Swift Wanderings

I trotted swiftly out of the Crystal Empire, my long tail bobbing behind me as my hat bounced cheerfully. I was a strange mish-mash of creatures, my mother a zony, and my father a groat.
Odd names, I suppose, but when you’re the only hybrids of those particular species, you get to pick. My grandmother on my father’s side was a griffoness, who fell in love with a goat. My mother’s parents were slightly more conventional, a zebra stallion and pony mare.

So, what happens when a zony and a groat get together? I do. I was a very light grey, bordering on white, with long, shaggy fur from my grandfather. My mane was a very dark gray, bordering on black, with white tips. I had cloven hooves that allowed me to grip nearly vertical surfaces, and a lion tail nearly half again the length of my body that ended in a tuft of hair similar to my forelock. My eyes were a vibrant green, contrasting with my otherwise monotone body.

I loped casually along the snowy tundra, my small stature and large hooves allowing me to hop across the snow with ease, while not actually falling in.

I was wearing my snow gear, including an extremely durable winter coat that covered my neck, tail, torso, and legs down to my hocks. I had ear-gloves, a scarf wrapped around my muzzle and neck, my green cloak, brown saddlebags, and most importantly, my green hat.

I had been cantering for hours now. Most ponies walk, some run much faster than I do, by they don’t have my stamina. I can run like this for days on end if I need to. It’s a good thing I can, as it’s saved my life on more than one occasion. Sometimes I’d get too hot from running like this with all of my fur in warmer climates, but the freezing cold temperatures of the Crystal Empire were so cold that I needed help from articles of clothing to keep from shivering.

The sun had just begun to set as I made camp. It is was early evening, and I had set out in the early morning. Seven more days, and I should see Vanhoover Forest. I pondered my journey, and other things, of course, for the two hours it took for me to set up. I had built a quinzhee, a far easier thing to build than an igloo, but just as sturdy for a short-term shelter. There were several air holes, so I was in no danger of suffocation.

I’d already eaten dinner, dried apricots and apple slices were nothing to write home about. I curled up for sleep among the warm blankets I’d laid out, still in the same clothes. It was so incredibly cold in the Frozen North that I could watch my breath form an actual cloud, and float away. Bits of snow clung to my lashes, drifting away as I blinked. As a last thought, I reached into my saddlebags, and pulled out a photograph. It was a newer photograph, a picture of my very best friend.

“Good night.” I told her as I drifted off in the fading light.

I woke before sunrise, as I always did. I packed my things away, saving the photograph for last. The sun barely peeking over the horizon, I shouldered my saddlebags and started to run.

It was monotonous, the constant running over the same surface, the landscape never changing, so in between checking my compass to make sure I was going in the right direction, I often talked to myself. Not out loud, as it was far to cold, and I would only strain my throat attempting to do so, meaning these “conversations” were always internal.
I wonder what Joy is doing?

They often started like that, wondering what my best friend was doing.

Probably painting.

She probably was, but boring answers were no fun.

Maybe, she’s really a secret agent, with cool sunglasses and the like! Mild-mannered Artful Joy, an artist living in Manehattan, is really Agent A., the top agent in the Canterlotian Spy Corps!

I like where this is going.

Right now she’s fighting a gorilla armed with laser sharks off skyscrapers in Baltimare, swinging around like Spidermare with awesome grappling hooks.

I passed a lot of time like this.

It was now early evening again. I slid to a halt. The area was slowly becoming less flat, and a little less shiny.

I pitched camp and ate, another dinner of nothing but dried fruit and jerky. I was omnivorous, and jerky tended to keep a bit better than my fruits, but I had to be careful where I ate jerky. Ponies tended to be a bit nutty about that. That’s why I’d buy pounds and pounds of the stuff from a Griffon named Macy, who always stocked extra when she heard I was coming. We weren’t really friends, per say, just acquaintances who both liked the taste of a crispy pig.

I crawled into the quinzee, and after laying down the furs and pulling up a blanket, I pulled out the picture of Joy.
“Goodnight.” I again said to it.

I rolled over and promptly fell asleep.

The next few days passed quickly as I fell into the rhythm of traveling. It was fairly early in the evening of the sixth day as when I noticed a significant change in the terrain.

The snow was giving way to stretches of brown earth, and scrubby bushes dotted the ground. The bushes slowly gave way to grass, and a tree sprouted here and there. I could feel the temperature rise as I stepped through the plants scattered around. Vanhoover was near, and I could tell that the forest just outside of it would appear soon.

I quickly found a place to make camp, and for the first time in my adventure, I pitched a tent. The green tent went a up in a matter of minutes. It, along with my saddlebags, was enchanted to be bigger on the inside. My saddlebags carried as much as a small closet, and the tent was about about three times that.

It was a very nice tent, and it had lasted well for all the five years that I’d had it. For the first time since leaving the Frozen North, I removed my winter coat. My fur was messy, and it needed a good brushing.

I rooted around in my saddlebags, hunting for the hairbrush I knew was in there. I pulled it out, but instead of the grey one I was expecting, I pulled out a light blue one, with purple hairs still tangled in it.

There was a small piece of paper stuck to it. Written there, in her impossibly perfect hoofwriting, was a note.

Hey Swifty!

You always complain about how much you miss me during your wanderings, so I thought that I’d send you a token of my affections, like those maidens used to do for their knights! Go on, Traveler!

Just underneath, was a doodle of what was clearly supposed to be Joy in the frilliest monstrosity that I’d ever seen, waving a handkerchief.

I held it to my chest and cried, hiccuping with the occasional laugh.

I love you so much.

The next morning, I awoke as usual. I quickly packed my things, and left the campsite undisturbed after a quick breakfast.

You couldn’t even tell that I’d been there.

I traveled quickly for the next day or two. Late in the evening of the tenth day of my journey, I saw lights on the horizon.

“Vanhoover, here I come.”