Gods

Chapters

Hawkeye - Snow I
Hawkeye - Taboo I
Hawkeye - Sleep I
Hawkeye - Snow II
Hawkeye - Chores I
Hawkeye - Beast I
Hawkeye - Water I
Hawkeye - Loneliness II
Hawkeye - God I
Hawkeye - Escape
Prologue
Hawkeye - Loneliness I
Hawkeye - Hunger I

Hawkeye - Snow I

Branches hung low, dragged down by snow that clung in massive clumps. Clouds had darkened the frozen land, turning the whole world a grey that resonated deep inside. There was no wind, for once. It made it easier to walk within the compacted snow, the lack of cold batting at the face. It also forced a slowness, every step making a crunch and crackle that could alert the unseen.

Without the leaves, the forest was far less intruding one's vision. The unseen could not lurk behind the aged trunks of the barren wood. It was the hills that slumped and protruded among the thicket that granted a far worse unease. Climbing the knolls would prove a useful tool to those that wish to scout the wilderness. Gaining an eye for an enemy, landmark, or being was essential to survival. Sometimes, regardless of how much caution ingrained itself into memory, life found its end.

The elements could freeze someone, putting them in the deepest of sleep that they could not awake. A disease, brought on by the simplest of cuts, could plunge a mare or stallion into the life after life, leaving behind those that loved them so. It was far more rare to see the unseen. To have them come down from the sky, to lurch them from their cave, to writhe their wrath from the water's depth.

Nevertheless, caution should be the top priority for anyone who still drew breath - for anyone who still had loved ones.

In a season of snow, evenfall came far quicker than during the summertime. The most cautious of ponies were smart to hide within their earthen shelters, devouring the remains of warmer crops and the cold root vegetables. Darkness shrouded the land more often than the light, preventing those that could scout from doing so.

But the darkness did not matter for the unseen. Those beings could see whether the sky had grown black or the sun sat centered. Only the remnants of kin did the darkness mistreat; blindness or beacon. To be blind, a dangerous concept that could prove fatal when facing a cliff, or to be a beacon, with the ability to see and be seen.

Windless days with skies either clouded or open, those were the days that every mare or stallion pined for. Scouts would be out, trailing the perimeter of the cavern that was called home to the remnants of kin. Fillies and colts could play in the snow without worry while the elders did laundry, applying the filth that hid the clan from the unseen. It granted a reprieve from the burden of silence that had been mandatory within the depths of the earth. It was taboo to speak during the night or whenever scouts were within. Voices carried further than one might expect.

Of course, speaking only mattered to the remnants of kin, and now there was only one. They had no one to talk to, and talking to one's self was rather pointless - especially when the crunch of snow beneath one's hooves provided plenty of noise.

For the last of the remnants of kin, the mare who was alone in a world full of unseen, caution was not something she valued. Survival was hard enough without the constant worry of threats, though this was not her reasoning. If danger came, then it came, and she knew the end would too. The life after life would begin, and she would be the last of the remnants no longer.

Though her pessimism pushed for an end, her discipline held more tightly, aching for shelter of the old. Caves and hobbles within snowy cliffs were far too dangerous, for the unseen could be unseen within. The mare needed the anathema of the kin, the remains of the ages lost.

They were always dilapidated, but it did not matter. The unseen often steered clear as they knew no kin now lived in such places, they had seen to that an era ago. And though the remnants of kin understood this, it was forbidden to venture into such areas. They were cursed, these terrifying ruins. The ponies of the past had called on the unseen and the unseen had taken everything from them, and so the remnants of kin would not follow such a terrible history.

But for the mare who was the last of the remnants of kin, taboos no longer mattered. She would go to where the unseen were not. She would hide from them, those vile creatures. Those gods.

Hawkeye - Taboo I

To find the ruins was a blessing. To find the ruins so close to nightfall was chance. To find an unseen within would be tragic.

For the mare named Hawkeye, who was the last of the remnants, she had received a blessing. The night was hours away, and no unseen had encountered the burdened mare. The dwellings of the autochthon, the stones that they had built in the days of ancient life, they would provide suitable cover to the single soul.

Pylons of cracked rock were spouted from the ground like stalks of corn, rows upon rows of undisturbed architecture, only subject to the elements. No pony of the kin dared entered. The stories told by elders sought that end, retelling a tale where a foal did gamble. The mare remembered it well, even in her adult age, the adolescent who ventured into the taboo land. Whether the foal was male or female, it did not matter, as the story always ended the same way. The unseen would come and claim the foal's kin while he or she was away, and when they returned, they would find nothing but blood and bones.

