” I ask, anxious to take a gander myself. “What do you see?”

“Is it her?” the pony questions.

Still, the griffon remains quiet, and from the angle I have on him, I can see his eyes wide and beak agape with shock. Not the paralysing, fearful kind, but the dangerously enraptured sort; a volatile mixture on a knife’s edge, waiting to slip.

He’s seen something, and he wants to take action.

Amber’s the closest to him, and she sees the unpredictable tick as well. “Don’t do it,” she warns at a whisper’s pitch, shaking her head with her ears angled back. “I know what you’re thinking, but don’t you dare.”

But he doesn’t seem to hear, and a second or two later, he darts ahead.

The minotaur, Amber and I all reach as far and as fast as we can, but none of us are quick enough, and the escapees behind us do the best they can to stifle their collective gasp. We can only watch and listen in horror, and a ghastly chill strikes me like lightning.

The griffon gallops onward in bounds and leaps, wings unfurled but tense and close to his sides, like a diving hawk, and neck low like a prowling lion. None of this feels planned, more… reflexive. Impulsive. Instinctual. As if he’d been reduced to little more than an animal — which, in a way, I suppose we all had been. But this wasn’t fear he was acting on: this was rage. A silent fury that didn’t care how much noise it made on the rocky, scraggly ground.

The guard looks over his shoulder, then baulks and spins about hurriedly, readying his spear.

But the griffon’s quicker on the draw and pounces, ramming the dog over with a solid, weighty shove to the chest, then grabs the shaft of the spear in both foreclaws and presses it against his throat.

A new chill strikes me and I dash out of cover toward them, hunched over to keep myself from being seen by anyone down below. Amber follows, and maybe one or two more — I don’t check.

The guard struggles for breath. The griffon doesn’t relent.

“No!” I hiss through grit teeth, gripping his shoulders and frantically trying to yank him away.

He looks to me with a livid glower, but the anger’s not directed at me; the confusion is, however, but he only lets go when he feels a second pair of hands — or hooves — wraps around his chest and neck. He staggers back a few steps on his hindlegs, before resting on all fours again and blinking at myself and Amber in confounded anger. “What do you mean?” he demands, glancing between us, then gestures to the dog on his back with a paw to his throat. “He’s the enemy, isn’t he?”

“He is.” I nod, and take the opportunity to sneak another glimpse of the guard in question. “But we’re not taking it that far.”

He watches me with a frightened frown, as perplexed as the griffon, but quietly thankful.

Amber watches me with a frown of her own from the corner of her eye. Whether or not she agrees with me, I can’t tell, but I know she doesn’t like being put on the spot like this, forced to stand by me while I draw a line in the sand.

“You think they care how righteous you are?” the griffon spits, sweeping a wing to the pit below. “Look around you! That’s the extent of their mercy! I’ve suffered through it for I don’t know how long, and I haven’t seen Snowball in all that time, and if anyone threatens him…”

I wait expectantly, even though I loathe what I’m sure he’s trying to say, but I soon notice his gaze has been drawn to something behind me, and I turn to follow it.

Another earth pony, pale blue in the coat, blonde in the mane, stares back at him in disbelief with wide, peachy eyes.

The griffon waits a few moments more, and then walks, then trots, then canters closer, and when they’re within reach of each other, they wrap a foreleg around the other’s nape. They rest their foreheads together. They close their eyes and breathe stuttered breaths. And they sniffle.

Feeling a lump deep in the back of my throat, I swallow, but my mouth’s dry. This is a reunion. Between whom, I can’t exactly say, and it’s not the right time to ask either. I need to focus — distance myself from the raw, vulnerable scene happening there and figure out what to do next.

The group has slowly trickled through, the rest are still behind the corner. Half look to me, including Razzmatazz, and half watch the pony and griffon share a tender embrace. All look troubled to some degree, except the minotaur, who’s as silent and stoic as always.

“You,” I gesture to him, “break the chains.”

“No,” a feeble voice pleads.

I look down to the guard.

He pulls a twine loop over his head and offers it to me, a key dangling at its end. “Take them, please. Just don’t hurt me.”

I hesitate, caught on whether this was some kind of ruse, considering the hostility pretty much every other dog and changeling. But then I ask myself whether I can afford to question it, and I cautiously accept the offer. “Hey, big guy?”

The minotaur grunts.

“Keep an eye on this one. If he tries anything…”

“I won’t, I promise!”

I slowly shake my head. “Can’t take that risk.”

His ears droop as the minotaur looms over us both.

I leave the two alone, trudging over to the slaves. It… intrigues me how effortless saying all that was, but I try not to dwell on any of it. Once this is all over, maybe, but not a second sooner. Instead, I concentrate on making sure I don’t step on any loose rocks. Despite the comfortable distance from the wall on my left to the edge on my right, it’s quite a drop to the next tier, and no one needs to hear me shriek.

“Hey.”

I glance to my right and see Amber looking back as she walks alongside me. There’s an uneasy crease in her brows and a steadfast glint in her eyes.

“We need to talk.”

“No, we don’t.” I kneel by Snowball’s hindlegs and hope I’m not making either he or the griffon uncomfortable as I unlock the shackles. They’ve rubbed his fur on his ankles down the skin, red and raw. I’m sure I hear a relieved sigh come from him as I pull them loose.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

“It’s nothing,” I mutter, unlocking the second. And then I stand up and start moving to the next prisoner — a hippogriff, it seems, with the back end of a horse as opposed to a lion, and about as tall as Selene. This one reminds me of a whimsical painting of the seashore.

“We do,” Amber insists, still following. “You just don’t want to.”

“Can’t this wait?” I snap, flashing her a warning frown as I kneel again.

“No, it can’t,” she snaps back, unphased. “Because what you’re doing… it’s unsustainable.”

“We’ll make it work.”

“Oh, for the love of…” She purses her lips and glances away. “Do you even hear yourself?”

“Loud and clear.” The shackles on the hippogriff come free and I stand up and stride for the next: a griffon with the colours and patterns of bald eagle. “If that’s all you wanted to say—”

“Whether you want to admit it or not, that griffon has a point.” She shadows me still. “If you want to keep doing this, you’ll have to make sacrifices. You can’t just hope everything’s going to go right when this is our only chance and everypony’s lives are on the line. There’ll be at least one guard we can’t sneak past or put to sleep, and they won’t turn a blind eye even if we ask them nicely.”

Another pair of shackles fall to the floor, and I march for the next: a grey pegasus with dark hair and wide, lime green eyes. He watches me with furrowed brows as I approach — a troubled frown of some description. Probably trying to figure out what I am.

“You’re playing with fire, and sooner or later, you’re going to get your hooves burned. Either we cut our losses and we save who we can, or… things get messy. But whatever we do, none of us are walking out of here with a clean conscience.”

“The only reason we can’t is because you say we can’t,” I retort, spinning to and shooting her a glower as soon as the fourth pair of shackles have come loose. I’d shout if it were possible. “I say we can. We’re doing this, Amber. We’ve come too far to give up now.”

“But you will,” a third voice murmurs.

Amber’s the first to look, and slowly, I turn around to face the speaker.

