The Dagger in the Jungle

I was stumbling in the dark. Even with my training back home, the seemingly void darkness made it impossible to trudge through the terrain, and with a healing arm, a fall could have meant longer recovery, something I wasn't willing to give. I give a shaky sigh, sitting on a rock, catching my breath, my face illuminated by a third flare. The group of Zebras that I noticed were gaining on me quickly, and I was in no condition to fight them head on.

I take the moment to reassess my situation. They knew I was here, so hoping they would pass by would be impossible. I did, however, have the darkness around me as an advantage. Even with torch or other light sources, the group wouldn't be able to see me if I stayed in the shadows cast by trees and brush. My lighter tinge of fur was a problem, however.

I think a moment, then kneel down, scooping a fist full of mud. I smear it across my exposed fur, noting the immediately darker shade.

Perfect

I shovel mud onto myself, adding a layer of the filth to my coat. I gag a bit, smelling horrible. I needed to be careful about this, if this stuff stayed on me, I could get sick... or parasites. No thanks, I'll pass on that. I suddenly perk my ears up. Something snaps a twig, only a few feet away from me. I slowly stand back up, crouching with my body turned downwards to make myself small.

I wait, for what seemed like an eternity, for something else to happen. But when nothing came, I start moving. My eyes were adjusting to the insane darkness around me, seeing the outlines of moonlit trees, making an almost silver color on the wet bark. It was as pretty as it was unnerving, the trees were as much as a hiding place for me, as it was for an animal or someone looking to kill me. I suddenly notice a warmer golden color to the other side of the bark.

I get low, crawling behind a tree, hearing the voices of excited and ecstatic tribesponies. I peek out, looking at them. From my view, a few were hidden by trees. But the ones I did see were Stallions, and well built. They were Zebras obviously, but most looked to have trained their bodies to a warring stature, with stronger attention to the core and legs for stamina and speed, they also possessed a noticeable shoulder mass. I chalked this up to the fact that from my research, despite some using firearms, most Zebra still preferred the slower, more skill based combat of swords, spears, staffs and axes.

The group of Stallions were also naked, save for the rather pointless loincloth hanging over their hind end, each one being different colors. Ranks, perhaps? This meant that the front end, where the dark patch of fur-less skin and sheath was, was displayed openly. This was the more interesting part, not because I was sexually attracted to it, but because of the tattoos . In one way or another, every male that was a part of the party had tattoos on their groin region, running up their stomach. Some displayed a warrior in combat, some where healing symbols, others were symbols for luck.

I squint, trying to get a better look. I move backwards as they start to march forward into the jungle towards me.

"That colt is in here, find him," one with a red ass flag barks. He spoke in Equish...? Why? Wouldn't it be better to speak in your own tongue? The idea boggled me. My foot catches on a branch, snapping it. Fuck.

The scout speaks something in his language. I feel my IP buzz, pulling it out.

"What was that?" it said. I blink, tapping my ear, feeling the ear bud in it. I suddenly start to move back, sticking to the trees as I fumble with the device. I find an active translator. It would help me understand what wasn't Equish, but there was no option for the other way around. A disadvantage, surely, but nothing popping open a book wouldn't fix.

Suddenly, a figure comes out from behind the tree. The Zebra, standing tall, spear in his palm, looks around.

"Too dark," he grumbles.

He was so close, I could smell him. This wasn't a pleasant smell either. Filthy mixes of sweat, BO, and what I assumed was sex hung on him like cigar smoke. I gag a bit, keeping it quiet as he steps past me. Green flag. I note it.

"He's not here!"

"Well, he couldn't have gone far!"

I flick my ear up, listening to the brief chatter. Suddenly, a new smell. Fire. And iron. I look around the tree, the main group advancing at me. I could see them now. The one with the red flag, the leader, lead the group. Two blue tagged Zebra, painted red along their stripes, held up... what I originally thought was a banner.