Forbidden lands no longer mattered for the mare who was the last of the kin. She pushed forward, passing the crumbling relics that time wore down and the dilapidated huts that had once been marvelous two-story cottages. Stories that passed from elder to elder had told of a grassy yard for every pony and a home with hay roofing above their heads. Of course, the stories always came with a warning: pleasant living and a frivolous nature will lead to an early demise.

But the mare was not living a life of worth, there was no levity to her mourning. She would live within the ruins of the most stable of dwellings, the ghosts of the past all around her, and she would hear their cries. She would add her own to theirs, creating an orchestra of grieving.

Though most of the dwellings had been caved in, leaving a bowl of what used to be a home, the mare had seen something more long ago. It still stood, the highlight of what had been referred to as a town. Hearing the word spoken always sent a shiver down her spine, though no elder that lived during her foalhood dared describe what it meant. Seeing the ruins she walked through, she knew it had been just that. A town.

It had boggled her mind when she had first seen it. Why had the ancient kin built such displays of mockery? To steal and create from the earth and make their own protrusions, that was an abomination. For their insolence, the gods came from above and struck them down for their arrogance.

Of course, her innocence gone, the mare now knew that the gods had not always been among the land. The ancient kin hadn't thought it taboo, they hadn't known any better. They had formed their civilization in a time that had no fear. To have such a frivolous feeling, the mare had pined for it as a filly, but that had died within her long ago.

Yet even with all the knowledge blessed upon her by the elders, the mare could not understand why such a large structure was needed. A home to fifty would be the only reasoning she could think, but even then, that would've housed the entirety of the remnants of kin. To have thought there could be another reason for its monstrous size, the mare would be called crazed.

No one would be able to call her anything now, especially not crazed.

So, she entered the enormous creation. Its rock was as white as the snow that coated it, little black specs spread within the carved stone like ants. From above, the ceiling had collapsed inward, much like every other dwelling the mare had stumbled across. But this relic was far too large to cave entirely under pressure, its thick walls barely an inch cracked. Time had been spent creating such a beastly abomination, and as such, time was forced to work harder to decay such a home.

Hawkeye - Sleep I

To be out of the cold and in a cave, that was often the desire for the remnants of kin. The wind buffeted bodies, turning small gusts into cutting blades that struck any limb open to the air. Freezing water would blanket eyes and mouths, shutting them closed forever. Being inside was security. A pony was safe.

Yet in the age of the ancient kin, security from the elements had given way to comfort.

To the mare, she knew following in the hoofsteps of the hoary ponies would be curious. Whatever curse that supposedly wrapped her soul in a knotted bond for setting hoof within the ruins would not care if she also investigated the remains of the past. The judgement would fall whether or not the prying mare snooped further.

She dared not attempt to climb to the second floor, nor did she have any desire to remove the hide she wore to extend her wings. Instead, the corner she had settled down in was beside a long passage where the doors had rotted off, leaving rusted metallic hinges as the only clue to their existence. The corridor held more of their brothers, though most lie flattened on the floor.

One, however, the closest, remained shut.

Digging out a bone knife from the scabbard on her hip, she tucked it into her mouth. Wild animals often slept in the ruins of the past kin. They knew just like the mare did that the unseen rarely ventured through the remains. Birds were common sights, clinging their nests to a toppling pile of stone pillars. Raccoons and possums dug deep into the ground where the loosened boards had decayed. Wolves were the worst, however.

Extending a hoof and turning the frozen, crystal knob, the mare pushed her shoulder against the dried wood. With too much force in her weight, the top hinge broke from the paneling, causing a stir of dust within the room. To her relief, the room was vacant and in relatively good shape, though she could not think of examining the past yet.

After dragging her saddlebags and the hide from the corner into the room, the mare pushed the door back into its frame. Looking around the room, she found a block of wood that stood on four legs. It mocked her as it was the same size she was, and so she put it to use. With all her strength, she pushed it to the door, creating a safeguard. Of course, as soon as she finished, one of the legs broke and the whole thing fell forward with a shattering force.

Kicking off the remaining wooden legs, the mare pushed it back up against the door only to find small panels had fallen out. Most of them were empty, but one was filled with moth-eaten cloth. Different in colors, the mare could tell they were long like the skins she had sewn together to wrap around her legs. These did not provide the same warmth as her hides.

There was more to the room, but the little light that protruded from the door's cracks provided no help in discovering what they were.

The only thing the mare recognized was the square that sat on one side of the room atop posts. It, like the mysterious garments, had been torn to shreds by bugs. It did not fall apart upon the mare's climb, and so she took it as a sign that the spirits of the past allowed her peace. Taking the roll of hide, she threw it atop the square and placed another roll near the headboard. Rest was needed.