The pegasus continues staring at me and me alone. And it’s an unsettling stare, as if he recognises me, and somehow pities me. Despairs for me. Knows what he’s about to do will hurt me. And then he gives a small, gentle shake of the head, ears folding down. “You should’ve stayed in your cell, Adam.”

I blink, taken aback, then squint and lean in as my lips curl to ask how exactly he knew my name. But the answer hits me like a hammer on an anvil before I have the mind to ask, and the chill from the shock of it makes me fall on my rear, hands propping me up. My mouth’s drier than it’s ever felt before, and I’m starting to feel a shudder emanate from my chest — all the bottled-up tension finally finding a moment of weakness where it can let itself loose.

But… it couldn’t really be… could it?

“…Chitin?”

He pauses in silent acknowledgement. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles, shaking his head, and then turns to stride and leap off the edge.

I reach out a hand to its fullest extent. “No, wait, Chitin, please!”

Just before he jumps up, he skids to a halt on the very brink, tiny pebbles and a layer of dust sliding off in his stead. His forward half’s low, his wings unfurled and standing tall, and his eyes shut in a pained grimace.

I’ve caught his attention. I only need to hold it, and from there, convince him. “Please,” I beg, no louder than a breath, “please, just… look at me.”

Slowly, reluctantly, as if they very thought were hurting him, he opens his eyes and angles his head in our direction.

I’m holding it. Just one more step to go. And like I’d done with Amber by the lake, the only way I can think of doing it’s by appealing to his better nature — a side of him I know he has. I saw it firsthand. It was fleeting, it was hollow, but I saw it. “Look at us,” I implore, peering over my shoulder.

Razzmatazz sits by the dog, trying to make conversation, and appears to be met with some success, even if the unfortunate guard’s still wary of the minotaur staring down at him. The rest of the group mill about, murmuring amongst themselves, pony, griffon, hippogriff, and others alike, careful not to make too much noise and stand too close to the drop. A few look our way curiously, each lingering once they’ve recognised something’s gone wrong, but thankfully, none spread their fear down the line. Amber simply watches on without a word, letting me speak my piece.

“We’re not your enemy,” I urge, voice quavering as I return to the imitation in front of me. “We don’t mean you any harm. I’m just a kid from Canada, and all I want to do is go home — that’s the only reason I’m working with her. I didn’t choose this.”

“Nor did I.”

I pause, and I realise how demonstrably false his response is. But if I call him out, I’d have to call myself out as well, because I’m just as guilty in that regard. “Well, now you can.” I slowly, ever so cautiously scoot my way a little closer. “Let them go. They’ve done nothing to you and you know it. Let them go, and I’ll make sure she’s lenient. This doesn’t have to end in violence.”

There’s a long, stressful, nerve-wracking silence as I wait for the air to change — for the mood to lighten, or at least shift to something less dangerous. That had to have worked; the answer was so obvious. If the higher-ups were whispering in the dark, then surely the grunts were just as divided. And I’d offered an olive branch. There couldn’t possibly be any other alternative.

But then his gaze hardens, and the pained look fades.

My guts suddenly feel like they’ve been coated with ice.

“Tell that to her,” he snarls, and in a flash of bright green flames, a black and yellow changeling stands hunched before me, glaring with crimson eyes. It launches into the air immediately, wings buzzing, putting as much distance between itself and us as possible, crossing over to the centre of the giant pit.

I’d cry out to him, but it’s already far too late.

“THE PRISONERS! THE PRISONERS ARE HERE!”

1.2 | Signs of Life

A thin sliver of blurred light illuminates the darkness, and I realise that my eyes are finally opening. I can see smudges of colour in the corners, but no details, and I have no energy to lift my head. Whatever I’m lying on isn’t making it any easier, because it’s more comfortable than that beanie Grandma once made for me.

As my other senses awaken, I note that I am definitely not outdoors anymore; the air is cool and has a distinct lived-in smell, as well as the faint scent of freshly baked bread. My head and feet droop over what appears to be the arms of a bench. I’m also made aware that my mouth is dry to the bone, and my throat is just as parched. Trying to swallow what little saliva I have only makes my throat hurt even more.

Eventually, and with great effort, I roll my head over my shoulder and rest my chin on my chest. My sight gradually returns and I find that I am indeed sprawled on a bench, and a small camping blanket has been draped over me. My feet have been left exposed, though, and I can see I’ve been stripped of my socks and shoes.

I’d probably feel a little violated if this were any other day, but right now, I’m too tired to care, and too confused. And not nearly as relieved as I thought I would be…

Before I dwell on the thought, I squeeze a hand into my pocket and pull out my phone. To my muted dismay, it fails to turn on, though I hadn’t expected anything less; dragging them through mud and water would do that. Speaking of which, my clothes are stained with streaks of black and brown, and some patches are still a little damp.

I slump back with a groan, then look around the room.

The clay walls are painted white, bouncing the light that streams through an open window, toward which the bench is facing. My feet point to a hearth with a blackened metal rack hovering above the smouldering remains of a fire. My bag lies in front of it. A short wooden coffee table sits in the centre of the room, obviously homemade, if the irregular shape of its top is anything to go by. There’s an archway behind me leading to what I assume is a kitchen, but I can’t see it well enough to be sure. What I can see, however, is another door, heading outside.

Moving about probably isn’t the best idea, but I really don’t want to lounge around on the bench all day, and the sooner I find my saviour, the sooner I’ll find out where I am.

With a heavy sigh, I set my things on the table, then roll to my left so my arm droops and meets the floor, then my head, and then my bad knee, much to my displeasure. I really should’ve expected that — it can’t have been that long since I fell asleep. Still, it’s too late to back out now, and I don’t have the strength anyhow.

I slide a little further and grimace as the rest of my body meets the timber floor, but the pain is brief, and as I breathe out, all my energy leaves with it. Suddenly, the wood becomes as soft as warm chocolate mousse, and I remember the golden rule of life: anything’s a bed if you’re tired enough.

I knock my head on the floorboards a few times to wake myself up, then wedge my elbows under my chest and try to stand. But the second I balance on anything less than three limbs, I’m overcome with a dizziness so intense that I almost faint. Even if I lean against the bench, it strikes me down with the same sickening ferocity, and I’m forced back to the ground.

Crawling on my hands and knees fares me no better; I have to wait five minutes after every step to make sure I don’t collapse from exhaustion, because I feel more drained than waking up in hospital after surgery.

At least I’m more awake now than when I started.

After about an hour of painstakingly slow progress — or a period of time that feels that long — I pass through the arch and enter what was indeed the kitchen. It lacks the conventional appliances, like a sink, an oven, a microwave, or electricity of any kind, but it’s still, undoubtedly, a kitchen.

There’s a clay preparation counter set against the far wall, with an assortment of earthenware pots and pans and various cooking utensils sitting below it. Left and right of me are two windows, their shutters open and granting me a clear view of nothing but the sky. On my end is the door I saw from the bench, but further down is another archway, granting me a narrow view of what appears to be the pantry.

I linger on it for a moment, realising just how hungry I am, but blink and shake my head, continuing to the door. Hungry or no, this is someone else’s house, and I can’t just take something without asking first. Not anymore.

The door itself is handmade, like the table in the living room — and most things in the cottage, I suspect — with a simple handle and sliding latch, and two small pegs planted in the top and bottom of the frame, acting as its hinges. It looks like a tall picket fence, come to think of it, minus the paint and decorative flare, and if I scoot close enough, I can see through the gaps in the planks. But I didn’t come this far to dawdle.

