Set in Stone a Tale to Atone.
"Calm foal you find yourself in a land forgot, a place that ignores most logical thought. So I ask that you come out and rest your head this is not a place like the stories thou hast read."
Thistle stares at the Nightmare of the old stories as she lays on the soft green grass after chasing him here like one of her quarries. She gives him a soft smile, her fangs barely showing and her long leathery wings at her side he curses her for not just going. They are a meter apart ; her in a small grove and him hidden in a berry bush both waiting for a chance to dart.
He would run straight past her if he thought he had a chance but with her gaze upon him he dared not advance. His teddy Rambert clutched to his chest a reminder of his task, his given quest, But looking at the creature, The Nightmare he found not fear or despair, only the light of kindness in those eyes hidden behind her bright blue hair. She would not eat him as the legends fortold perhaps she could guide him home if he found himself to be bold.
Thistle finds himself edging out of the bush her gaze follows him as he moves his tush, she does not move from the slightly damp ground as he moves from his hiding place and circles around. She follows with a patient gaze as he circles, once, twice and a third before breaking from the suspicious phase. He sits before her his eyes confused and she simply lays there her expression amused. Slowly but surely he begins to step closer the fear in his heart forgotten at the chance of closure.
Her smile had helped him approach faster with the promise of safety and security in a world where she was obviously its master, he knew of the risks and hoped for better because he was a foal and in his heart he would not dare upset her. If this was a dream and then he knew that not all was what it may seem. At her side now he knew she was no monster as with the light in her eyes and warmth of her coat he knew that such things were beyond her.
Nestled comfortably between her fluffy forelegs she stares down at him a question on her tongue but as the moment continues it remains unsung. The green colt beams at her, not moving from his place and it is in that moment she seems to regain face.
"It is good to know thou art now collected we must tell thou that we are in no ways disrespected, but thou know we must ask from where do thou hail before thou arrived at this poorly veiled jail?" The Nightmare stops her face disturbed, Thistle wonders for a moment what would have such a mare so harshly perturbed. It is then that he begins to speak without the grace or poise of an alicorn so unique.
"I come from Equestria from a city on the coast and I am looking to return to the place I love most" The Nightmare raises a brow her lips now thin and for a moment Thistle is worried if he has commited a sin.
His mother spoke to him of alicorn gods and the fates that befell those that don't follow their laws. She spoke of a mare that shines like the sun who watches over all while they have their fun. She spoke of her sister who controls the light of the moon and to the brave soldiers who have gained her boon. The lord of chaos she had no words and she beckoned the few she had remained unheard. The one of friendship she could not tell though she heard that she is swell. The lady of love it seemed was her favourite she spoke of her heart and of her mate whom could not be apart. Never did she speak of the lady of dreams and the creatures that roam her land between the seams.
The Nightmare caught the colts flinch and moved to remedy it in a cinch. She nuzzled him gently on the head and pulled him close administering affection in a healthy dose. Before long the colt went still only the gentle rise of his chest reminding her that he still had a promise to fufill. She rose from her place and lifted him apon her back resting him between her wings in the hope he did not latch onto her mane for a snack. Her gaze went skyward to the sky of the seams and hoped beyond hope that the world wasn't as it seemed.
The wind was cool as it told its toll of heavy breezes all to willing to break you below, she rose with practised ease wrapping a spell around the colt to stop the creeping freeze. This was the sky she had grown to love, the shrieking wind and frigid cold that told of the world above. This was the place she found she was free to be amoungst the twisted birds away from the shaking trees. She was the master of this place and yet she knew little of the Seam, of its purpose, its creatures and everything inbetween, truely this was a dream. She glanced back at the colt, or so it may seem.
She flew fast over creatures unseen of those that she had met they called her queen. The world below of valleys, plains, magma and sea was the world she had lived in since hearing an unholey scream. She later realised that it was her own and the burnt scars apon her body were her message to atone. Atone for what, she did not know she knew only that she had arrived here alone, whispers of another like her found her soon and whilst she searched she did not find such a boon. She would not give up she reminded herself as she flew faster still to a shining castle in the distance apon the side of a floating hill.
This was her home and she would not stop she would search every corner of this realm for her double because simply put it was lonely on top. A mare of magma and rage was all that was the the tale that was sold and of her location she had never been told. The Nightmare weaved between towering jewels the colt held firmly in her braided mane cut short incase of savage duels. This place was where the hill once stood now all that remained was simply dragon food. A hole several miles wide tends to grow smaller as she and the winds once again collide. The colt shivers apon her back and she curses herself for a moment before picking up her slack. The colt smiles as he doses, faraway from the threats and madness that the seam poses.
She lands at the base of the floating hill and starts up a jog knowing she can make it still. She weaves through trees barren of leaves and hops across rivers whose sources are unseen. She arrives at the cobbled road just as the colt awakens and finds that his conviction is not at all shaken. She smiles to herself as she springs up the road to the castle in the distance where she once did acts untold. Her house was not a place of happiness or a smile but a tomb for the life she had lived that was most vile, she still could not bare to leave her opinion shared by young Thistle as he stares in awe during a brief reprieve.
