Death To The Country

Prologue:

Quarter Past Four

The moon seemed unnaturally bright this time of night.

At least it did here, in this kind of country. The thought was strange, even as he was seeing it with his own eyes. A quick glance at the sky, ever so brief, showed a carpet of stars for as far as the night sky could travel. They looked like diamonds. Not the pretty kind, that most ponies can imagine, but more like flakes of glimmering specks in a dark stone wall.

Just now rising up to almost accommodate the stars was a smiling moon, shaped like a grin made out of the whitest teeth a pony could have. It made him think of it as a second sun, taking over the night shift for when the big man got tired and went home for the night (the guy that nobody really liked, just because.)

So bright was this second sun, that it cast a shadow on just about everything in sight. The treetops swayed gently in the wind, and the little white spots that floated in the black puddles of shadow on the ground danced back and forth, seemingly disappearing and then reappearing in a particular rhythm. Shaded leaves and small twigs danced about as well, several times looking like a snake or some other critter was moving around in the night.

His mind always went to the worst places when he thought there was something hiding in the brush. The size didn't matter, if the things were too small to see at first. It was the poison and the teeth that mattered, along with the unpleasant and unfamiliar feeling of nakedness that came with traveling in the woods at night.

Miles away from any kind of populated area, far out of reach of immediate medical care. Nopony to call out to for help in case something went wrong. Food and water that were only available to the more skilled survivalist of the herd.

That, and the fact that whatever creature an unfortunate pony may stumble upon out here may not feel content with just ripping the life out of him violently and efficiently with their teeth and claws and talons, but also feel the need to fulfill the ancient ritual of the hunt. Then the poor bastard would never be seen again, except for what the birds decided to leave behind.

...Which was not very much at all.

He knew, because he'd seen it happen.

He had even stuck around to find out what became of the guts and the hooves and the eyes when it was all said and done.

His track of thought did not help put his feelings of unease to rest. If anything, he was inching closer towards the edge than instead of stepping away from it. But it was indeed a long trip to the deepest parts of the woods, and all of the weight on his back was making it harder to concentrate on keeping an empty head.

It wasn't that being here in the woods was frightening- no, there would be none of that- but there were reasons to keep on guard. It was the kind of place that made you want to watch your back more than to keep your eyes on the path ahead.

Shadows would move his peripherals, and disappear as soon as he tried to pass a glance.

Hidden things would start chiming or whistling strange songs far in the distance, then go quiet just his ears perked up trying to listen.

There was even a moment when he saw what looked like a faint blue light faintly shining through a long thicket of wild thorned bushes.

There were plenty of rumors to be spread and stories to be told about this place. The locals back in town had referred to it several times by its name; Everfree Forest.

It was a very unfitting name. As was almost every name given to a place that promised something like a pleasant experience to anypony looking for one in all the wrong places.

All at once, his back was engulfed in aches and pains, and he had to stop. It had been creeping up through his legs over the last few hours, and it was easy enough to ignore until now. The straps from the wagon were beginning to chafe his hide, causing even more discomfort. More than he was used to.

Turning his head, he bit down on the excess strap and pulled until the pin of the buckle came loose, and he felt the pressure of the harness let go all at once. Then he took a few steps forward while shaking himself and the whole thing fell to the ground with a light clatter.

An exhale of relief escaped him as he reached behind his head and scratched his mane, rubbing into the muscle trying to ease the constant ache. A massage wouldn't be too much trouble, but that would come later. There was work to be done.

And time was of the essence.

Reminded of the limited time he had, he quit his back rubbing and examined the watch on his hoof. The hands were always pointing to unwanted numbers, the kind that always came up like a bad bit.

Almost half past four.

Which only left a few hours until the sun rose over the hills. Those same hills he had watched rise and fall through the train window. Flush with green grass that never seemed to grow too tall and wildflowers that came in all colors. Several dozen acres filled with nothing but tall, healthy apple trees. He remembered thinking that it must be the local orchid, and whoever owned the place was running a lucrative business. Harvest time would be soon.

He was still tired, trying to catch his second wind. His back legs bent and he sat himself square in the dirt. Eyes ahead, the road looked as though it would be getting more and more treacherous. Back a ways towards town one of the wheels had gotten stuck in a hole that had worn into the road.