I reach up, undo the latch and pull the door open.

A field greets me, rolling down a gentle hill in the centre of a forest clearing, with mountains blocking the horizon on the right. The ground is dry, the sun is high, and the storm has long since passed. This is definitely the house I saw, which means I’m still as far away from home as I was yesterday — assuming yesterday was when I found myself here.

With my hopes of this whole experience being a dream most bizarre well and truly dashed, I heave another sigh and try standing up again, using the doorframe for support. It’s taxing and awkward, but after a few slips and dizzy spells, I manage to stand on my own two feet. Or a foot and a half, seeing as my ankle is still rather tender.

I stay in the doorway for a while, swaying unsteadily as I grow used to being so high off the ground, and then step into the outside world. I stumble forward, but manage to catch myself before I tip over, and instead fall on my rear, wracking my brain with another headache that chimes my skull like a bell. It’s nowhere near as bad as the ones before, but pain is pain, and I’m in no mood to compare. My hands cradle my temples as I lie back on the grass.

Perhaps I’d been overzealous, trying to skip the rest and relaxation phase of my recovery. But it’s nice out here, basking in the warmth of the sun, with wispy clouds floating by, a cool breeze that brings fresh, dry air, and small birds singing in the background.

The word ‘picturesque’ comes to mind, and I have to admit, if it weren’t for my current predicament, this would be a good place to call home. For the holidays, at least — any longer and I’d probably lose what little interest I have left in the great outdoors. Yesterday had dealt a pretty savage blow on that front already.

A sound cuts through the idle doze I’ve found myself in. A voice, maybe, possibly in song, but I can’t say for certain.

I slowly roll over and look around on my hands and knees, but there’s nothing I haven’t seen before. The sky is still as blue as ever, the trees and grass still sway in the wind, and the cottage is still there on the hill, waiting for me to crawl back inside.

But then there’s a flicker of movement — just a hint — from the other side of the roof. It was brief, fleeting, but I saw it.

I pick myself up and stagger around the house, stopping to rest a moment against the wall. First impressions don’t really matter to me — besides, finding a stranger passed out on the front lawn probably wasn’t the best way to start things off — but I want to at least have the strength to stand on my own when I introduce myself, and the patience to deal with another language, just in case I’m further from home than I ever should be.

With a determined huff, I limp onwards and turn the corner.

And then I freeze.

There’s a creature in front of me.

Not the one I saw yesterday, no. This one is completely different.

It has four legs, a head, a tail, a mane, two eyes, two ears, and a snout with two nostrils and a mouth, which are all fine by themselves, but that’s where normality ends.

Its legs are unusually thick — proportionally speaking, at least — with no toes and no obvious ‘foot’, if that makes any sense.

Its head is almost perfectly rounded, like a soccer ball, but not quite.

Its tail flows like silk, but keeps its form even when there’s no reason to.

Its mane thickens at the scalp and droops over the brow, like human hair.

Its ears, though familiar enough, seem a little too plump.

Its snout is incredibly short, with a nose that seems too small for its size, and a small mouth with thin lips.

Its coat is the colour of honey, and the hair of its mane and tail remind me of fire.

And its eyes are abnormally large, with pupils bigger than my fist, and irises that are a deep, rich, regal blue in colour, like the flame of a pilot light.

It also has wings. Real birdlike wings folded at its sides.

The creature stands atop a wooden ladder leaning against the cottage, sorting out a pile of thatch on the roof. But it’s not using its mouth; it’s using its forelegs — its toeless, fingerless forelegs — picking up a bundle of straw in the bend of its ankle, or wrist, or whatever I’m supposed to call it, and replacing the older patches. Occasionally, it lowers its head and tugs at a few strands with its teeth, but that’s all.

It looks bored. And tired.

When the work is done, it spreads its forelegs to a degree any worldly quadruped would find impossible, grabs the rails of the ladder and begins descending. But as it glances down, it sees me, and stops a rung lower.

“Finally decided to wake up, did you?”

I feel my insides hollow and a chill dance across my shoulders. That thing… spoke. And it spoke to me. And I understood it. And… I feel faint.

“Something got your tail in a twist?"

My eyes and mouth are all wide open, so I shake my head and try to recompose myself. This is bizarre, sure, but… it’s bearable. I just have to come to terms with the fact that I’m face to face with a creature that I’ve never seen before that has wings and magic arm-legs and knows fluent English…

And sounds oddly feminine.

Perfectly feminine, actually. I mean, if I were listen to the voice alone, I don’t think I’d be able to tell the difference between a human and this… thing. It even sounds about my age. I don’t want to presume anything, but I’ve played enough games and seen enough shows that have pulled the same trick, so it’s hard not to.

“Well?”

I realise I’ve been staring into empty space and turn back.

The creature has an impatient look on its face. Or her face, as the case may be. “You going to introduce yourself or what?”

I lower my eyes and try to focus. Time for speculation will come later; right now, I’ve been asked a question — a very simple question — and I have the answer. All I have to do is say it. “Adam,” I reply, meeting its eyes, and I’m relieved to hear myself speak normally again, if a little croaky.

The creature waits a moment, and then angles its head and rolls a forefoot expectantly.

“Mackenna. Adam Mackenna.”

It narrows its eyes and states very frankly, “That has to be the weirdest name I’ve ever heard.”

I wince. I don’t feel so much offended as I do surprised, but I know that’s a pretty upfront thing to say to someone you’ve just met. Still, it raises an interesting question. “Well then, what’s yours?”

“Amber Dart.”

“…You’re joking, right?”

“You don’t believe me?”

I say nothing.

After a brief pause, the creature sighs. “Is it really that obvious?”

I give a slow shrug.

It looks away, staring at the distant mountains and thinking to itself, as if it’s trying to convince itself that telling the truth wouldn’t be so bad. “Trail Blazer,” it finally says, looking at me indignantly, like I’d backed it into a corner. “That’s my name: Trail Blazer.”

“…Is that, like… a stage name, or something?”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, you know, it seems a bit too… flashy, I suppose, to be a real name, so… I don’t know, is that, like, your alter ego, or whatever you want to call it?”

The creature’s eyes narrow to slits. “My alter ego?”

I shut my mouth.

“You know what? Fine.” It turns back to the ladder and finishes its descent. “Fine. Believe me, don’t believe me — what do I care? It’s not as if I saved your life or anything.”

“Wait a second, Blazer, I didn’t—”

“Don’t call me that!” it snaps, wrenching the ladder onto its side and marching on all fours towards me. “Don’t ever call me that! It’s just Amber Dart to you! You hear me?! Amber! Dart!”

I shuffle a step back. On the ground, the creature’s no taller than my shoulder, but I know it doesn’t have to be bigger than me to hurt me, and I get the feeling it would be more than willing to demonstrate.

It shoves its nose a hair’s length from mine and glares at me with its disturbingly massive eyes. “If you ever say that name again, so help me, I will kick your flank to the moon and back. So, shut up and leave me alone.”

My fears confirmed, I quickly nod.

It holds my gaze a moment longer, testing me, before blinking and striding past.

