Salvation | Rebirth

Wild was staring at the ceiling in his bedroom, lying on his back across his bed. It wasn't actually the most comfortable position to lie in as a pony, but then he didn't want to fall asleep. Next to him, his journal lay, and in it was a simple sentence he had written down not long ago.

I have friends and they like me.

Wild’s face was slightly flush with embarrassment and self-recrimination. Of course he had friends - normal people had them, and while he was not exactly normal, he was still a person, and... He didn’t exactly know where that line of thought went, but the conclusion was reasonably clear - he had friends just like other people did, and it was nothing special. It was somewhat surprising, true, but not shocking.

Friendship was also something more than a vague concept. Friends did things for each other, and not because there was some expectation of return on the ‘investment’ but because it simply was what friendships were about. It was not at all out of the ordinary for friends to delay or cancel their plans for the sake of each other. Or, at least, Wild imagined it wasn’t uncommon because otherwise it would be weird. After all, what was so valuable about him that made them not go to Canterlot when they could, when they were ready, and when all plans were already made? Of course, he knew they could easily visit Canterlot later, but...

Perhaps Wild was overthinking it. It was silly, he thought. Friendships weren’t something... esoteric or unknown. While he hadn’t had much luck with friendships in the past, he knew some things about how they worked. So, logically, his friends were perfectly in their right to wait for him, and not only that, but they were also willing to accommodate him, to go at a later date with him so that everyone would have the same experience of the city. Wild had already visited it - if those occasions could even be called visits - so he had some more information as well as a vague picture of how Canterlot looked like. However, he had not properly learned about the city.

It was all rather simple if he thought about it, but he couldn’t help but feel wonder. Once he could look into the Atlas of Emotions, he identified what he felt, and it made perfect sense. He was, once again, surprised just by how good other people could be, and that he was liked by them. Now it wasn’t what happened to others, but what happened to him, and it was in reality, not in his own head, not a part of his dreams.

Wild thought that, if anyone knew what he felt, they would deem him pathetic. Everyone experiences friendships, after all, and Wild... he could say that, at least, now he experienced it, though he hadn’t had the joy to truly experience friendship before. There was nothing to raise a fuss about even in the privacy of his own head.

Wild sniffed and blinked his eyes free from tears. Thankfully for his state of mind, he wasn’t about to sob or wail, that would have put a damper on his mood. He allowed himself to bask in the joy of knowing friendship and of being someone’s friend.

Wild inhaled deeply, exhaled, and then got up from the bed. He stashed his journal away, intent on possibly writing some more things down come evening. However, he immediately rethought it, taking the journal again, opening it, and grabbing the pen he stashed inside it. He had a few more thoughts he could write down.

In five days, my friends and I will go to Canterlot together.

Starting with plain facts was, at the very least, easy for him. Emotions did remain difficult, but he hoped he would figure them out in time. How long it would take until he wouldn’t need to consult a book about how he felt on the inside, he didn’t know, but he wouldn’t give up on it. Things only became easier with practice, and even though he felt somewhat baffled that it applied to knowing emotions as well as more obvious skills, he would put in the effort to learn how to recognize what he felt just like he had put in the effort to become good at swordsmanship. It probably shouldn't have been surprising that both of those things are skills, and any skill could be learned.

I feel annoyed that we didn’t go when we were supposed to.

That much was truth - despite the fact that he had gotten more powerful because of what happened, he also missed a couple of days when he could be with his friends instead. Having power felt great, of course, but he knew this high would only last so long, and he, if he were honest with himself, would never want to remain lonely even if it meant he gained even more power.

In truth, Wild wished he didn’t need all that power. He imagined he would be content with living his life peacefully and never going for violence and struggle aside from tournaments and duels. If he never had to fight for survival or because someone needed to die, he would be quite happy indeed.

I feel tired that things keep happening to me. I want a normal life. I know I can’t have a normal pony life because I was not born a pony, and I have too many bad memories that I wish I didn’t have.

He paused for a moment as he considered a thought that had just popped up.

I wish I was born a pony. Or, if I was reborn, I wish I didn’t retain my memories. A pony life would be easy, and I would be happy.