Hawkeye - Snow II

Upon the coming morn, Hawkeye took the broken legs and smashed the empty panels, forming a kindling within the entrance area. With its openness, the mare could see any intruder that gawked at the smoke or flames, and she would retreat into the sleeping quarters if need be. She needed the fire. It was going to be a cold day. She could feel the ice in her bones. The winter had not been the kindest already, and it was only getting worse.

The previous quiet, windless day had been replaced with darker clouds that would reign over the land, garnering the storm that was eventual. It would be a blizzard, one of many that tormented the living during colder seasons. The mare hoped to see the soft bloom of flowers once more, the morning dew blanketing the grass and leaves. But without fire, she would freeze before her chores were done.

She had piled rubble from the roof that had collapsed, forming a pit for the tinder. With her bone knife, she tore the long garments she had found into kindling. Scraps of the cloth would catch aflame, warming the wood and grow a fire. Using the only piece of flint she had, she struck the side a few times against the stone. Sparks prevailed against the harshness, burning the torn fabric and crawling against the wood.

Stoking it with the fat cut from the rabbit's meat, the fire began to roar. She dared not stick too much timber upon the flames for fear that it would be smothered.

When it was growing, the mare removed the straps from her shoulders, undoing the strings that ran down her forelegs. Pulling off the gloves, she felt the heat against her light amber-grey fur. The warmth alone rejuvenated the desperate mare, filling her spirit and combating the cold.

She waited for a while, gathering herself and thinking upon her duties. The domicile of the ancients was an excellent base for the time being, but that didn't make it safe. She would have to check every inch of the ruin, building barriers and setting traps. It was better to start on the outside and work inward.

The fire would last several hours, and though the cold entered through the open roof, the mare did not worry. She had made plenty of fires over the years, and this would not be her last.

Strapping on the gloves and spinning the thread that bound the hide, she was ready enough to face the cold. With the oncoming storm, there was not much to do, yet the sacrifice had to be made. To go into a storm without giving a gift to the gods, there would be consequences, and the dire situation the mare had found herself in would only worsen. Braving the cold and fighting the ice would be worthy work.

For mares and stallions, the cold could end all life, but for the unseen, the cold made no difference. Should the unseen grow hungry and stumble into the sanctity of the ruins for some strange reason, the mare who was the last of the remnants would become cornered. Running and braving the storm would mean her ultimate demise, yet staying would grant her a night of terror under constant worry and threat. No, the gift was more than necessary.

With her hides securely on, the mare sidled outside into the snow-covered land. Her chores needed finishing.

Hawkeye - Chores I

Growing up with the remnants of kin, it was essential to learn specific practices. To be seen by the unseen would be the end, and as such, to hide from the hidden would mean life another day. Chores had to be set by the scouts of the remnants, perimeters managed, and lines needed to be sown. It was not an easy task by any such means, the unseen did not have to leave prints on the snow or grass or mud.

Even so, the mare dragged her body around the ruins, eyeing the land that surrounded the sanctuary. Though blank trees in sprouted every direction, the property itself remained flat. It was a boon for the mare, to be able to see kilometers in every direction. Not only that, but if the unseen walked instead of flew, they would knock down trees and warn the mare long before she saw the celestial.

First, she made an escape route, which consisted of traveling between broken, rundown homes. Though only frames and rubble remained, they provided excellent cover to crawl against should the need arise. Her biggest fear was that of sound. The crackling of snow beneath her hooves - crunching with every step - a deadly noise.

Secondly, she needed to make the necessary sacrifice. She serpentined into the forest of the barren trees. If any smell were caught, whether by wildlife or not, the jumbled mess of paths would confuse and bewilder the hunter. This was vital to the process. She would need to follow the awkward trail back as well.

Upon finding a flat rock that slanted into the earth as if the ground was eating it, the mare took the wrapped, bloody cloth from her bag. Undoing it, she dumped the meat as best she could without coating it in the snow. Snow, dirt, and mud detracted the smell for the unseen. That's what the mare had always been told, at least, and though she spat in the ideals of what remained taboo, this was not something she would deny. She hoped a wild animal would not get this offering. The unseen would hunt the beast down, possibly entering the ruins of the past and discovering her instead.

Before she vacated the area, she spoke a small prayer. It wasn't for her or the rabbit, though the poor critter did not deserve its fate. No, it was for the gods. She prayed they would take her humble offering and not grow resentful, scouring the earth for her.