The halls are warm as she enters the colt beside her bounces beside her as they trot to its centre. The guards all thestrals salute as they move not out of fear but because she has improved. They arrive at the room that is layered in dust The Nightmare reminds herself that more staff is a must, the colt whoops as she opens the door running ahead and sliding on the marble floor. The room of stained glass and mirrors is not a place for the faint of heart it is only there so that one can play their part.
The mirror flashes and Thistle offers her a hoof she taps it gently before smiling at the little goof. She opens her mouth to speak lowering herself to him with an expression almost meek, the words are stolen from her mouth as he pulls her into a hug that she finds snug. The colt flushes as she kisses him on the cheek and when he turns around to leave she knows that the world is not so bleak.
"May you find your worth in the waking world little one and know this... Your tale is far from done" The mirror flashes as he leaves before becoming dull moments later but The Nightmare knows in her heart that this is the beginning of something greater. The seam flickers from night to day and the Nightmare cannot find words to say.
This is where the Night Queen fell and now if the sun means as she thinks it does The Nightmare will soon have another story to tell. For the Seam is not a place for stagnation it is a place of an unknown imagination.
Author's Note
As it turns out rhyming through a story is a pain but one finds it does wonders to the brain.
Help me I'm thinking in rhyme.
For we Who Roam a Tale of Home.
In a coastal city of Trottingham there is a room. It is decorated plainly its walls white on three sides and a mishmash of colourful doodles on the other. It has a window that faces the currently rising sun, that causes the water to shimmer in a spectacular spectrum of summer sheens. There is a single bed with a small bedside table and a single chair placed directly beside it.
There are three ponies in this room. In the chair sits a slightly muscled young mare with a dusty brown coat her face held firmly in her hooves, the stallion across from her continues his explanation but she had long since stopped listening. She had stopped listening as soon as he had told her of the test results, tests that she had waited weeks to be done, only to be given this result. 'Most likely severely brain damaged, unresponsive and ultimately unlikely to ever wake up'. She lowers her left hoof and gazes at the bed where a noticeably smaller occupant was resting. He had been resting here for a month now and it broke her heart.
'What had her baby done to deserve the fate that befell him' The thought whistled through her head constantly and she always had the same answer for it... 'nothing, he had done nothing'. Nettle Sting shivered as she dropped her right hoof a noticeable bruise present. She blamed her fickle heart, the heart of a twenty something mother that had only been smart enough a week ago to realise that what happened to Little Thistle was no accident.
She should have seen it, cut off contact sooner. Maybe if she did that her baby would be awake and she wouldn't be sporting the remnants of a black eye after she had confronted the bloke that did this. She snorted to herself as she remembered 'Im not the only one with bruises now' it was a brief moment of respite from the crushing guilt. The bruises didn't bother her as much as the thought of not seeing her boy again. The shame of being a trained fighter who was abused didn't bother her as much.
All that mattered was her little colt, a colt that a medical professional said would most likely never wake up, remember nothing or die in this very bed. The guilt turned to anger which she quickly quashed, she was a professional and professionals don't let emotions get in the way. But this was an emotional matter wasn't it? A matter of the heart and not the body, she blinked suddenly as she let out a choked sob. She had faith in her boys heart but matters of the heart, body and mind didn't always mix, she knew that well enough. Its then that she notices the silence of the room.
The silence of the Doctor was deafening, she lifted her head to meet his gaze only to find him avoiding hers. He was shifting on his hooves awkwardly obviously wanting to say something... anything to cheer her up. After a moment he gave up and sighed to himself lifting one hoof to clutch his brow.
"I hate this bleedin job sometimes" He mumbled before regaining what little will he had left after this lengthy shift. Doctor Splint met Nettle Stings tear filled blue eyed gaze and felt his heart break at the mare before him. "Im sorry, truly I am. I feel like we should've been able to do more with all we have at..." He stops as green haired mare raises her hoof. It is a simple gesture that he understands. He nods his head, she nods back in silent thanks and he moves to leave the room.
And then the air around the colt warbled. Thistle Leaf squirmed in discomfort as a sizzling sound filled the air for a brief moment. Both the Doctor and his mother move to his side. Doctor Splint locks onto the effected area with a practiced eye quickly uncovering a mark. A mark that reeked faintly of burning flesh and blood. He squinted as he tried to make it out, it was crescent moon and between both ends was a sparkling slitted blue eye. He turned to tell Nettle Sting but quickly falls silent as he catches her gaze.
He turned to look at the colts face and realised something, his eyelids were fluttering, with a quick flash of his horn he casts a spell. The rush of data nearly overwhelms him but he presses on, this spell was supposed to be supported by at least four competent spellcasters. This was due to the informational load, a spell like this could leave one empty of thought and even though he knew of the risk Splint continued pouring magic into it until his horn sparked out.
The scan only partially complete told him enough, there was an unparalleled amount of activity. The colt it seemed was waking up.