However, was it certain that he would be happy? He wasn’t so clueless that he wasn’t aware that he lived in an orphanage, a place where unwanted children went. He remembered overhearing Artful, about how his own parents rejected him because he wasn’t born in the right body. If Wild were reborn to parents, would he have suffered something similar? Would being reborn somehow influence him enough to be different even without retaining his memories? And if so, would those differences be enough for his new parents to reject him?

Even now, the notion of having parents brought a kind of pain in the depths of his heart. He knew he wouldn’t want to be a child again, certainly not after what he had experienced, what he had lived through. Being coddled, even just being cared for by someone older than him like his parents did... he didn’t want it, didn’t think he would have been able to accept it if it happened. No one and nothing could replace his parents, and he had accepted that there was nothing he could do to bring them back, to watch them grow old and happy as years went on. The image of an idyllic family was now only in his mind.

If there was a family for him, he would have to be the one to create it. However, he was certain he would never have kids. There was the obvious biological question, and he didn’t think he would want to adopt either. He suspected he would not be a good father, especially because he knew just how traumatized he was. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he passed it on to his children or even create new trauma because of whatever his actions ended up being.

No, he was perfectly willing to have a partner in life and that’s it. There was no need nor want for children, and should he ever somehow rethink his position, he would adopt someone, although he was very certain that this decision was not something he would budge on no matter what the future held for him.

Wild was younger now, even if not by many years. He had an entirely new world to explore, and a long life to live. Children would root him to one place, and he was certain he didn’t want it. This kind of responsibility was not for him and neither was he ready for it.

Wild looked through his journal, knowing how scarce his writings were, aware of how much he had yet to write down, not being certain he would ever write certain things down. He suspected it would be better for him if he were entirely honest with himself and wrote it all down to examine it with clear eyes later down the line and all, but some thoughts he deemed too private to ever release outside of the confines of his own mind.

Wild put the journal down again, no longer in a mood to write anything in it. He got up from the bed, stretched, and decided to go see if he could find his friends and do something with his time.

***

“Hey, Wild!”

Wild turned around and saw Artful trotting up to him, so he stopped his own mostly aimless wandering.

Wild had yet to learn to keep track of anyone outside meal times and times when he was with them. He, of course, knew that his friends had lives outside of when they interacted with him, and... he did wonder what it was that they actually did. He knew Artful was an artist and thus participated in the Art Club, which he had previously invited Wild to. He also had some friends Wild didn’t know about. Swingblade and Precision likewise had their own lives, and Precision even had a fillyfriend. However, when it came to those two, he could say he knew nothing about except for when he was around. To be entirely fair, he hadn’t been very interested in finding out before, and he couldn’t say he was all that more interested now. Did that make him a bad friend?

“What are you up to?” Artful asked once he caught up, disrupting Wild’s line of thoughts.

Wild shrugged, unwilling to admit that he searched for others to help him not be bored. He knew he could do other things - he could do plenty of things - but he didn’t really want to. It was one of those days, and he felt he deserved some rest from everything. It was true that he was more or less resting when he was confined to his tower at the Canterlot Castle, but it wasn’t the right kind of rest.

“Well, I was, um, wondering...” Artful began, a bit of red coloring his cheeks, “Would you like to be, ah, painted?”

Wild, for a moment, thought that it meant Artful would paint on him. That was... something he felt odd about. However, he knew the true meaning - Artful wanted to make a painting with Wild in it. It wouldn’t be the first time, and he wasn’t really against it. That time when Artful depicted him fighting in the Ponyville tournament was marvelous. He easily agreed by giving him a nod.

“Is there... a way you want to paint me?” he asked, “A place or...”

“Well, I was thinking, since I saw your, um, physical changes, they evoke a kinda... well, um, a...” he tried to find the words even as it became more difficult, and Wild could almost feel the jumble of his thoughts. Wild had a sudden realization that it was because Wild was attractive to Artful, and so Artful was shy and a bit awkward. It was... endearing, and also surprising, but also not surprising because Wild did remember Artful’s words that were basically a confession about his... attraction to Wild. Finally, Artful said, “Well, picture this - you stand tall and proud, like you can do anything. That is what your, um, looks evoke.”

Wild was thoughtful for a short while. He couldn’t say he felt like he could do anything, but he did feel like he could do more, which was as exciting as it was scary. Perhaps seeing himself from outside perspective through a painting would help him feel... better.