With a brief inhale, she held her breath, feeling the cold in her lungs. Following the path she had made back to the ruins, the mare glanced up at the grey clouds just as a flake fell in front of her. Her brows pinched together beneath her hood as she realized her mistake. Trotting as quickly as she could, she scrapped her wary, roundabout path. Upon nearing the ruins, she saw that smoke still wafted up from the collapsed venue. A good sign, she thought. The spirits of the past had not forsaken her, spitting on the warmth she had made.

Pushing through the entrance, the mare rushed to the room she had claimed as her own. Tearing off the hide she had used for a sheet, she dragged it across the ground with her teeth, pulling it out to the fire. Using a pile of rubble, the mare stacked two towers around the fire. Once she finished, she threw the hide over the new structures and placed more stone to prevent it from blowing off. Keeping a side open, the mare made sure that no snowfall could flutter onto the flames and kill her source of life.

Her chores remained unfinished, however. Though the storm was almost upon her, the mare took the opportunity to search the corridor that held her claimed quarters.

There was another passage on the opposite side of the entrance, along with the second level that held two more paths leading down both sides. Hawkeye cared not to search them until the storm had passed, time ruptured those three with rubble. It would become a sore task to clear with cold and wind making it much worse.

With the fire managed by some extra kindling, the mare made a note of the possible rooms within her hall. It reminded her of the cave the remnants of kin had existed in, though doors were nonexistent within their earthen home. The elders had made sure the kin followed the past generations, stating closed entries were for the ancients to hide their emotions, secrets, and shame. It was more evident to the mare now as to why the burdensome wooden barriers were not needed for the remnants. The door that sat across from her own let out a wailing screech as she tugged it open, which would have reverberated among the kin's cavernous walls.

To the mare's surprise, there was an opening at the opposing wall. It was shaped like an egg, though she had no clue why. Did the ancients fear no evil as to allow gaping holes within their quarters? Had the mare seen such an oddity before, she would have asked the elders, but that was impossible now.

With the light coaxed into the room from the strange opening, the mare could see how intense the damage became. The box of wood had rotted so heavily that as she tugged on one of the compartments, the knob came off. The comfy bedding was gone from this room and the frame that held it was lying limply on the floor. Water stains coated the ceiling like dirty rivers, and some still dripped onto the rotted floorboards.

All the rooms that sat on this side of the hall were alike. Each had their own strange opening to the outside world.

Those that ran the span of her quarter's side were much like her own, mostly untainted by the decay of life and time. There was nothing valuable or worthwhile within any of these other than the same sort of garments she had found within her wooden box.

It wasn't until she came to the room next to her own that she found something of use. The back wall had crumbled forward, leaving a gap and path up to the level above. The contents of both had been shattered, but she was thankful that she would not have to undo her hides to glide up a single floor.

She chose to leave the rest of her search for tomorrow.

Hawkeye - Beast I

Once the fire died, the mare went to her quarters. She barricaded herself in, leaving the hide atop the dull embers, preventing the pit from being ruined by the snow that was continually intruding. The storm had not been nearly as severe as she had first assumed, the gusts barely making whirlwinds of ice. New blankets of snow were greeted by the sun early the next morn.

With her bone knife at the ready, the mare set on exploring the rest of her new residence.

Pushing past the collapsed stone and wood that crooked the other passage on the ground level, the mare noted how much destruction had been caused within the west wing. She wondered if time had truly been the cause of the mighty dwelling's disarray, or if the unseen had come for the ancient ones. All of the chambers that sat against the outside had collapsed, while the inward side fared no better.

Near the end of the hallway, or what used to be a hallway, the mare found one room that had remained unspoiled. Though the door was chipped in half like an axe through a tree, the innards were the same as her own quarters. The ancient bed had been chewed to bits, leaving holes that were far worse than hers. She didn't care about that, however, as the wooden box with legs had been pushed into a corner away from the door. Tugging at the handles, she found more than just garments this time.

The two smallest compartments at the top held something she had only heard of and had never expected to see. In all her years, though she had been told countless times to avoid ruins, there was always an addition to that command. Avoiding the ancient's texts, their words filled with lies, was above all other taboos.

As she ignored the teachings of her ancestors, the mare found that the relics turned to dust as she opened their bindings. The words were unreadable, though she wouldn't have been able to read them regardless. Not all of the tomes were the same, however. One, trapped at the bottom below the rest, had managed to hold together as time withered its brethren. Many of the pages stuck together, but the writing was still legible.

Tucking it into her hood, the mare chose to keep it. Though she had never admitted it to any of her other kin, she had always found a fascination for the ancients and their things. It was a puzzle that could never be solved, and that very idea enticed her.

