Wild was back in his dorm, lying in bed after having taken a shower. The windows in his bedroom were closed - the winds have picked up in intensity and lowered in temperature since the paintball game. He could hear his own breathing, almost hear his own pulse, and there was nothing else.

And no one else.

Wild groaned softly and rolled over, pressing his face into the pillow. He relaxed his body, trying to sink into sleep, yet it continued to evade him. However, he could be very stubborn when he wanted to be, and so he continued switching positions, hoping that one of them would fit him just right and allow him to drift off to sleep in as close to an instant as possible. He wanted sleep - he didn’t want to embrace the... issues he had.

Choices, choices. An easy path, a difficult path. Being ignorant, remaining ignorant, or... learning.

He had already made a choice that day, he thought, as he complained internally about it. What more could the world ask of him? What could the world need from someone like him? He wanted his rest, he needed his rest.

Yet this rest wouldn’t change a thing about the uncertainty of an unknown future looming over him. Time marched on, with or without him, and the longer he put something off, the more difficult it became later. Wild didn’t have the luxury of remaining uncaring about his future anymore.

How did his parents get where they were? He knew, intellectually, that they were once kids too, and then they grew up to be his age and beyond. He wished he could ask them where to go from where he was, but they were no longer there. If they still lived, Wild wouldn’t be called Wild, he wouldn’t be a pony, and, perhaps, his life would’ve been easier despite the fact that he didn’t see anything ahead no matter how long he gazed into the future.

His father held a job once, he knew, before... before circumstances forced him to leave it and become a... stay-at-home father. That was the kindest description Wild could give if he ignored those circumstances, the very same that gave him his ear scar. He knew his silent semi-frequent complaints about the scar were nothing, nothing in comparison to what his father lost and yet didn’t complain about. Or did he? Wild never knew if his father had his own internal conflicts, his own shame, his own helplessness, and he would never get to ask, never get to talk face to face with his father.

It was all an accident that rendered his father unable to work. The very same could easily happen to Wild... and had it not happened already? The Changeling Invasion changed his life, and the Nightmare changed him irrevocably. Neither of those events were under his control, very much like what happened to his father.

Wild rolled over on his bed yet again, staring at a wall now. A part of him whispered - why struggle when all could be undone in one moment, a moment that was not decided by him? Why plan ahead when everything could be ripped away, his life torn asunder? He could never know what the future held for him.

He had lived - and once died - by it. He had known he had no future then, and so he only did what he could to survive and to achieve his revenge. The changelings have attacked him, giving him a new path, a path to strike back at them like how he had once done to those who violated him, yet it was taken away from him before he could even truly think of it. The changelings responsible were either already in prison or hunted down, and this hunt had more resources at their disposal than he had ever had. He alone couldn’t hope to stand against the changelings even if there was no one else to do it - the Invasion had shown it clearly. Humans were far... simpler - they had no magic, no shape-shifting abilities, no ability to fly without aid.

The Nightmare was right - he was still weak, still unprepared for this world. They offered him power, and he continued to wonder if the price would have been worth it, no matter what Luna said about it. Perhaps he would’ve learned to coexist with the Nightmare, to still have a part of him, the most important part of him, alive.

That was all, of course, a moot point. The Nightmare was gone, he was the one who killed them, and he would not regret it. This, at least, proved that he wasn’t entirely helpless.

Wild groaned again, this time having chosen a pillow to hug close to his chest. None of this changed the feeling of something missing, and it wasn’t the feeling somewhere between his body and soul where there was once a weak yet steady connection. The pillow he hugged was as warm as he had gotten it with his own body heat, and he wondered what it would be like to... what it would be like to...

He didn’t want to think about it, yet images arose inside his mind. Him, lying in a large bed, yet he wasn’t drowning in the sheets and the size of the mattress - there was someone there, right next to him, and he allowed it and didn’t flinch away from the touch. He could almost feel their body heat against his own, their breath on his skin, see their eyes looking into his with contentment and, perhaps, maybe, possibly, happiness.

Just like that, this dream disappeared, leaving him entirely alone. Just as he was used to. He had convinced himself that it was for the best, but then why didn’t it feel like it was the best? Why was there a gnawing, hungry sensation inside him, deep within, somewhere close to his heart?

He whimpered, his vision blurry, and he hated how he cried yet enjoyed the sensation all the same. It brought some relief, removed the tension even as it made his throat hurt and his eyes not see.

In his room, he was the only one present, and no one heard as he cried himself to sleep.

***

Wild awoke, not remembering when or if he even fell asleep yesterday. He felt groggy, his eyes felt crusty, and the room itself felt colder than was necessarily comfortable. Nevertheless, he got up from the bed and stretched. His morning routine went as usual, which wasn’t a surprise. Routine isn’t something that concerned the future, it was a constant in the present.

There was a letter under his door again. He picked it up and opened it.