I stare ahead, waiting until the orange blur is gone from my sight, then turn my head as it disappears around the corner.

That creature, whatever it was, behaved and sounded just like a human, but wasn’t. And I feel so very scared and confused because of it. Not just because I’d lost the argument, whatever it was about, but because it means I’m not on Earth anymore. I can’t tell if this is some distant world or a parallel universe or what, but this isn’t my home, in any sense of the word. And my only source of information — my last vestige of sanity, insane as it may be — is currently walking away from me.

The front door is shut and, presumably, locked. Between the planks, I spy a shadowy figure sitting against it. Taking a deep breath, I lift my fist, then take another, and then knock.

There’s no response.

I knock again.

Still nothing. And then a faint, exasperated sigh.

“I can see you in there.”

The figure groans, “Go away.”

“You know I can’t do that.”

“Oh, it’s simple: you just turn around and start walking. Forever.”

“I just want—”

“Oh, for the love of…!” It stands up and sticks its head through the kitchen window. “What part of ‘leave me alone’ don’t you understand?!”

I flinch, but continue, “I just want to ask you something.”

“No.” It slams the shutters and latches them. “Shut up, go away, leave me alone.”

I try to keep my irritation hidden, but a frown sneaks through. Still, getting mad won’t help unless I have the upper hand, and I most definitely do not have the upper hand. I close my eyes, take another deep breath, and try again. “Listen, Blazer—”

“Amber Dart!”

“Amber, Amber, sorry, yes, Amber. I’m really sorry about what I said earlier — whatever I said — I’m just… new to this. I don’t know where I am or what you are or what the heck is going on, but this… isn’t what I’m used to. At all. So, please… can I ask you something? Just one thing. And then I’ll be out of your hair for good. Please.”

The creature makes no response for a good, long while, and then answers reluctantly, resentfully, “One question.”

Just like before, I hide my relief and focus on the task at hand. I’m walking a very fine line here, and I’ve never been the world’s best wordsmith, or ever wanted to be. I want to trust my gut, but it’s flip-flopping all over the place, and my head is this close from doing the same, because what I’m about to ask is so simple, so benign, that I have no idea how she’d react. All I can do is hope I’m saying the right words, and using the right tone. “Are you a girl?”

I’m met with a tomblike silence.

This was a stupid idea. Who was I kidding? Of course it was going to fail. Just because I survived the total shutdown of my body didn’t mean I’d have any more luck dealing with strangers, and erratic ones at that.

But then slow, hesitant footsteps approach the entry. The latch slides out, the door creeps open, and a face peeks through the gap, staring up at me with a cautious, confused expression. It feels like hours before it speaks. “What kind of dumb question is that?”

I pause, and then answer with sincerity, and a hint of desperation, “A really, really dumb one.”

Amber studies me, glancing up and down, the guarded look slowly giving way to wary interest. “Yes, I’m a girl,” she says eventually, returning her eyes to mine. “You mean you can’t tell?”

“I could guess, but… I just wanted to be sure.”

“Where did you grow up that you can’t tell the difference between a boy and a girl?”

“No, I know what the difference is, it’s just… I’ve never seen anything like you. Ever.”

“That makes two of us.”

“…So, what are you, anyway?”

“I’m a pegasus.”

“A… pegasus?”

“Yeah.”

“You mean, like… a winged horse?”

“Winged pony,” she retorts. “There haven’t been horses around here for… ages, really, let alone winged horses. And quit interrogating me. I have questions too, you know.”

I shut my mouth again and bow my head slightly.

“What’re you?”

“A human.”

She studies me again, and then shakes her head. “Never heard of them.”

…Well, that figures…

“Where are you from?”

“I’m from… out of town.”

She replies with a face of utter disapproval.

I look away in shame. In retrospect, yes, that was a needlessly cryptic way of putting it, but I don’t want to risk what little connection I have by blurting out that I may or may not have come from another dimension. I’m not really sure I believe it myself, but I know for certain she wouldn’t; she’s just not the type. Not that I’ve ever been a great judge of character, or had any experience with… creatures like her. That being said, I can’t beat around the bush forever. “I’m from—”

“Never mind.”

“…I’m sorry?”

“Never mind. You’re not from here; that’s all I need to know.”

“…And where is ‘here’, exactly?”

“Equestria.”

I stare at Amber, then straighten up and take another look at the world around me. Nothing has changed, physically speaking, but it all seems different now — somehow more… I don’t know, foreign. Peculiar. Alien.

“You really are a long way from home, aren’t you?”

I look back down at Amber to find the door a little further open. She has dark freckles across her cheeks and snout, I realise, and a hint of concern in her eyes. Just a hint. “Yeah, well, I’m not in Kansas anymore, that’s for sure,” I say with a nervous laugh, but my smile fades when I feel the fear return, crawling its way under my skin.

“I told you, I don’t need to know where you’re from.”

“It’s not where I’m from, it’s… just…”

“Just what?”

“…A phrase,” I finish. Barely. “It’s just a phrase.”

“Hey,” she stamps a foot twice on the floorboards, “you’re not going to start crying, are you?”

“No, no, I just…” I begin, but then my hands start to shake, and my breathing deepens, and my heart pounds, and my head feels both heavy and light at the same time. “I need a moment.”

“Alright.” Amber shuts and locks the door and walks away. “Knock when you’re done, okay?”

I stumble forward and lean against the house, then slide down the wall until I sit on the grass. I know I’ve been snubbed, and I know it should bother me, but I’m too overwhelmed to care right now.

I’ve never had a panic attack before. Secretly, I’ve always wondered what it’s like, but now that I do, I wish I never did. A cold sweat builds as my insides hollow and I tremble and gasp, finally understanding how dire my situation is.

I am alone, in a land I know nothing about, stuck with an injured leg and no means of treating it, and no means of contacting anyone I know. I could… not make it out here… and nobody would have any idea — to them, I’d have simply disappeared without a trace, and they’d never be the wiser.

It would almost certainly have happened already, if it weren’t for her.

Eventually, the fear subsides. It leaves me shaken to the core and breathless, but I’m not afraid anymore, just recovering. And after a while, I’m back to my regular self, staring at the land before me, chin up, arms folded, eyes half-closed.

I don’t feel dejected, so much as I feel… disappointed. In life. Because, really, what did I do to deserve this? Sure, I’ve done some stupid things in the past — some I regret, some I don’t — but so has everyone else, so why would the universe choose to banish me out of the billions of humans on planet Earth, of which there were millions more deserving?

It’s not fair.

Life never is, but this is ridiculous.

Cruel and unusual punishment of the unprovoked variety.

But it is the mark of a virtuous man, to do what he can with what has been done. Or so some bearded philosopher once wrote in his diary a couple thousand years ago. I think. Or maybe I’m mixing up my quotes and I actually saw it on a loading screen for a game. Which was quoting said philosopher. In any case, sulking will get me nowhere, not that I know my destination.

I reach out and knock on the door.

No reply.

I sigh and knock a little harder.

“Yeah-yeah, I hear you,” Amber huffs, setting something down on the living room table and walking to the kitchen. “Don’t need to tell me twice.”

Obviously, I do.

The door opens and she pokes her head out to see me. “Better yet?”

I give a thumbs-up.

She raises an eyebrow.