“As for a place, I um... I thought I’d paint a background not from, you know, real things around here, but put you in that background, you know? Actually, I know a place that is close enough...” Artful continued, then cocked his head somewhat, “Oh, maybe even add some article of clothing on you too, like a cape. Yeah, I can see it. Folds will be a bit tricky without a reference... actually no, it’d be easy to find a reference, never you mind, I would just need a sheet.”

“Why a cape?” Wild asked.

“Ah, well, you see... I want to depict you as a, um, prince,” Artful explained, “I can see it, clear as day, you know? You’re tall, handsome, uh yeah, and, well... I imagine you would look good as a prince,” he walked around Wild, making him turn his head to follow him, “Yeah, yeah... I can definitely see it. If you grew a pair of wings, maybe grew out your facial fur a bit... That would be the image of a prince, I think.”

“Oh,” Wild blinked at him. Becoming a prince? He would never want that - never mind the fact that he could in no way deserve to be a ruler alongside or in place of either Princess Luna or Princess Celestia - but... he could possibly see it, as a sort of fantasy, a somewhat childish fantasy.

“Oh yeah, let me just grab my stuff and we can be off,” Artful declared, “I can really see what I want to paint. If, well, it’s alright with you?”

Wild could do nothing but nod.

“Alright, then meet me in the room two-oh-nine, that should be the perfect place!” Artful said and then hastily trotted off. However, he stopped before he was out of sight, turned around, and yelled, “And bring your sword with you!”

Wild shook his head lightly, a small smile on his face. Seeing Artful this enthusiastic about painting him was... pleasant. Not only that, but he would make Wild a prince, even if only in a painting and not in reality. It could possibly be interpreted as romantic. Wild could almost see it - maybe a knight proposing to his lord about making that lord the ruler of the realm. Certainly something out of a medieval romance novel. Aside from the fact that they would both be killed in reality because they were gay. However, Wild chose not to focus on that, shaking it all off.

Wild, as he made his way back to his dorm to grab the crystal-sword he used for practice, thought about how much his opinion on royalty had changed. Or, at least, on Equestrian royalty in particular. Princess Luna cared a lot, and not just about him, but about many others, and Princess Celestia was... not bad. He knew he was uncharitable in his own thoughts towards her because of what she had done to him, what she had to do to him because she didn’t know it was him, but he couldn’t really help it.

Neither Celestia nor Luna were leeches, draining the wealth of others to sit upon mounds of gold like dragons. Under them, Equestria prospered, and people in need got those needs fulfilled. They would, perhaps, maybe, possibly be in their right to throw Wild in prison or otherwise contain him because of the danger he posed - could pose - to Equestria, but instead they had cared about him, helped him, and... honestly speaking, Wild couldn’t find it in himself to hate either of them even if he thought that monarchy, diarchy, or whatever was going on was still not a good idea. However, he still didn’t know all that much about politics, so perhaps this was the perfect system for Equestria. It had worked for a long while, after all.

This all circled back to him becoming a prince. He knew he wouldn’t want it, either just the title or the responsibilities no doubt associated with it in Equestria, but still... it was a nice thought, in a way. If others appreciated him, if others bowed to him... There was much he could think about in regards to that. He was content, and he knew he would be content, with leading a simple life, but childish and unreasonable dreams sometimes arose anyway.

It wasn’t long before he found himself in the room Artful told him to be in, and now he was waiting for his friend. The room itself seemed to have once been a... living room, perhaps. It had a fireplace, a pair of comfortable armchairs - their pony equivalents, that is - bookshelves, and a large painting of some kind of forestry scenery. The room was in soft browns and creams, with a dark reddish-brown color for the wooden floors, on top of which was a large rug that Wild thought was called a Persian rug. There was one tall window, which was currently half-hidden behind a pair of heavy and dark curtains. It was a nice and cozy place, overall, and Wild could see himself relaxing in it. He wondered why exactly Artful chose it.

As he waited, Wild chose to take place in one of the comfortable chairs, which was actually closer to a sofa since one was supposed to lie on it. It had a raised section, which was where the front half of his body went. He ended up in a position where the rear half of his body was lying mostly on the side, his hooves almost dangling off the edge, while the front was more or less upright, with his forelegs folded and crossed in front of him.

