Swift Wanderings

The first thing I felt was the pain. My eyes shot open, and I attempted to move.

That was a mistake. My right shoulder protested violently, sending a stabbing pain throughout my body.

I waited until the pain subsided to a manageable level. Taking deep breaths, I attempted to turn my head, trying to get a scope of my clearly numerous injuries. Another mistake. My head throbbed, blood dripping through what seemed to be a newly formed scab.

My right side stung with a fiery passion. It was definitely burnt, but not life-threateningly so. What concerned me most was my shoulder. I had received numerous injuries over my life, due to how active I was, so I knew several types of pain.

This was a dangerous one. It was stabbing, and sickening. I knew that my leg wasn’t broken; I’d felt that kind of pain before. This wasn’t as bad - most likely a dislocation. I could fix that, but it would hurt. Honestly, I wouldn’t really have cared if it was broken at that moment, I was just happy to be alive. I didn’t know how I was still breathing, but I wasn’t going to question it. Perhaps my injured shoulder had hit a large rock during the fall, slowing me down before impact with the ground. Better it than my whole body,

Bracing myself, I rolled flat onto my back, legs eagle-spread. I whimpered as my shoulder and burns protested, trying not to scream. Sounds like that would attract predators.

I started turning my foreleg. The pain slowly increased, until I heard a clicking noise. I let out a muffled scream as my shoulder popped back into place. I took deep, shaky breaths, trying not to cry. My pain dropped significantly, going from a sharp, piercing sensation to dull throb. Some of the scariest things I’ve experienced are injuries that I’ve had to deal with myself. It never gets any less terrifying, unlike scaling mountains and things like that.

All right, now what?

I looked around for my saddlebags, knowing that I’d collected a large amount of first aid supplies in case of an emergency. They were sitting a few feet away from me, being lightly dusted with a spray from the nearby waterfall.

I rolled onto my stomach, hissing quietly as my burns protested the movement. I gathered my good legs underneath myself, and, clutching my right foreleg with my mouth, I slowly stood up.

I limped over to the saddlebags, side screaming. I gently sat in front of them, and delicately sifted through. I eventually removed some ice, bandages, antibiotic cream, and a cloth sling. I’d packed cast-like supplies, but they must’ve fallen out during the fall. I didn’t have the strength to go look for them.

The next most pressing issue was that of my burns. I inspected the one along my right side. It was blistered, and angry. There were small bits of dirt and gravel in it, no doubt from the hillside. It stretched from just below my dock to under my withers, encompassing my back and the right side of my ribs. All the fur in that area was gone, burned away.

I carefully removed all the little bits of debris with some makeshift tweezers (made from a partially snapped sprout), and applied antibiotic cream. I then bandaged it, making sure that I could still easily move my legs.

I turned my attention to my head.

My ears were ringing, and I had a killer headache. I gingerly touched the large gouge on my head. It was wide, almost from ear to ear, but luckily my mane had protected the wound from any bits and pieces that might have been lodged in it.

The first step was to clean it. I carefully parted my mane, and removed a canteen from my saddlebags. I doused it in water, red streaks running down my face, probably making me look like some kind of cheap horror movie monster.

I kept pouring until the red faded to a pale pink. I bandaged the wound with care, wincing as the rough gauze touched my tender flesh.

I then turned my attention to my right leg. I decided that a sling was the best course of action, so I gingerly placed it in the cloth, supported by my left shoulder. By now, several hours had passed. It had been early afternoon when I had awoken, and now it was late evening.

I surveyed the clearing I was in. It was roughly circular, about one hundred metres across. I sitting on the edge of a large lake. Basically, anyway. A small river lead away from it, but the water was generally clear and still. It was surrounded by a gently sloping beach of grass and rocks. A large waterfall fed it, as well as a large stream fed through a small hole in the steep cliffside.

There were no tall trees, but instead several small shrubs. I could still smell smoke, but it looked like the forest fire up top had burnt itself out, with help from the lack of wind and gaps between large areas of pine Ponies knew that I was in the area, so all I had to do was wait for the search-and-rescue teams to show up. They usually responded quickly, but as I was pretty far out, and surrounded by manticore territory and mountains, that could take anywhere from three days to a month.

I began to pitch camp, the process significantly slowed by my bad foreleg. Eventually, I got the tent up. My stomach complained, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten. I attempted to light a fire, but was foiled by my bum leg.

I had a cold dinner of dried apple slices, and a roll of jerky. Not the most delicious thing, but I was alive.

And being alive felt good.

***

Joy was working in her studio. The clouds were still outside, grumbling and thundering angrily. There was a pegasus perch just next to her window, most likely connected to the Istallion restaurant and a couple was sitting there, watching the lightning light up the sky.

She’d offered them a blanket, which they’d accepted, and were now happily cuddling. The stallion had his wing awkwardly wrapped around the mare, and she’d snuggled up to him with a happy sigh.

Despite the thunderclouds raging overhead, they were at peace, just with each other, content to sit and watch the world go by without them.

A sketch of Swift was taking shape upon her canvas, the little hybrid’s cheeky smile shining vibrantly. She was wearing her trademark green hat, and her messy hair was framing her face perfectly. Joy felt her heart stutter as she looked at it, almost as if the painting’s eyes were staring into her soul.

“I love you so much,” she told the paper. “I love you, but I’m not the right one for you.

“You need an adventurer, somecreature who can keep up with your wonderful craziness, your long strides, your keen mind. Not me. I know that if I told you this, you’d give up traveling to stay with me in heartbeat, but it’s such a big part of you, and I can’t let you do that.

“I’m sorry.” Joy rested her head on the table, and stared at the dark clouds.

“I’m so sorry.”