I glance at my hand, lower it, then look back to Amber. “Yeah, I’m better.”

“Good. Because I don’t do therapy.”

I frown slightly.

“Just putting it out there.”

“Could be a little nicer about it.”

“Excuse me, who saved who again?”

Grudgingly, I shut my mouth.

“I’m being nice enough as I am, thank you very much. If you don’t like it, you can always take that leg of yours and limp three days west, because that’s the closest hospital you’ll find around these parts, and I won’t be there to hold your hoof.”

I look down at my knee and ankle. There’s still a long way to go yet.

“It’s your choice.” She opens the door a little further and leans a shoulder on the frame. “So, are you coming inside or what?”

I duck through the doorway and re-enter the kitchen. Thankfully, the tapered shape of the roof grants me enough room to stand comfortably, otherwise my head would be scraping the ceiling.

“Quick tour,” Amber declares. “This is the kitchen, over there’s the pantry. On your left is the living room, and through there’s my bedroom. Don’t go in my bedroom.”

“Wasn’t planning to.”

“Good. At least we agree on something. Now, sit down, get some rest. I’ll be making dinner.”

“Dinner?”

She buries her face in a foreleg. “Please tell me you have dinner where you come from.”

“Well, yeah, it’s just…” I glance through the open door. “It’s a bit early, don’t you think?”

“Early?”

“It’s still midday, isn’t it?”

She blinks. “It’s six in the evening.”

I look outside again. No, it’s definitely midday.

“Seriously, have you been living under a rock all this time?”

“…Let’s say I have,” I reply, turning back. “For argument’s sake.”

Amber stares at me incredulously.

“Again, I come from a place where… this… isn’t normal. Where seeing something like you isn’t normal.”

“You don’t have pegasi where you come from?”

“Uh… Yes and no. Yes, I’ve heard of them, but no, I’ve never seen one before.”

“You were expecting flying horses.”

“Basically.”

She holds my gaze for a moment or two, then turns away and heads for the pantry. “Well, excuse me for being such a disappointment.”

“Hey, I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Oh, I’m not holding it against you. It’s not your fault you don’t know anything.”

I scowl. “I’ll be in the living room.”

“Suit yourself. Don’t touch anything.”

I duck through the archway and look around. There isn’t anything to touch, besides the bench, the table, my things, some firewood, a timber armchair I’d somehow missed, as well as a door, which I can only assume is the entrance to the bedroom. I consider taking a peek, just to snub her back, but think better of it and flop down on the bench, then pick up the blanket from the floor, roll it up and use it as a makeshift pillow. “Can I have some water too?” I ask when I’m settled.

“Sure. Whatever.”

“And some ice-cream?”

She doesn’t answer.

“And a martini, shaken, not stirred?”

“Would you like a hoof sandwich instead?”

I stifle a snicker.

“Didn’t think so.”

I wait a while for the air to clear, but I hear slow, methodical chopping from the kitchen, and a question comes to mind. “What’s for dinner, anyway?”

“Garden vegetable soup.”

“You grow your own food?”

“Yeah. So?”

“Oh, nothing, I just thought… you know, you being a… pony, right?”

“Right.”

“…That the grass would be fine enough.”

The chopping stops. “What?”

I shut my mouth.

“You think that just because I live out here, I eat grass all day?”

A pang of shame hits me. I really shouldn’t have assumed anything, and I had a feeling I was crossing a line, but it’s too late to back out now. “I just thought ponies ate grass.”

“…Well, yeah, I could… if I wanted…” she answers, returning to her work, “but it’s like an edible doormat: you wouldn’t unless you really have to.”

“Ah.” I nod to myself. “So, what do you grow?”

She sighs. “Potatoes, tomatoes, carrots, beans and cauliflower.”

“That’s all?”

“What were you expecting, a farmer’s market?”

“…No, just… more variety.”

“Too bad.”

And the attitude’s back. I sigh to myself and look about the room again, wondering what I can do to pass the time. My eyes settle on the table; my phone, which I specifically remember setting face-down, is now face-up. The dots connect, and I realise what that sound was I heard from outside.

I lean over and retrieve it and flip it over in my hands. There’s nothing wrong with it as far as I can tell — besides the fact it won’t turn on, but that’s not her fault — so there hasn’t been any harm done per se. But knowingly or unknowingly, she had tried to use something of mine without permission, and that’s something I can’t abide, no matter how ‘gracious’ a host she may be.

I frown at the archway. I could raise the issue now, but perhaps it’s best saved for later, when she can’t spit in my food. “So, it’s six o’clock, is it?” I wonder aloud, returning my phone to the table.

“Yep.”

I glance out the window. “Then why isn’t the sun setting?”

“Give it a minute.”

“You’re not using daylight savings, are you?”

She pauses again. “Daylight whatsits?”

“…Never mind.”

She waits a little longer before chopping more vegetables. “You’re not making a lick of sense. You know that, right?”

“Speak for yourself.”

“Oh really? And who’s the one who’s forgotten how the flipping sun works?”

“Then enlighten me, why don’t you?”

Amber sets down the knife and marches through to the archway, gawking at me with the same incredulous look. “You really have been living under a rock, haven’t you?”

“Please.”

“…The sun rises at six and sets at seven,” she explains sceptically. “It takes an hour to rise and an hour to set. Between then, it doesn’t move. Usually.”

“…And that’s normal here?”

“Yeah. Why? What’s normal where you’re from?”

“A sun that behaves like an actual sun. Or a planet that…” I close my eyes and rub my brows. “Never mind. This is doing my head in.”

“…Okay, so, I’ll keep making dinner, if you could just keep your mad ramblings to yourself.”

“Sure.”

“Good,” she says, then heads back into the kitchen.

A long silence permeates the house, broken only by the noise of cooking as vegetable after vegetable is diced up and poured into a container. I hear water slosh in next, and a grinding sound, and lopsided footsteps as Amber returns, holding a small pot to her chest with a foreleg. She walks to the hearth and sets the pot on the rack above it, then tosses in a few small logs, pulls out some kindling and two stones, sits down, and strikes them together.

There’s something about watching her work that I can’t help but gawk at. At first, I think it’s her impossibly flexible joints — almost humanlike, perhaps — but the longer I stare, the more I realise that it’s her front feet I find the most interesting. Specifically, how she can grab things with them, either in the bend of ankle or on the flat of her foot, and they never lose grip unless she wants them to. Like magnets that work on everything, and only on her say-so.

Sparks fly, the kindling ignites, and soon the hearth glows. Satisfied, she replaces the stones and stokes the flames with a charred stick, then turns back to the kitchen. Before she can begin walking off, however, her hindleg knocks over my backpack and she stops mid-step, glancing down at it.

“Planning on having an adventure, were you?” Amber probes, raising an eyebrow at me.

I hesitate. “Not like this, no.”

“Hmm.” She tosses the bag to me. “Well, here you go.”

It lands in my lap and I reach down to retrieve it.

“And don’t worry, I didn’t look through it.”

I stop and look at her. “…Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” she says, and then continues on her way.

I follow her as she leaves, and stare at the archway a little while longer. She seemed more… mellow, this time, for whatever reason. Maybe she just needed time to cool off. As did I.