Sudden sounds of the present broke her from the past immediately, snapping her whole body to face the shredded bed. With her bone knife in hoof, she eyed the movement within the torn foam, hoping that it was just her imagination.

For the mare, she was unlucky on this day. Her worries had come true; an animal burst from the sleeping square, charging and screeching. The high-pitched, raspy squeal echoed within the room, sending a burst of adrenaline within the mare. She had still been stuck in her old ways within the cave where any animal's noise was forbidden and would be ceased posthaste. Clamping her bone knife into the skull, the mare had halted the cry.

She regretted it.

Not because she took the life of an animal, she had done that plenty of times, nor because she did it on the ancient's hallowed ground, which was expressly forbidden. No, she regretted it because the smell would attract wildlife and gods.

In the cave of the remnants of kin, a pony could take the corpse of an animal deep within the bowels. The other kin would remove the trace of its scent by dragging dirt, mud or snow within the tracks. The smell would not waft far enough for wild animals or gods to smell, and once the kin had skinned the beast, they would leave the meat as a sacrifice.

But the killing always took place far from the sanctity of the remnant's perimeters. Blood left a smell that could only be removed by the elements.

Leaving the blade in the animal's skull, she wrapped a hoof around its length and rushed into the light. Maneuvering around the rubble, she threw the creature into the snow. In the sun, she knew the critter was nothing more than a weasel. It would have done no harm had she just left it alone, yet the tenseness she had been feeling overwhelmed her, forcing wild judgement.

She pulled the knife from the skull and sunk it into the snow. As quickly as she could, the mare dug a hole with her hooves. Deeper and deeper, she went until she hit dirt. Pulling it by the weasel by the tail, she stuffed the violent critter into the hole and buried snow atop its corpse. There was no time to waste skinning it. Blood had been left within the room which needed to be scrubbed, along with any drops on the floor.

Unwrapping her hood and pulling at the cloth she used to cover her muzzle, the mare piled snow atop the garment. She would carry it back and mask the blood's scent as best she could, praying that it would be enough.

Hawkeye - Water I

The mare had cleaned the blood as best she could with snow, yet she realized that water would be a much better tool. She needed to create another fire to purify the frozen flakes, it had been on her list of many chores. Instead of choosing to continue her scavenging, she once again lit the covered pit. Pulling the hide down, she made a tent for the stoked flames and placed snow at the top. The heat would rise and melt the snow, creating a pool and allowing her to collect the fresh water.

She'd been living on snow for nourishment, though she knew that it made her body colder. The fire had been enough to warm her, so the thought had receded to the back of her mind. Now, needing water to clean, she knew that it had been a mistake to ignore the basics of life. Angered at herself, she watched and waited as the snow melted.

Grabbing the canteen from her saddlebags, she held it up to the hide and let the liquid drain into the opening. She had not gotten a chance to go through all of her belongings, there were plenty of things she had left behind, but the canteen had been a gift that she never forsook. After the water had drained, she put more snow in its place. Waiting again, she stared down at the tanned container. It was lined with sap and resins to prevent leakage, though the emblem sewn into the side made it unique.

It was a cutie mark, a rack of strings pulling hide. It was not her cutie mark, but it was the only one of its kind. The maker's mark, the only time he had ever added his emblem, and it was for her. It always brought a smile to her face whenever she looked down at it, though now it only brought tears.

Falling like water, the canteen was soaked by the time the fire had finished another batch.

Hawkeye - Loneliness II

"By the sweat of my brow and the strength of my blood, I gift this humble offering to the almighty in the hopes of blessings and safety. I ask for guidance and reassurance from my ancestors that preside in the life after life, whom watch both kin and god, and that they will be at peace knowing I have followed in the hoofsteps. Deliver me from the evil that I walk, for my name is Hawkeye."

Whispering the prayer to the skinned weasel, the mare named Hawkeye hoped that it would be enough. The hare she had rendered had been taken, and so she left the lengthy varmint in its place knowing that a god would be by soon to swoop up the meat.

Upon her return to the enormous ruin, she chose not to relight the fire. Her energy had been exhausted. Skinning the weasel, skimming water, and scrubbing blood had all taken the day away. Shutting herself within her dreary quarters, Hawkeye barricaded the door and pulled her saddlebags onto the bed. The foam within was tearing with every movement she made, though she paid it no mind.

Her focus was on her belongings, the few she had managed to gather from her old home with the remnants of kin. Though she ached to have everything returned to her, she pined for the blood of her kin more. As tears fell into the tanned bag, she pulled a doll from the innards. It was the last reminder she had of her mother, a pink mare with a light blue mane. It didn't resemble any of the ponies within the kin's cave, but Hawkeye cherished it.