He had spent twenty minutes trying to pry the thing out of the ground, during which he had noticed that there was a sort of house not too far away. It was built into a tree, it seemed, and lights were shining through some of the windows, and a brightly colored smoke billowed out of the others. With a sweat he had hurried the job along before the owner of the home noticed him, and then he was gone.

Now, he saw the dirt path ahead begin to wind and turn. Small trees were growing in the road, soil was giving way to grass. He could only sigh at the prospect of having to pull harder and watch his every step.

He decided then and there that when dawn cracked, he would stop and do the deed. After he dumped the wagon, he would at least have enough time to hike it back to town and get some rest before the big meeting. Savory was a pony rumored to be a man that didn't like late appointments. Why he had been named Savory Summers by whoever birthed him was anyone's guess.

He was done resting for now, having a schedule to keep. Looking down at his watch again, he counted ten minutes he had spent sitting there. That was good enough, and he got back onto his hooves and shook off the dirt.

He turned around to face the wagon, the fragile piece of shit that it was. It was amazing that it was still holding its shape after so many bumps and holes during the trip. Walking around to the back he could surely see that the thing was beginning to fall apart. A few of the boards that made up the side were cracking, while others had already split in half revealing rotted black insides of splinters. Even in the dark it was plain to see that the paint was barely clinging onto it anymore and flaking off in thick chips.

The hitched gate on the back was always falling out- the hinges were so loose they gave the pin just enough space to rattle open- and even now he saw it hanging open limply. This time the pin was missing altogether, so there would be no more closing it, as he had done several times during the trip.

He would need to close it, though, somehow. He couldn't let the cargo fall out of the back. Not yet, anyway. He looked off the path into the thicket, and it didn't take long for him to see a tree limb that was just about the right size to fit into the hitch. He picked it up in his teeth and turned back to the wagon, and stopped in his tracks to see something dangling from the bed.

"Shit," he said, letting the twig fall from his mouth as he rushed over to the wagon.

A single hoof was protruding from beneath a bulging cloth tarp. Shoeless. Dirty and matted fur- highly untrimmed -growing over it. A patch of dried blood stained the fur, while a pool of it dripped over the side and formed a puddle the size of a platter.

He went to put his nose under the hoof and nudge it back under the tarp, but then he remembered the blood. It would be all over his snout, might get into his eyes. Hard to get out of the fur, even with all the water and soap in all the country.

Look before you leap he thought to himself, and stood up on his hind legs against the edge of the wagon. After pushing the cargo back in its place, he reached a little further under the tarp and shoveled a bit of straw over the spot where the hoof had been sitting. It stuck to the blood and effectively covered it from view.

After pulling the tarp over everything once again, he let himself back down on all fours. Looking down, he saw that there was indeed a bit of red on his hoof. Kneeling down a bit, he rubbed it in the dust and got what he could off. Now it just looked dirty.

The risky business taken care of, he found the tree limb once again and worked it into the latch. It was just the right fit, tight enough to keep the flap from rattling for the rest of the way.

Everything seemed secure, so he took his place once more in the front, backing into the harness and fastening it tightly- not too tightly, thank you -with his teeth.

As he took his next steps he felt a considerable difference in the way that the wagon was hitched. Between here and the final destination would be less of a strain on his body. It would be bad for business to show up to the meeting with a limp or a leaning neck, or with blisters underneath his hooves.

He had to guess how much time it took to fix the wagon and the cargo, without a chance to look at his watch again. There would be no stops now, no more time for resting. Every minute was a minute wasted, and in the next two hours he would make the same trip back, at a much more brisk pace.

Ahead, something made a noise, a high-pitched whistling. Too long and much louder than a bird call. It was too far away to really tell, but it was only for a moment. Warbling, a cry in the dark.

Then the silence of the night returned, except for the hums and chirps of crickets. He noticed that there was less song from them the deeper he traveled into Everfree. It was only natural that they would make their homes near town, where the flora was more lively and tame. He took it as a sign that his job was almost done.

Only the morning sun would tell. And then back to town to begin the real work.

The wagon shook and rattled on the harsh road as he traveled deeper into the forest, the moon disappearing behind the tops of the trees.