Artful barged in a few minutes later, a pile of painting supplies lying on top of a bed sheet which was, in turn, on top of his back between his wings. Once Artful saw Wild, he nearly dropped everything as his eyes widened and, even in the dim lighting of the room, obvious blush grew on his cheeks. Wild idly wondered how it was possible, considering that it was the fur that was changing color like that.

“You l-look... just right!” Artful settled on saying, then started unpacking his supplies, “The way you lie on top of that, the way your body is angled, the lighting... Just a few adjustments and it’s gonna be perfect, definitely. No, you stay right there, alright?” Wild settled back down, realizing that he could also help Artful unpack from where he was. With his horn alight, he gently lifted Artful’s things and settled them nearby, “Oh, thank you! Anyway, let me set this all up real quick...”

Before long, Artful was surrounded with various paints, a number of brushes, as well as a couple of pencils, and a rather large canvas. He set it vertically first, then hummed thoughtfully and turned it horizontal, giving it a nod. He then adjusted the place ever so slightly until he deemed it perfect.

“Ah, can you please light the candles for me?” Artful asked. Wild figured out he was talking about candles in wall mounts, whatever they were called, and so he used a small amount of magic to light them up. Now the room was basked in a nice and mostly even candlelight glow, “Yep, that’s good. Now...” he walked over to the curtains and fiddled with them until they covered what he deemed just the right amount of the window, “Alright, good,” he returned to standing in front of the canvas. He tilted his head this and that way, took off his glasses briefly, and then nodded to himself, “Perfect. Now, I need you to grab a book - any book - and open it somewhere in the middle,” Wild did as asked. It was a book about plants written in some older script of Equestrian, with painted illustrations instead of photos, “Place it in front of you, then angle it a bit so that the top is away from you. Lower it a bit too. Yep, good, now try to go for a, um, relaxed but thoughtful expression.“

Wild did as asked, although it took him a minute until Artful deemed his expression just right. In truth, Wild felt silly. At least he was glad he had the foresight to visit the bathroom when he was in his dorm, otherwise this all would’ve been ruined if he had a sudden urge to relieve himself and thus would have to get up. He was also comfortable now as well, so it would’ve been a shame to move away from this.

“Can you activate the crystal and bring the whole sword to me?”

Wild, once again, did as told. Artful then placed his sabre leaning against the sofa-chair-thing in a way he decided was just right. Then Artful covered Wild with the bed sheet, which made Wild feel all sorts of ways, his own blush strong on his face as he briefly imagined himself sleeping with Artful, and for the two of them to cover each other with blankets before sleep. That was... certainly a romantic kind of thought, Wild decided. However, it was not the time, so he banished it from his head. He didn’t as much as twitch as Artful adjusted the blanket here and there, leaving Wild semi-exposed. Once it was all done, Artful stood back, returned to his canvas, and critically looked over all that he could see.

“Oh yeah, this is excellent,” he declared, “Alright, can you focus on holding your position for around ten minutes?”

Wild nodded an affirmative, and then Artful began sketching. To the sound of a pencil against a canvas, Wild found his thoughts drifting off somewhat. It was... enjoyable, he decided. Being painted was certainly not a bad experience.

“You’re looking absolutely sexy, Wild,” Artful said, then nearly jumped when he realized he said it aloud, “Ah, um...”

Wild had no idea how to reply to that, so he chose to say and do nothing, although he could not, for the life of him, look at Artful, feeling his face heat up to what could probably be considered a dangerous degree. He focused instead on whatever plant the book was telling him about. He recognized one of the words, and the plant supposedly had healing properties if he was reading it correctly.

The sketching continued mostly in silence as Artful hid behind the canvas and spoke nothing, and Wild simply remained as quiet as he had been before.

“Um, would you like me to add wings?” Artful said, “For the whole prince thing, you know.”

Wild lightly shook his head. He chased away the thoughts about having the ability to fly - he would probably want to stay on the ground anyway.

In what felt like forever but wasn’t truly that long, Wild found himself facing Artful’s sketch. The lines were somewhat messy, but Wild could still recognize himself, although... he was clearly just slightly different. The bed sheet in reality lacked any decorations, but Artful decided to add some embroidery to the edges, as well as what Wild imagined would later turn out to be a decorated metal clasp holding the cloak together at the low of his neck. There was a small crown atop his head as well, resembling Luna’s and Celestia’s in that it also had three peaks or whatever they were called, and his had a nice round gem of some kind in the center of it. His face, while also similar, now featured what could possibly pass as a beard by pony standards, which was just longer scruff at his chin and following his jawline. It certainly added him a few years of age in appearance, making him seem... wiser, somehow.