Putting the doll beside the sack, she then pulled a small satchel from within. It did not jingle until she undid the string, releasing the metal coins onto the bed. Gathered over the years and hidden from the other kin, she had heard the circular metal was referred to as bits by the ancients. Though no one had answers as to why the ancestors held favor for such things, she held on to any that could be found.

Only one other kin had ever given her a bit. He had tanned and sewn the satchel for her to carry them, just as he had given her a canteen with his emblem. The stallion had never answered from where he had gotten them. For her duties, Hawkeye often scouted the world around the remnants of kin. Entering the ruins was taboo, but only if she was caught, and she had never been. The stallion, however, stayed within their cavernous home, tanning hides brought back and creating clothes smothered with earthen scents. She often wondered how he had managed such a thing. Had another scout entered some old ruins or discovered a smothered treasury? Had there been others who would voice against such ruins being taboo?

It didn't matter now. Her only company was tears, though it would not be that way forever.

Stuffing the coins back into the satchel, the mare returned all of her belongings to the saddlebag. She included the book she had taken, though she would never be able to read its words. The cover was enough to entice her imagination, sparking a creative flow that she had never known.

Pulling down the white cloth that covered her muzzle, she wiped her nose with the back of her gloved hoof. Tears stained the hide and the bag, but she knew they would fade.

Her loneliness would fade too, though her grief would always be with her. For her home, for the kin that had been in her life since her conception, and especially for the stallion who had given her so much. He would be kept in her heart forever, for he was far more unique. Her only regret was that he would never see the foal she would bear soon enough.

Hawkeye - God I

A sudden blizzard had blown through as the mare slept, blowing around her campfire and tearing at the stones of her hide. She had awoken to the trampling of rocks striking the stone floor, forcing her to rush and gather her things. As she captured her only hide, she came face to face with the worst storm she had ever seen. The night sky provided no light other than the lightning strikes that struck down from the clouds, cutting snowflakes in half and torching whatever tree might have gotten in its path.

After putting away the hide, she returned to the entrance and stared out the doorway, eyeing the wind that cut stone and drudged up rotten floorboards. The decaying ruins of houses around her monstrous dwelling were being destroyed even further, though she thought it impossible. Just as she started to back away and return to her quarters, hoping the storm would end soon, lightning struck a tree within her cone of vision. She would have thought nothing of the powerful showing done by the elements had a terrifying scream not accompanied the sight.

In the flames that wrought the tree, the abyss could be seen. A celestial being. One of many masters. A god.

Her heart shot into her throat. The unseen was seen and it had been struck by nature's wrath.

With the light of the roaring fire that soaked and charred the tree, Hawkeye could see every detail upon the deity. It was the first of flyers she had ever seen. To this point, the only other that crossed her path had been a walker thrice the size of the most prominent kin within the remnants. That one had been grey, its bones showing, and feathers coated its underside like the opposite of a bird.

This one, however, was black of body and lack of spirit, translucent tentacles covered the celestial as if it were a corrupt snowball. It had no eyes, only a mouth that resembled the beak of an octopus. The god shuffled between the trees, grabbing the wood with its tentacles and pulling them down. It floated forward, rushing into the ruins as if it feared its surroundings.

For the mare, she knew the almighty would be heading for refuge, for the enormous dwelling she had made into her own. Rushing back to her quarters, she quickly shoved the door shut and pushed the wooden box against the frame. Tossing her bags to the furthest corner and covering the bed with the snowy hide, she hoped her scent would not draw the divine.

Crawling beneath the frame of the bed, Hawkeye hid with the mold that now liberally coated her back and head.

She waited. If the god entered her room, she would hold her breath for as long as she could manage. It wasn't something she could do well - a forty second max - but it would suffice, she hoped.

A ruckus erupted from the entrance, the unseen had pushed through the broken doors. She listened to it slithering its tentacles along the walls outside her door, but this passed as it continued. When it made its way back, she could hear a knock, the writhing tendrils pushing and prodding at whatever it could grab. But it was when the door fell, broken off the bottom hinge, that she knew to hold her breath.

One cutie mark. Two cutie mark. Three cutie mark. Her count had started, hoping the god would leave before she was forced to gasp for air.

The frame cracked from the size of the god. Though the tentacles were transparent, creating a wispy look as they moved, they held a mass that could crush a pony's head in a matter of seconds. These tentacles tapped the wooden box she had barricaded in front of the door before moving to the wall. It followed the edge until it came to her bags.

