Author's Note

And so starts the story that was requested by literally one person on the song based on this story, which has only existed as a RP for almost a decade now. Feel free to be as brutally honest as you would like in your comments. I need to know what I'm doing wrong so I can work out how to give a tale so close to my heart the justice it deserves. (There will also be chapters written by my co-author and RP partner for the story, Jacob Willis. Whom will be writing out the Prologue for Golden Whisper.)

Prologue I - To begin, so too must it end

"Braaaaash~!" A smooth, silky voice gracefully whisps across a rather quaint-looking house at the edge of Ponyville.

The pale green two-story cottage sits comfortably under a thatch roof, small disperate windows punctuating the messy exterior. The base of its walls has all manner of household apparel leaned against it: tools, toys, forgotten shreddings of cardboard and styrofoam, and a rather disjointed-looking barrel in the back. A dark oak carriage rests in front, the host of suitcases perched atop contained precariously by a short railing.

Standing at the front stoop we find the source of the voice: A soft-faced, gentle mare by the name of Silver Blade. Her white coat almost seems to glow against the harsh morning sun, the small glittering streak in her grey mane shining in the light. She peers down the street patiently, a duffle bag draped limply over her back. As she pauses to listen, she hears a small pair of snickering voices from behind the coach. A small smirk cracks her lips. She slowly steps down off the porch.

"Oh, woe is me! My husband and son have gone on without me, whatever shall I do?" She chides as she steps further onto the lawn, eyeing the cart with a slight air of sarcasm.

From behind the stagecoach, a brown streak of fur and feathers sails over the luggage, the perfect camouflage. The small giggling bundle of energy rams into Silver with the enthusiasm of a lightning bolt, sending both ponies tumbling over into the moist grass below.

Silver chuckles as her hooves lay over the newcomer's shoulders, his violet eyes peering back at her with an inextinguishable bravado. She gives him a small nuzzle before hoisting back to a standing position, taking a moment to dust the colt off with her wings.

"Alright, Honey. Enough games. We do really have to get moving, or we'll be late!" She warns.

"We know, Silver." A deep, gravelly voice groans out from behind the carriage.

Out from behind the cart steps a tall, broad-shouldered stallion with a long, sandy mane. It contrasts rather sharply with the near-black chocolate of his coat. Sentinel gives a small grunt as he leaps up to the roof of the coach, offering a hoof for the bag resting on his wife's back.

"Is that everything?" He asks, her nod confirming as she hoists the bag up to him. Once the bag is secured to his satisfaction, he hops down to the dusty street—with another quiet grunt—rolling his shoulder on his way to the front of the cart. He glances at the two ponies next to the carriage as he steps into the harness.

Silver pulls the door open for her son, Brash Blade. He leaps into the cart with a rambunctious fervor, swatting her face with the feathers of his uncomfortably large wings. She sputters and shakes her head, frowning slightly. Silver collects herself and climbs in behind him, shutting the door.

"So... Why are we traveling in a cart, Mom? Wouldn't it be faster to just fly?" Brash asks as he up at his mother, who was gazing back as Ponyville slowly receded into the distance. She can just make out the ponies of the town, only just now waking up and becoming active—which signaled well to avoid cumbersome traffic.

"You're right that it'd be faster at first, but the weather ponies have a storm planned between here and Manehatten. You're too big for us to carry you anymore, and you haven't been flying for very long. Sentinel and I talked it over and decided it would just be simpler and more enjoyable if we rented a cart." She explains in her usual soft, almost cautious way. A trained ear could pick out Silver's struggle to avoid making her son feel at fault.

"Oh... Well, okay then." His tone subdues, the colt naturally possessing the aforementioned trained ear.

Silver clicks her tongue at him gently, patting his head with her wing. "It's okay, Brash. You can't be the best at everything right away. Remember? We talked about this... Besides, it's not like either of us mind travelling this way, do we Honey?" She asks, cocking her head vaguely in the direction of the front window.

The husband-turned-draftpony shakes his head. "Nope! Not at all!"

The words of approval from his father seems to provide Brash with some level of ease as the trip progresses. The days lazily crawl along, the countryside gradually listing outside the window with them. As they press on, the weather takes a turn for the worse as predicted by the weather team: Starting with a light rain on the first evening, the sky rains down a howling storm by the fourth, bufetting trees and pounding against the roof of the stagecoach.

The fifth morning, Silver pulls lightly on Sentinel's shoulder as he packs away a food bag. "Honey... I think we should just stay here for today. Trottingham canyon is about an hour out, and it's raining pretty hard out there..."

The hulking stallion looks out to the rain, and with seemingly no concern, gives a shrug. "This carriage is heavy enough. It's not like they have a tornado planned."

"Sentinel..." She pleads.

"It's fine, Love. It's just a little rain!" He grunts, stepping out of the cart and shutting the door quickly to avoid letting too much water drip inside.

As the cart jostles to a start, the rumbling and shaking rouses Brash. He looks up and around with the tired disinterest so common among sleepy foals. After a mighty yawn (and a stretch taking up an entire bench), he rolls onto his back and looks out the window viewing the angry sky from an inverted perspective.

Silver gives off a small laugh from her side of the cart. "Still sleepy? You've been out since yesterday afternoon!" She teases, rubbing at his belly, poking and prodding his soft underbelly to elicit a small giggle.

A smile involuntarily spreads across his face, laughing as he writhes under his mother's assault, trying vainly to cover his ticklish parts. This struggle only persists for cursory few moments, however. Silver notes the approaching canyon road marking the descent into the craggy passage, a mild sense of worry tinting her eyes.

Brash feels the tension in the air, and raises his head slightly to speak up. "Mom? What's wro—"

****

Brash shakes his head hazily as he startles awake, a small groan and cough escaping him as he forces his eyes open. His head, his wings, his... everything hurts. This pain is far and away from the pain radiating from his shoulder. His eyes trail down his body as he stares in a stupor. Nothing about it looked right.

Where his collarbone should be, there is now a large, wide section of metal wheel banding forced through his shoulder. It seems to have cut all but a small flap of skin free from his body in a horrid, pulpy mess of bloody flesh. Splintered bones protrude from either side of the cavity, laying disjointedly for his viewing displeasure. His gaze is fixated for a moment. He slowly tears his eyes (no, eye—he can't seem to see anything on one side) away from the crush to look at the scene which lay before him.

A familiar white mare lies coiled around him, a shard of metal having claimed a quarter of her head. Her skull is crushed into disparate pieces seemingly scattered off into nowhere, her eye laying punctured and reddened against her snout. Her remaining intact orbit houses a second bloodshot eye staring lifelessly up into the rain. A section of gray matter spills from inside her cranium, attached by a stringy tendril of brain, swaying ever so slightly in the wind.

Brash's sight begins to fail, blackness mercifully wrapping itself around him like a warm blanket. He screams.

And then, nothingness.