Instead, strapped to a cross, was a very young Zebra mare, her wrists chaffed and bloodied by the tight bonds. She was crying from the agony, and humility of being naked in front of a group of Stallions without a way to cover herself. I wince, looking at her, truly pitying her, wanting to help. I knew I couldn't, I was in no way ready to take on five or more Zebra warriors at once, that spelled out early death for me in a heartbeat.

I couldn't help but observe her. She was beautiful, or once was, by more technicality. She was covered in clear knife wounds, slow cuts along her stomach and thighs, and even some strange markings over her nipples. It didn't take long to realize what made them. A bear trap.

These Zebras seemed to take an almost sadist approach to treating mares, that, or this was a prisoner. Either way, the sight was unpleasant to look at.

I close my eyes.

It's a part of the job

I open my eyes again, moving now, following the hunters, observing their behavior. On occasion, the one in front of me seemed to twitch and fidget. I squint a bit, watching him move to the right, away from me, opening the path ahead. He must have given up. I carefully step forw-

I blink, feeling my body sliding onto its back suddenly, going not forward, but down. I slide down the muddy hill, my teeth clattering painfully as I had not expected it, before I smack and tumble onto wet rock with a loud smacking sound. And there, I laid.

A new rush of pain came over me, and I wondered if the world hated me.

Most likely.

I roll over, using my good arm to once again get up, groaning. I watch the Zebra peer down at me. They saw me, some even smile.

"He's right here!" one shouts. The Captain comes out from the dark, looking at me. He smirks, grinning with this mad mix of disgust and interest. I stare back at him, wiping some mud off my face, then throw my arm out.

He laughs.

"Ah! A strong one! Let's leave him to the jungle, let the wilds break his poor little body," He sneers, "we will collect his body for the Pit later."

I look down, hearing them laugh, spotting a cave just ahead. I walk forward, out of sight of the hunting party. The good part was that the Zebras were most likely not going to climb down, and with a bit of rest, I could use my wings to gently glide off the side of the rock.

If only wings were good at stopping high altitude drops with equipment, maybe I'd not be in this mess to begin with...

I step inside the cave.

I wave my hand in front of me, blind as a bat. I feel my way along a wet and slick wall, before suddenly sitting against it, resting. I let out a relieved sigh. I survived, for now. I pull out some water, taking a mouthful. I swallow, cap it, and feel something cold press to my neck.

I hold my hands up.

"Who are you?" a grunting, exotic voice asks me.

"Not one of them," I reply, snarkily. The blade suddenly comes off my neck, and a lantern is lit, casting the warm glow of a white flame around the cave. I spot a Zebra stallion, not painted red, but still as naked as the day he was born. He was covered in scars that ran up his arms and some on his shoulders.

Looking left, two mares, one teenage, and the other, looking very much like her, was what I assumed to be her mother. Both look unscathed, which shouldn't have shocked me as much as it did.

I hold my hands up still, pointing to my stripeless fur.

"Not a Zebra," I say, hoping they understood. The stallion did, at least, giving me a look of no shit. I huff, motioning to the girls.

"Slaves, at one point. They can't understand Equish, or even most of the tribal speak. You are lucky, so now, you help us," he grunts, glaring at me. Help them? With what? Sitting? Warming up a patch of wet floor?

"With what?" I ask. He motions to the girls.

"They are starving," he explains. I did notice how thin they were, which didn't effect how nice they were to look at. Judging from their chest size, I assumed they were eating something. I look at my pack, sighing. Fuck it. Why not, I earn some karma. I reach in, pulling out a bottle of water and a ration, passing it to the stallion. He stands there, shocked.

He takes it, walking over, using the MRE to cook the meal with the strange chemical reaction it had. I look out the cave entrance, giving them privacy.

Suddenly, the idea of giving them privacy is interrupted by a pair of breasts attempting to devour my head. I panick, and pull back, looking at the mother, who was crying. Tears stream down her face, and she sees to jut her chest forward like she was offering herself. I quickly refuse, looking at the stallion.