Four cutie mark. Five cutie mark. Six cutie mark.

She could see it smother the straps in its tendrils, wrapping around and gauging the contents. It lifted the saddlebags into the air before dropping them back to the ground, only to wait for something else to happen.

Seven cutie mark. Eight cutie mark. Nine cutie mark.

A high-pitched growl echoed from the god's mouth as it slapped at the bags, shaking the contents. As if studying their reaction, the god hissed and mewed, slinking against the walls around her belongings. She wondered why it chose to examine her things after finding no trace of her.

Ten cutie mark. Eleven cutie mark. Twelve cutie mark.

Once it finally gave up, she saw the tendrils slump across the ground, dragged to the edge of the bed. With another screech and growl, the hide she had placed on the bed was thrown off, forming a pile on the ground to the left. He struck the fabric repeatedly, screaming at it with a murderous fury.

Thirteen cutie mark. Fourteen cutie mark. Fifteen cutie mark.

Lifting the hide, Hawkeye could not see what exactly it was doing. It was not until the god dropped it back to the floor that she saw the bite taken from the cured hide. He sounded like a choking bird, regurgitating food for its young, though this god did not spout its contents.

Sixteen cutie mark. Seventeen cutie mark. Eighteen cutie mark.

With a volley of strikes, the god furiously slapped the top of the bed before pulling up the mattress and throwing it against the other wall. Had there not been another square beneath, Hawkeye would have been in the open, an enticing meal for the beaked god.

Nineteen cutie mark. Twenty cutie mark. Twenty-one cutie mark.

The tendrils wrapped around the posts and shook the bed, sending more mold onto the mare's back, sliding down her sides. With another screech, the tantrum by the god had subsided and the divine pushed through the cracked frame, dragging its tentacles with it.

Twenty-two cutie mark. Twenty-three cutie mark. Twenty-four cutie mark.

Though the god had vanished out of sight, the mare knew better than to trust a single inspection.

Twenty-five cutie mark. Twenty-six cutie mark. Twenty-seven cutie mark. Twenty-eight... Twenty-nine...

The god returned, slapping its tendrils against the frame and letting out an ear-shattering screech. It was the final outburst. As soon as it finished, the god once again left. This time, the door of the enormous dwelling shattered against the stone. The angered god had left in a rampage.

Finally able to breathe, Hawkeye remained still. She would not sleep, she would be a statue until the morning light.

Hawkeye - Escape

In the words of the elders, retreating was an action destined to give the life to a mare or stallion whom saw the futility of bravery. It was not cowardly. And although Hawkeye had done much in her few days within the ruins, upon the first ray of the morning sun, she chose to escape. She had rolled up the bitten hide and placed it on her back with the saddlebags, deciding to leave the scavenging of the upstairs to the vermin.

The unseen had vanished. Hawkeye knew it would return. Now that it knew the area had a scent, she wouldn't be safe within the broken walls.

Following the direction of the sun, she continued east. Pushing more south than she had before, she knew mountains ranged along the north. There was nothing up there but snow and gods. In all her scouting days, never had she gone past these ancient ruins. She hoped to find more hallowed ground somewhere more warm. The elders spoke of the ancestors who fled for their lives, finding holes and outlets away from their impractical homes. Once, in her early youth, she had asked if those ponies might have survived, creating other such bands of kin.

She had been spanked for asking such a question, and so she never asked it again.

Yet as she walked, last of the remnants, she wondered how far she could go. If the ancients had the luxury of homes above ground, had they not also explored the world? Had they built tools and gathered forces to hunt curious mysteries? Had they unearthed the gods?

A chill ran down her spine as she pictured the black, haunting tendrils grasping at the bed's frame, shaking it with the god's mighty power. She was thankful to be away from such a terror. The further she traveled, the safer she felt. If she ran into another of the unseen, it would end the same as being discovered beneath that bed. For some reason, that didn't matter to her. Now, Hawkeye was breaking new ground.

She hadn't given it much thought, but the ruins had been close, too close, to the cave of the remnants of kin. It had been an exhausting journey, yet she had done it plenty of times scouting. Her heart leapt with the excitement of pushing beyond, escaping the old confines of the life she was forced to leave behind. As a filly, she had wanted to do such a thing, to journey far, to escape the prison of fear that the kin had wrapped around her. Had she known how things would have ended, she might not have stayed.

She couldn't help but silently laugh to herself, realizing now that the gods had once again kicked her from her home. Stopping, Hawkeye looked up at the sky. The bright sun rained down on her with golden rays, warming the uncovered parts of her face. She wondered where the gods had come from, why they killed ponies, and why they spared her. Was it her survival instincts, or just pure dumb luck?