Amber returns about a minute later with a cup of water, which she sets in front of me on the table, then walks around and sits by the hearth, facing both me and the flames, watching the fire burn. She looks like she’s trying to relax, but can’t, and I can’t tell why.

I’m not normally one to break silences, but I feel compelled to this time. “Thanks again.”

She turns to me.

“For the water.”

She makes no response, and instead goes back to watching the hearth. “I told you to give it a minute, didn’t I?” she says after a short pause.

“Sorry?”

“The sun. It’s setting now.”

I look out the window to find the light is, in fact, fading. It’s only been, what, fifteen minutes since I last checked, and already the shadows are growing and the clouds are tinged with gold.

She stokes the fire again. “It’s been like that for as long as I can remember. How you don’t know about it, I have no idea.”

“Living under a rock, remember?”

Amber stops and frowns at me. "Don’t push it.”

The little smile I have shrinks. "Sorry.”

She lingers on me for a moment, then replaces the stick and watches the fire again. She’s sitting on her haunches — not unlike a dog, come to think of it — with her forelegs straight and her tail wrapping around her side. I’m not really comfortable calling her a pony just yet. Granted, there are similarities, but in the same way a T-rex is a giant chicken: you wouldn’t think it at first glance. Or maybe that’s just me, I don’t know — I’ve never been great with subtlety anyway.

“What did you say this place was called again?”

She sags and groans, “Equestria.”

“Are there other—”

“Moon above, do you ever shut up?”

“…Sorry, I just—”

“No. No more questions. Just stop talking. For five minutes at least, please.”

“Fine, alright, sheesh. No need to be a jerk about it.”

“I’m not being a jerk; I’m being direct.”

“Too direct.”

She scowls at me. "I could have left you out there, you know.”

“I know.”

“But I didn’t.”

“And I thank you.”

“Because I’m not a jerk.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Do you want dinner or not?!”

“Case in point.”

With a sudden burst of speed, she darts around the table and lunges at me, pinning me down with a forefoot as she stands on her hindlegs, winding the other up for a punch.

I barely had enough time to widen my eyes.

She glares at me with utter contempt and flares her wings. “Do you want me to hit you?!”

“No,” I choke.

“DO YOU WANT ME TO HIT YOU?!”

“No!”

“GOOD! Because I won’t.” She backs away with a shove and settles down on all fours again, wings folding by her sides. “Because that’s something a jerk would do. And I’m not a jerk. I’ve gone out of my way to help your miserable flank because that’s what any good pony would do — all I ask is that you show me a little respect. So, when I say ‘stop talking’, I mean stop talking. Got it?”

I nod vigorously.

She leans in, "Don’t make me say it again,” then strolls back to her place by the fire.

I sit up and stare at her in shock. I knew she was touchy, but not this touchy. Okay, I pushed her, perhaps a little too hard, so part of it was my fault, but did that really give her the right to threaten me with a broken nose?

Maybe I’m biased, but I don’t think it does, and I don’t think it loans much credit to her argument. That being said, I’m not about to challenge her on it, but what I need to do is find a way out of this ‘no talking’ business without being obnoxious.

My eyes fall on my bag. It’s still in my lap, and, if Amber is to be believed, untampered with, which means she’d have no idea what it holds.

I watch her as I reach down, making sure I’m not breaking some other rule I’m unaware of, but all the protest I receive is a brief, dirty, sideways glance. I pull it closer and unzip the front pocket, and from it, I produce another bag, which is actually more like purse, and intended to carry only one thing.

I unzip this bag in turn and retrieve the device from the solitary pouch, then look it all over, checking for damage. I don’t find anything, nor had I meant to, but so long my little display grabbed a certain someone’s attention, I’m happy taking all the time in the world.

“Is that a camera?”

I freeze. Curiosity, I’d expected, but knowing what a camera was? Not so much. Then again, all that I’ve seen of this world has consisted of a mountain range, a thunderstorm, the mutant wildlife, and a ‘pegasus’ with an attitude problem, so who am I to say what kind of technology could be found elsewhere?

“That’s a camera, isn’t it?”

I stare at Amber.

She stares back.

I slowly nod.

“Where’d you get it?”

I pause, then raise an inquisitive eyebrow and gesture to my mouth.

She glowers in resentful silence for a long while, but then stomps the floor, looks away and lets out a maddened huff. “Fine,” she growls, turning back to me, “you can talk.”

I hide my relief with a mollifying bow of the head.

“So, where’d you get it?”

“Home.”

Amber blinks, and then slaps her forehead. “Okay, look, I get it; it’s fun to be mysterious,” she grumbles, dragging her foot down her face, “but this is just ridiculous. Spill the beans and play it straight, or you will go to bed hungry.”

“I’m not trying to be mysterious, Amber, I’m just… not sure you’d believe me. And besides, you told me you don’t want to know.”

“Yeah, well, now I do. So, where’d you come from?”

I hesitate. I don’t want to tell her, for obvious reasons, but at the same time, I do, because I can’t lie to save my skin. I mean, sure, I’ve lied before, and convincingly, but they were usually small and hard to prove, and often meant to buy me time so I could make them true. If I wanted to lie to her now, which I don’t, I’d have to stack lies on top of lies, and I’ve never been good with that — there’s too much information to memorise, and not enough privacy to keep a written record.

But telling the truth is just as daunting. Putting myself in her shoes, if I’d rescued some weird four-legged alien creature and it claimed to come from another dimension, with technology that looked like mine but not completely, I’d… probably believe it, now that I think about it. I know that doesn’t mean she’d fare any better, but any hope is better than none.

Swallowing my pride, but only just, I give my answer with as much conviction as I can muster. “Earth. I’m from… a planet called Earth.”

The incredulous look returns. “We are on Earth, dingus.”

I blink in surprise, but then shake my head and try to correct myself, “No, I mean, uh… another Earth, a… a different Earth. One where things… creatures like you… don’t… really exist.”

Although her expression remains the same, her eyes have gone blank. At first, I think I may have broken her, but then, slowly, stiffly, she rocks back on her haunches to look at the roof, and then slams her head down with a loud thud. She lies with her rump in the air, her forelegs stretched out beneath her, and her face embedded in the floor. And from under a mop of fiery hair comes a long, pained moan.

“You okay there, Amber?”

“Why me?” she sobs. “Why’d it have to be me?”

“I tried to warn you.”

“Not helping.”

I sigh. “I know how crazy it sounds, Amber, but… it’s the truth. I come from a place where… pegasi… aren’t real. Outside myths, at least. And they definitely don’t look anything like you.”

She rolls her head to the side and looks up with an exhausted frown, then rolls back onto her face. “I don’t believe this.”

“You think it’s any easier for me?”

“But I’m not the one who’s insane, am I?” she says gruffly, pulling her forelegs out and sitting back on her haunches. “Next thing I know, you’ll be saying magic isn’t real.”

My face goes blank.

Her eyes narrow, then widen. “Oh my stars, you can’t be serious.”

“…What kind of magic are we talking about?”

“Magic,” she says again, as if repeating herself is all the explanation I need. “You know, the… stuff that unicorns use.”

“Unicorns?”

“Oh, for crying out loud!”

“No, wait, there are unicorns here too?”

“No! Enough questions!”

“Amber, I’m sorry, but… I really don’t know anything about this place.”