"Tell her no," I ask him quickly. He again looks stunned.

"Ba," he says, and the older mare blinks. She now looks stunned, looking at me with intensely thankful eyes. I notice that she wasn't eating, letting the younger mare have the meal. My gut turns a bit, my own empathy twisting my emotional state. I reach in and offer her the other package, limiting my supplies down to about three days worth of food and water. I grimace, but nod. This was worth it.

She takes it, looking sad for herself. But she looks back at me, and for the first time, my eyes adjust to look at her. She was a pretty mare, with big, emerald green eyes that glistened with tears. She had a slim, hunger pang face, with her cheekbones clearly visible. I find my eyes moving down, as my instincts told me, to look at the rest of her. She held a rather unique pattern to her stripes, which seemed to curl into swirling shapes along her hips and under her arms, which seemed to circle her bare chest. I blink, leaning over to look at her thighs, big, powerful looking thighs that Zebra woman were known for, and rail thin stomach that wasn't fed properly, lined with a hint of refinement to her abdomen muscles.

I frown, returning to look at her face, and she was now getting closer, which made me put a hand to her collar bone to push her away, shaking my head. She needed to eat, not repay me. I had no stamina to even return the favor anyways, it'd be pointless.

She moves back to her daughter, who looks at her mother with tired, but teary eyes of relief.

"How long?" I ask the stallion, noticing that he was well fed, despite the other two.

"A few days. They escaped the Inkia Camp. Windmill," He says, pointing outside. I nod.

"What is there?" I ask, to the point.

"Slave pen. It's where those bastards keep their fresh meat. Force the pure to serve the vile."

"Right, so, what is being done about that?"

He freezes.

"What do you mean?" he asks, looking at me. I stare back.

"Well, obviously, when some group of assholes roll into town and start to slaughter people, surely there are Zebras that stand up to it, right?" I say. He shakes his head.

"No one stands up to the Bloodletters, they are too strong, too crazy and unpredictable. It's suicide to fight them head on, their war machine is designed to put down insurrection," he explains, holding the bridge of his nose, "don't tell me you intend on throwing yourself at them?"

"That's exactly what I'm going to do," I say, casually. He groans.

"Go home, pony," He mutters, making me look at him with confusion, "go home and live your life of peace and friendship, or whatever you do in Equestria. The Tribelands will eat you up, chew you to mush and spit you out to its children."

I frown, looking at the mares. I sigh, leaning my head back.

"Any advice if I don't?" I ask.

He is silent, I couldn't see why, maybe he was staring or thinking, or maybe he was struck with the idea. But he does kneel down, grabbing my bad arm, making me flinch before the pain seems to ebb away. I look at it, my arm in his palms, and him looking at it intensely, like he was reading a novel.

"If you came to help us, then you will need to let go of this frail body, pony. You need to become like the Jungle, strong, fierce, merciless. The Bloodletters will destroy you, but you need to be better than just an Equestrian. You need to be one of us," he mutters, looking at me, speaking like he was telling me some voodoo craziness

"Find the leader of the Inkia, in the Windmill. They tied her there so she can witness the rapes of her Zebras, so she could anguish in it, a fate worse than death, but also a fate that draws out her fury. Harness that fury, help her and she will help to transform you into one like us."

I look at him, my ears drawn back. But I nod. I feel a warmth in my lap, the mother had returned to try and seduce me again, which worried me. I look at the stallion.

"What will you do with these two?" I ask.

He crosses his arm.

"Border, get them in as refugees with your government. The Bloodletters, while not afraid of your armies, are not stupid enough to try and fight them. They are almost to the level of doing so however. I assume that is why you are here, you are no tourist. And you are no passerby, even I can tell that."

I shrug, nodding. He was right, the Equestrian government threw their hat in the ring out of fear of the Tribes trying to invade. If that was true, I need to start soon, and cripple them.

I look out the cave, looking at the Windmill in the distance.

Let's start there.