“I like it,” Wild declared, “I am... looking forward to when it is done.”

“I’m happy to hear that, Wild,” Artful smiled at him, “Alright, so yeah, I got the sketch, I got the idea in my head,” he tapped it for good measure, “You can now move around a bit but not too much if possible.”

Wild nodded, and then drifted off as he listened to Artful’s brush strokes, a small smile on his face. This was what he wanted - peace. Being painted was so much better than any excitement and fears of all his encounters with danger.

Wild couldn’t find himself even thinking of hating any result that would eventually come from Artful's work. He relaxed into the sofa-chair and allowed his mind to wander nowhere as he basked in the mental feeling of warmth that he could not properly describe if he tried.

This... was right.

***

Wild found himself being lightly shaken away, and he groggily blinked at Artful’s face hovering above him. Wild smiled before his brain fully started functioning again.

“You drifted off a bit,” Artful explained, “And I’m nearly done now, just a couple more brush strokes, I think,” his eyes then darted to the side, and Wild noted he had a deep crimson blush, “So, uh, yeah,” he then walked away to return to the canvas, “Also, you can, um, move, and get up if you want.”

Wild stretched, yawned, and then became far more awake than before - he realized that he was in quite a compromising position and had accidentally revealed his very strong erection. He nearly fell off the sofa-chair when he tried to hide it, though he did manage not to tumble off, somehow passing as a sort of a graceful movement to get up.

This certainly explained Artful’s strong blush, and Wild did not think about it. They were alone in this room, Artful even locked it so that no one would disturb them. It was, frankly, an ideal situation for... things to happen.

Wild, however, could not do it. Perhaps he wanted to. He had a strong feeling he wanted to. He also suspected Artful wanted it too. There were certain thoughts that drifted Wild’s way, which made his breath run hot and a pleasant pulse to go through his erection. However, he banished those thoughts for later, for when he was back in the dorm, when he could safely lock himself in the bathroom and... relieve the tension, so to speak.

Wild caught a very explicit thought from Artful, where his wet mouth was fully taking in Wild’s-

Wild shook his head and repeated the rock-in-the-river exercise. He was a rock, Artful’s thoughts were a river, and that river went around the rock. He breathed in, breathed out, and repeated the exercise until he was certain he was no longer catching any stray thoughts... despite how desired they were.

He suspected Artful would agree if Wild proposed sex right now. Wild also strongly suspected he would agree if Artful spoke a single word in favor of having sex too. He did wonder how it would feel like, and now that he felt free to spend some of his alone private time pleasuring himself, he knew it would feel good, but the question was... just how good would it be? Maybe he could find an answer right now, if only his words were formed in his lungs, passed through his throat, overcame the barrier of teeth, and escaped his lips.

However... it would also mean something would change in their relationship, and Wild did explicitly tell Artful that he wasn’t ready for a relationship, and he knew he wasn’t ready. He still had so much to unpack, so much to work through, and it would be completely unfair to Artful if he took the easy way and agreed to uncertainty that could very well bring great harm to Artful. There was safety in distance, and there was also safety in not trying for sex because Wild had no idea if he would have any negative reaction to Artful’s touch. Perhaps there would be nothing as long as all Artful did was... apply his mouth on Wild, which was never done to him before, but Wild could not guarantee it.

Whatever it could be, Wild decided to avoid it that day. There were still many days to come, and he would be ready in time. He knew he would likely regret not asking Artful there and then, but he also knew he would regret having asked and then messing it all up because of his own mental issues.

Wild told himself it was for the best as he ignored his urges, ignored knowledge of Artful’s urges, and waited until Artful was ready to present him with the painting. That was an easier, safer road to take. Besides, Wild had a feeling that Artful wasn’t making his own proposition exactly because Artful respected Wild’s desire not to have a relationship. Wild could appreciate it even if... even if he, in some way, would prefer that Artful spoke the words anyway.

Wild would certainly be in his bathroom as soon as this all was over.