“How can you not?! If you said you came from a distant land that no pony has ever been to, fine, I can roll with that. But no; apparently, you’ve travelled all this way from some alter-Earth parallel universe where there’s no such thing as freaking magic. Excuse me if that sounds a little outlandish to me.”

“…Also, ponies don’t talk where I come from.”

She blinks in disbelief, then shuts her eyes and gently shakes her head. “I’m done.”

“Amber—”

“Stop.” She lifts a foot to silence me. “Just… stop. I’m done. With you, with… everything. Just shut up so I can pretend you aren’t here.”

I feel empty. I want to say something, to apologise, but I know I can’t. And even if I somehow made it up to her, I can’t not ask about this place, or the people — or ‘ponies’ — who make it up. I mean, magic and unicorns? Who wouldn’t have any questions? Where would I even begin? Is magic real, or is it this world’s explanation for natural phenomena? And if it is real, how does it work? And are unicorns here the kind from my Earth, or are they more… visually intriguing, like Amber?

It’d only be a matter of time before my curiosity got the better of me.

After the pot’s been boiling for a minute or two, Amber slides the rack out with small, careful tugs. She returns to the kitchen as it cools off, hobbling back with two bowls, one in her mouth, the other to her chest, which she sets down on the table. When the steam rising from the lid thins out, she pours the contents into both bowls evenly, then slides one to me and takes the other with her to the armchair.

I retrieve my serving and stare at Amber’s handiwork, then smell it, then dip my finger in and taste it. True to her word, there are potatoes, tomatoes, carrots, beans and cauliflower, but it’s not so much garden vegetable soup as it is garden vegetables boiled in flavoured water, though I can’t really tell what that flavour is. I’m tempted to say ginger, and perhaps a little salt, but I wouldn’t know — I’ve never cooked anything besides breakfast, lunch and TV dinners.

Shocking, I know, but such is the life I live. Or used to live, until now, and hope to live again as soon as possible, especially if she’s all the company I have.

It’s not that I hate her, because I don’t, but I definitely don’t care for that temper of hers.

I glance at her out of interest, but my gaze lingers when I notice something.

She’s sitting on her haunches again, with her bowl held between her forelegs in front of her. But she isn’t eating. Instead, she’s staring at the table. More specifically, at my phone. There’s a jaded expression on her face, similar to the one she had when I first saw her, but I see wheels turn in that head of hers. Reluctant, cynical wheels, but turn they do. At least, until she sees me. “What?” she asks, somehow sounding both apathetic and annoyed at the same time.

I hesitate, but come up with a reasonable response. “You don’t happen to have any spoons, do you?”

“What’s wrong with your mouth?”

“It’s just… I’m used to using a spoon.”

“Well, too bad — all I have’s a ladle.”

“No spoons at all?”

“They’re more of a fine dining thing.”

“…And I take it you’re not the classy type?”

She gives me an unimpressed look. “Shut up and eat your dinner.”

I turn back to the bowl in my hands, suppressing a smirk, then bring it to my mouth and drink. It’s rather bland, which is a little disappointing, but I can’t care any less, because I am hungry.

When the soup is drained, I ready my fingers to start picking out the vegetables and beans, but stop when I realise how filthy my hands are. I spit in my palm and rub my thumb all around, from wrist to fingertips, and sure enough, the dirt peels away. It’s an old trick I learned when I was trying to deal with some calluses in grade three, and I’ve used it as a quick fix ever since. It may not be the most hygienic solution, but it gets the job done.

“That’s just gross.”

I pause, and then start working on my other hand. “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”

“It’s still gross.”

“And cooking with unwashed feet is any better?”

“…That’s different.”

“How so?”

“It… just is, okay?”

I sift through what’s left of my soup for a potato cube. “If you say so.”

“…And they’re called hooves, by the way.”

I pause again. I’d hardly call that little slip-up worthy of complaint — they’re still her feet, after all — but if it really meant that much, I suppose I could humour her. “Alright.”

“Just so you know.”

“Yep.”

“Because… that’s what they are.”

“Okay.”

“…Got it?”

I look back with an eyebrow raised.

Amber meets my gaze with a determined face. But it seems… a little… forced.

And then the penny drops: she’s trying to one-up me. To put me in my place. To show me that she’s still in charge. As if I’d challenged her on something, and she was taking it personally. Whatever gave her that idea, I know it’s best not to upset the established order, even if I hadn’t agreed to it. “Got it.”

“Good,” she says, with a sense of finality, and turns back to the hearth. But just as she’s about to start eating, she lowers her bowl and looks at me again. “And what did I say about not talking anymore?”

I raise a hand defensively. "You started it, not me.”

“Yeah? Well… stop.”

I frown slightly. "So, it’s my fault if you’re the one asking questions?”

Her visage breaks for a moment and she looks away. It was only for a moment, but in that moment, I saw fear. Not the kind that said she’s afraid of me — because she obviously isn’t — but the kind that said she’s not used to being put on the spot like this. “…No…” she admits hesitantly, and opens her mouth to elaborate.

But nothing comes out. And even after several attempts, I’m given no further response. She appears lost, in fact, and her ears slowly folding back against her head only confirm it.

Although she’s been… difficult, to say the least, I can’t help but sympathise with her.

“How do you do that, anyway?”

Amber meets my gaze again, markedly less confident than the first time. “Do what?”

“That thing with your arms. Or forelegs, or whatever you call them.”

“…Forelegs,” she replies, ears perking up again. “And what ‘thing’ are you talking about?”

“You use them like hands, but you don’t have any fingers.”

“…Well, duh, they’re my hooves. What am I supposed to do, use my mouth all the time?”

“No, I mean, how are you holding onto things?”

“They’re my hooves. They’re supposed to hold onto things.”

“But how?”

“…They’re my hooves. That’s how they work. Honestly, do I need to spell it out for you?”

“It’d help.”

She stares at me, speechless, and then slowly shakes her head and returns to the fire. “You’re unbelievable,” she murmurs, before sipping her soup.

And just like that, power was restored; all I had to do was ask a dumb question and let my curiosity take over. Sure, we might not be on equal footing, but as much as I don’t like being talked down to, I didn’t come here to shake up someone’s lifestyle. And if anyone had to be in charge, it’d be better for the both of us if that someone was a local.

It’ll be tough getting any information out of her, and I can’t promise myself that she’ll have an answer to every question I have — as she very well demonstrated — but after what I’ve been through, hospitality of any sort is welcome.

Even if it doesn’t come from the most agreeable of hosts.

The rest of dinner is a short, quiet affair, in the sense that Amber eats hers far faster than I ever could by burying her snout in the bowl, and I can’t help but watch in silence. Before she looks up, however, I turn back and shovel down as much as I can as fast as possible, just to make it seem like I haven’t been focussing on her table manners, or lack thereof.

I don’t find it displeasing; rather… interesting, to see such behaviour in front of a stranger. Then again, I don’t think she cares what others think of her, so long as she’s top dog. And, at the risk of repeating myself, I haven’t seen much of the world beyond. For all I know, pigging out might be the norm for informal engagements.

One thing’s for certain, though: she’s definitely not the classy type.

I finish my soup by scooping the beans into my mouth. It wasn’t bad, nor was it great, but it was food. “Pretty good,” I say, sucking my fingers and drying them on my shirt. “Could use a little spice, though.”