Escaping the unseen twice. Why does it make me feel so good when every bone in my body wants to give in? To join those in the life after life... they would not want that. Not when I carry the future of the remnants of kin. But why is it my curse to bear alone? What did I do to forsake the spirits the kin had not done before I?

Hawkeye wept as the snow around her melted.

Prologue

When the gods came, Equestria ceased to exist. When Equestria ceased to exist, the gods remained.

There was no in-between.

So what happened to the land that had been called Equestria?

A thousand years.

Hawkeye - Loneliness I

To be the last of something is much like being the first. Loneliness sets in after a while. Eventually, that loneliness will subside for both the last and the first. The first will have its loneliness crushed by the second, the third, the fourth, and so on. The last, however, will have its loneliness follow it until the last is no more.

It had not been a while, not yet, for the last of the remnants of kin. Loneliness would come. It would have its day to burden the mare, soaking her face and draining her soul.

Only ice and snow were meant to coat the mare's thoughts for now, that and the shape of stones that fit into a particular shelter.

There had been ruins of the era long ago not far from the home of the remnants of kin, but they had proved to be as useful as water to a fire. The mare, traveling in the direction of the rising sun, had known of another, far more taboo, set of stone structures of the lost era. The eldest had spoken terrors of the unseen that had destroyed the autochthon's dwellings. Nightmares that roamed the earth with numbers that could rival the leaves on all the trees of the land. They had caused much loneliness for those ancient ponies, just as they did for the mare.

Those forbidden, decaying hovels would provide comfort for the mare, but only if she could find the ruins.

It had seemed far closer during the seasons of rain and sun when the sky was only dark to nourish the greens. Now, bogged by snow and ice, the sun-bleached stones seemed like a lifetime away. Every few steps became halted by the sounds of crackling snow bouncing between hills and knolls. And every few steps, the mare was forced to hoist her saddlebag back up her spine.

There hadn't been enough time to gather all that she had needed, and their weight would have been customarily divided among two or three others. For the mare who was the last of the remnants of kin, she was forced to suffer the burden alone. Once she would find shelter, the lade would be lifted, and a new pain would surface. The ache of grieving, the ache of loneliness. So now, wandering her way through the timbered tundra, she would take the physical strain. Her mind remained focused on moving forward, though her heart begged to argue.

All the effort she had made was for pushing forward. Nothing else was allowed. Loneliness would come later.

Hawkeye - Hunger I

Within the massive domicile, in a corner, the mare had shrugged off her tiring saddlebags. She had unraveled the skins she had grabbed as she left the remnants of kin, plopping them down on the cold, hard floor. In one bag, she had the foodstuffs, in the other, she had her memories. Her stomach was aching with pain, but it had been that way for days, and she knew the reason why.

Releasing the strap, she undid the hide and opened the cloth wrapped roots. Pulling down her hood and loosening the white fabric that wrapped around her muzzle, the mare bit down on the clay-colored vegetable. A resounding snap rang out, reverberating against the stone walls of the monstrous, lavish home. It reminded her of the cave; the noise would have angered the remnants of kin.

Peace surrounded her, and darkness would follow. No one gave her fearful looks or furious snarls. She ate how she wanted; she had no reason to hide the noise. The unseen would not hear. It was the fire that she worried would draw the eyes of a wandering god. Heat produced light, and in the night, light could be seen. A fire during the day - one to warm the bones beneath the rags of sewn hides - only meant smoke could be seen. Smoke did not draw the gods; perhaps they were accustomed to seeing it due to their destructive nature.

The mare would not have a fire on this day. She hadn't gathered kindling, she hadn't scouted the rest of the domicile that stood around her, and she hadn't made the much-needed sacrifice.

Finishing the root vegetable, the mare wiped her mouth with the back of her hoof, smearing the hide's fur with crumbs. Rolling up the cloth, she tucked it back into the foodstuffs bag and peered through the other contents. At the bottom, in the bloodstained hide, she made sure the meat had not yet rotted. Carrying decayed meat was worse than carrying a fresh kill, the rot could not be used as a sacrifice. It would only draw the predators who hungered like her.

Wolves or bears or big cats, sometimes the occasional bird of prey. It did not matter who obtained the skinned rabbit, even though it was not meant for them. The unseen would follow the stolen meat and feast upon the thief. Or, if no wildlife took it, the unseen would have its meal of hare and be off to hibernate. For most occasions, either choice was valid, though the mare preferred the latter.

This was her only defense against the hungry gods.