Hello Wild,

I regret to inform you that our meeting is rescheduled for the same day next week as I am needed in Canterlot due to the recent legislation debates. In the meanwhile, Doctor Fay of Canterlot Royal Hospital, Head of Psychology and Psychiatry Ward, will be in my stead. She has my full confidence as she had once been my mentor. If you need someone to talk to, you can trust her - everything you say to her will be held in strict confidentiality, and not even I would be able to access it without breaking her trust and a number of laws pertaining to patient rights, specifically the right to privacy.

Signed,

Princess Luna

It didn’t take long for Wild to realize that the debates in question were about the changelings - he silently offered himself a small praise for keeping up with the news. This time, at least, he wasn’t ignorant of the goings-on, and he intended to keep it that way.

As for this Doctor Fay... Wild decided to put it off. He didn’t need to visit her, after all - his meeting with Luna was still scheduled, even if he would have to wait for a week - as well as figure out what he would even say then. Perhaps, Doctor Fay could be trusted, considering that Luna trust her and had declared what kind of connection the two had, but... Wild wasn’t ready.

Or was he simply telling himself that he wasn’t ready? Where did the difference lie? Besides, it wasn’t like he was forced to say anything. If Doctor Fay taught Luna, and Luna never really forced him to say anything, then perhaps the doctor would act the same. Perhaps it would be worth a try talking to her.

Choices, choices. He needed to make one. Once again, there were two paths he could take: an easy one or a difficult one. The easy one would be to wait for Luna to return, to talk to her when it was time... when the schedule dictated his actions. The difficult one would be to approach Doctor Fay, and he was explicitly not required to go there. He could easily just ignore it and be safe, yet...

His future gnawed at him still. Luna could hardly offer a perspective of her own - she had been a princess for far longer than Wild’s family had been around. If he were to ask her about the uncertainties of the future, what could she possible offer when she didn’t have to struggle with it? She was a princess, an alicorn - nothing had ever truly been beyond her power, Wild thought. She was unlike him.

In turn, Doctor Fay was, presumably, a more or less regular pony. Wild thought that he would have certainly heard of her before if she was an immortal or an alicorn like Luna. There was, of course, the possibility that she wasn’t a pony at all, possessing some kind of different power.

Decisions, decisions. He could do as he had done or he could try this. He could wait for his inevitable meeting with Luna or choose to attend a meeting with Doctor Fay.

His stomach grumbled at him - whatever choice he would need to pick, there were some things that required his attention first. He was glad for the interruption - perhaps getting some food in him would help him decide.

The walk to the cafeteria was long and yet not, and it felt like forever as he picked the food for himself yet it passed in an instant. Before he was truly ready for it, he was sitting at a table, his food in front of him. The first was pumpkin chocolate chip bread, something he had never tasted before. It was a relatively small loaf, and Wild sniffed at it. The combination of spices, chocolate, and pumpkin was mouth-watering, and he didn’t hesitate to take a bite, allowing the rich flavor to enter his mouth, and he almost moaned in pleasure. He had truly yet to find anything he disliked eating in the cafeteria, and properly enjoying this food was not a hard decision to make. Next was some sort of scramble containing spinach, fried tofu, and an assortment of diced vegetables, all covered with a bit of lemon juice. Bright, crunchy, hearty, it almost exploded in his mouth, and he didn’t hide his moan this time, although he did keep it quiet. He didn’t know why it felt so good, but he didn’t care - he ate with gusto anyway.

“Hi, Wild,” he was greeted by Artful as the young pegasus took a seat nearby and put his own tray of food down.

There was something about Artful that made Wild turn his head and look closer at him. His posture was slightly slumped, his wings somewhat ruffled, and there was a bit of darkness around his eyes that spoke of a night of poor sleep. Wild could sympathize - however, he didn’t know if he should or even could ask about it. Instead, he offered a second muffin, one of the two he picked but hadn’t had the chance to bite into yet.

Artful blinked at him in what seemed like confusion. Somewhat awkwardly, Wild offered an explanation - the muffin was good, and Artful should try it. Artful blinked again, then a light blush spread over his face alongside a smile, and he accepted the muffin with a quiet ‘thanks’.

Wild continued eating yet threw glances at the young pegasus as he picked at his food. Wild did his best to ignore it, knowing it wasn’t his business, but this display made his own enjoyment of food lessen as his concern rose. He knew it wasn’t really his place, yet he couldn’t help it. With some hesitation, he tapped on the table to get Artful’s attention, and then gestured his question.

“Oh, it’s, ugh...” Artful scrunched his face, “It’s the entire changeling debate, you know? Nobles over in Canterlot are talking about them as if they’re not even people. Like... like they’re just monsters out to steal foals or something. Which they are not.”

Wild didn’t really have a side in this debate, but he nodded. There was hardly a difference between a regular person and a monster - not uncommonly, they were one and the same, and treating people as if some of them were only monsters while others were only people was wrong. Monsters, despite what they did, were still people, although to Wild, that didn’t mean there would be or should be any leniency - being a monster was like a disease, it spread from person to person, and the more exposure one had to a monster, the more likely the chance that they would become one too.