She doesn’t reply, licking her bowl clean instead.

I don’t think I want to know how she can stand the earthy tang I assume she’s tasting, but there is something I do want to know. Sooner, rather than later. “Can I ask you something?”

Amber looks up with a stern expression.

On the other hand, perhaps later is better.

Her stare continues as she wipes her mouth with the back of her… hoof… and sets her bowl on the floor. “Depends what you’re asking,” she says flatly, returning to her doglike posture.

“…Do you know what a toilet is?”

She pauses, but doesn’t react. “I do.”

“You don’t happen to have one around here, do you?”

“I have a bucket.”

My face goes blank for a second time.

She cocks her head and gives me another unimpressed look. “We’re in the middle of the woods, dummy. Figure it out.”

“Oh,” I say, turning away, and I can’t help but grimace as the full reality dawns on me.

“You don’t need to go now, do you?”

“No.”

“Good. Then maybe I can ask you something.”

I turn back. “Uh… Sure.”

She sits up and relaxes her expression somewhat. “How’d you get here?”

I hesitate. “I’m not really sure.”

“Fine then, what are you sure of?”

“…That I woke up yesterday and found myself here. But not here, as in, this clearing, I mean… somewhere further south, I think. Stumbled around for a few hours until I reached this small lake, and this really weird… dragon…chicken… hybrid thing.”

“A cockatrice?”

“A what?”

“You saw a cockatrice?”

“Uh…” I hesitate again, then shrug. “If that’s what it’s called, yeah. I guess”

She stares at me blankly, then shakes her head with a smile. A small, condescending one, but a smile nonetheless. “Don’t try that on me.”

“Try what?”

“Just how gullible do you think I am? Seriously, a cockatrice? This far north? Ooh, ooh, let me guess: you fought it.”

“…No, it… stared at me.”

“Stared at you?”

“And then it ran away.”

“Ha!” She claps her… hooves together, then settles back down, looking at me with that same smile, which I’m starting to dislike more than her frown. “Well, isn’t this a surprise? I have sitting before me the next great heroine of Equestria, who came from a land beyond the bounds of the known laws of physics, and can outstare a cockatrice. What next? Chocolate rain? Time travel? The possibilities are endless!”

“…I’m a guy, you realise.”

Her smile fades into a look of annoyance. “That’s what you pick up on?”

I don’t respond.

“Whatever,” she says dismissively, looking down and rubbing her brow. “So, what happened after you… did battle with this so-called cockatrice?”

“…After it ran away, I started heading off again. But then I had these severe headaches, and then I lost control of my legs, and then I couldn’t speak, and then I couldn’t move, and then… I passed out. So, yeah, that’s my story. Thrilling, I’m sure.”

“My heart is racing.”

“Yep.” I sigh and turn away again. “Thought as much.”

“What did you expect? Of all the absurd things you’ve said today, that takes the cake. So, don’t go playing yourself up like you’re some heroine from the old days, because you’re not.”

“I wasn’t trying to. And what’s so special about a cockatrice anyway?”

“Don’t play dumb with me.”

“I’m not playing dumb — I am dumb,” I retort, turning back to her once more, straining to keep my frustration in check. “How many times do I have to tell you? I have no idea what’s going on, or what Equestria is, or where it is, or why I’m here, or… anything. Do you think I like asking you to fill the blanks all the time?”

“I think you need a therapist.”

“After what I went through yesterday, yeah, probably. But that’s beside the point.”

“And your point is?”

I pause. I’ve forgotten where this little tirade was supposed to be going, and now I just feel lost and foolish. But I can’t admit it, because that would lose me what little credibility I have with her, so I have to say something. “I’m scared,” I answer honestly. “I’m really, truly scared.”

Amber holds my gaze, considering my response with an unreadable air about her, then blinks and looks away, facing the hearth again. “You’re weird,” she says, but without much weight behind it.

“So are you,” I reply, just as meek.

A long silence follows, broken only by the gentle crack and sizzle of burning timber. The sun has practically set now, leaving only the faintest trace of blue in the sky, which is quickly filling with stars. The room is almost completely dark, barring the orange glow of the fire and the soft moonlight that trickles through the window. It’s peaceful. And if I close my eyes, I can almost imagine I’m home.

Almost.

Amber hops down from the armchair and closes the shutters, sliding the latch in place, then returns to her spot by the hearth. She has that jaded look again, but it seems more… forlorn, this time. I think. It’s hard to tell in the flickering light.

“Why’re you out here?” I quietly ask. “By yourself, I mean.”

She doesn’t react, watching the dancing flames instead. “I like the space,” she finally replies, matching my volume. “And the silence.”

“What if you get hurt?”

“I’ll manage.”

“And if you can’t?”

“I’ll manage.”

I would have said the same thing yesterday. “Are you alright, Amber?”

She looks at me and frowns. “Yeah.”

“It’s just…”

“Just…?”

“…Nothing. Nothing, never mind.”

She stares a while longer, watching me with a sceptical eye, then shifts on the spot to face me. “I think we need to set some ground rules.”

“Ground rules?”

“Yes, ground rules. This is my house, after all, and you’re my guest. It’s only fair you follow the law of the land, isn’t it?”

“…I guess…”

“Good. So, Rule One: no getting personal, because I don’t want to hear your life story, and as soon as that leg of yours gets better, you’re gone. Rule Two: you do what I say when I say it. Not in five minutes, not in six hours — when I say it. Rule Three: don’t touch my stuff without asking. Rule Four: don’t touch me, ever. And Rule Five: no going in my room. And if you break any of them, I will kick you out, and then you can have a nice, jolly time finding your way back to civilisation on your own. Are we clear?”

“But you can touch my stuff without asking, right?”

“Excuse me?”

I retrieve my phone and hold it up. “Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

She scowls back, but says nothing.

“There’s one thing I hate more than small spaces, and that’s double standards, and people who think they can rub it in my face and get away with it. But I’m willing to let this slide, just this once, because as much of a pain as you’ve been… I don’t want to hate you. Are we clear?”

Her glare is spiteful and bitter, and yet, she remains silent, even as she stands up, storms toward me and stops beside the bench, her face a mask of utter disdain.

I feel the urge to shrink away, or prepare to defend myself, but I stand my ground and try to stay strong. If I show any sign of weakness, she’ll take it as all the justification she needs to boss me around to her heart’s content. In words and in force.

She reaches out, but instead of grabbing the collar of my shirt, she yanks the bowl from my lap, her eyes still locked with mine. Then she turns away, picks up her bowl from the armchair, and disappears into the kitchen, flashing me a vengeful glance as she passes through the archway.

When she returns, the bowls are gone, but the hostile look remains. She doesn’t stop, however, and marches past me, pushing open the door to her room and slamming it shut, and latching it for good measure. I hear some footsteps come from the other side of the wall, and then rustling sheets, and then there is silence once more.

“Good night, Amber,” I call out peevishly.

A loud, violent thump is all the response I get.

I sigh and put away my things, stuffing them back into my bag, which I set down on the floor. Then I take out the blanket from under my head, drape it over me — or as much of me as it can cover — and lie back down with another, heavier sigh.

This is going to be a very long, very tiresome venture.