Wild, however, voiced none of that - he didn’t know what Artful would say in response. He was, after all, just a pony - he didn’t know what humans were and what they were capable of. In his experience so far, Wild had determined that ponies were softer, less prone to random acts of violence and cruelty, and he would very much like to keep it that way.

Instead, Wild asked why Artful was so concerned about it all.

“I don’t need to be a changeling to see how it hurts them,” he replied with a frown and a small glare, which made Wild blink - he didn’t expect such a reaction, “It’s wrong, it is unjust. Canterlot nobles talk about changelings as if changelings can’t speak for themselves, you know? A-and it’s not like they’re even offered a voice. I’m concerned because I care about it, it’s just the right thing to do. And what about you?”

Wild felt as if a spotlight was placed right on him, pinning him in place despite only one person even looking at him. If Wild spoke, he would stammer, so instead he just raised his hooves to gesture but couldn’t decide on what he wanted to say. In the end, he settled on signing that changelings had hurt him, and that seemed like a relatively safe thing to say.

“Yeah, they have, but not all of them, right?” Artful replied, “The Changeling Invasion was awful, yeah, but, like... not all of them even took part in it. And there are many who just did what ordered, and no one even died or was seriously hurt. E-except you, of course, but it’s not, like, many changelings did it to you, it was their princess, right? And she’s now in prison, so she’s already punished, so...”

Wild nodded slowly, accepting the arguments. Aside from the fact that a part of him still wanted her dead for what she did to him. However, knowing she was rotting in prison would be enough for him. He didn’t want to see her again, so he could accept it. As for the rest of the changelings... in truth, he didn’t know if he cared about them at all. Many of them were certainly part of an invasion force, and it was luck that no one was killed or seriously injured aside from him. They knew what they were trying to do, didn’t they? It wasn’t that much more different with humans - even if not everyone joined invasions, there was plenty of support for them, and barely anyone stepped in the way of them happening.

Could all changelings be judged for not having warned Equestria about the invasion, for not trying to prevent it from happening? Likely. However, Wild didn’t have any truly personal stake in what would happen to the rest of the changelings. If they left him alone, he was willing to leave them alone, and that was the thought he decided to share with Artful.

“Yeah, but, like, changelings aren’t being left alone right now, even those who didn’t do anything wrong,” Artful said, “Okay, so, uh... what do you know about the, uh, legislation that was proposed?”

Wild frowned and then shrugged.

“Okay, so, let me tell you,” Artful inhaled deeply, bracing himself for something, “The least harmful is just keeping a register of changelings. Which w-wouldn’t even work because changelings can look like anyone. Some of them can look like rocks or trees, and you can’t really control that. And we don’t even have our own register, you know? Like, sure, schools keep lists of people and all that, but there’s no Equestria-wide register where all ponies are. So why would changelings be forced to get registered?”

Wild blinked at that in confusion - ponies didn’t have things like passports? Identification papers?

“But that’s just the least bad thing,” Artful continued, “Some say changelings should be branded. They can’t hide, like, wounds and such, they’ll always show through, so... some nobles want that to happen, so that everyone could look at someone and see if they were a changeling or not.”

Wild’s breath caught in his throat as his eyes widened at what he heard.

Branding. They wanted to brand them. They wanted to... what, carve numbers into them? Make a metal brand, heat it up, and then burn it into their skin or whatever they had on the outside?

That. Was. Unacceptable.

Barely holding his anger in, Wild gestured that he would stand against it.

“Yeah, it’s just f-fucking cruel, you know?” Artful swore, and Wild couldn’t spare any emotion to the surprise of it, “No one deserves that. A f-friend of mine is making a petition about it all, and... would you sign it?”

Wild would gladly do anything to prevent branding. Even he never stooped so low as to brand someone. A brand is a mark of ownership, and those nobles, whoever they were, wanted to own changelings. The Invasion was wrong, without a doubt, but this sort of retaliation... Wild couldn’t accept it. He knew his own scar would one day be gone, but he knew the changelings wouldn’t be given the opportunity.

If he had to march up to every noble in Equestria to prevent branding from taking place, he would. So, with all the seriousness that the situation entailed, Wild gave a nod to Artful, and something inside his chest felt just a little more free.

The passion with which Artful spoke about people he wasn’t a part of yet cared about struck something inside Wild. The shyness was gone from Artful too, revealing a part of him Wild didn’t expect to see. And what he saw... he liked very much.

Later, he would learn to realize, it was a decision where he picked the difficult choice.

Author's Note

Wild, unfortunately, led a relatively sheltered life, so he isn't very aware of systemic discrimination as well as steps awful people sometimes take in order to have control over parts of population they don't like for one reason or another. However, even he recognizes that branding people against their will is an evil, shitty thing to do, and must be opposed.