The seabirds' cries were his only companion on the shore. The black and gray stone pebbles ranging from about the size of a thumb to the size of his fist, supported his weight as he fairly stomped down the shoreline in frustration.

This was the sixth time he had been rejected for the path of Leiòsögumadur. It was always the same reason and he cursed his forebears for the curse that had plagued him since birth.

The world wobbled in front of him, reminding him of what cost him the coveted position so many colts vied for.

The opportunity to learn from the Framvardi Valkmari was a true honor, few are chosen in general, less from stallions and colts for the obvious reason.

When the call goes out, which may happen once every two or three years, ponies are gathered from across the islands to be judged worthy. Those that pass the tests of their tribes will go on to compete at the Halumgatha, a grand tournament that only a three may win at a time.

The titles a stallion can attain amount to only three positions that they can hold.

Leiòsögumadur was one such role, one he had been interested in the most of all. He could spot details that others miss, find things others overlook, and his ability to judge the weather left many pegasus envious. Those that actually knew of his ability, or of him in general.

He was more than qualified, in his opinion, for the position. More than any in his village at the very least.

But his physical attributes were where he lacked in capability. Since he had been a foal, Asmund had been afflicted with dizzy spells that kept him from the more rigorous activities that those his age partook in. It hadn't gotten easier with age.

His mother cursed his father for this affliction but he had no idea what that had meant. His father had long since vanished when he had yet learned to walk. No one would say why he had disappeared. Only his mother would end the conversation whenever he was brought up.

It was clear the adults knew something, but would not share with him the details. Often outright denying anything was wrong, even if he saw evidence to say otherwise.

Was his missing father the reason for his mother's ostracization from the village? For his own isolation? Another issue that likely barred him from participating. As with his father's mysterious absence, was his mother's status among their people, and by extension, his own.

It wasn't like no one dealt with her. In fact as one of the few healers in the village, she was sought for her skill with magic and herbs. But there was no pit warmed for them during the holidays. No gifts left on their stoop when spring graced their small lands again.

It bothered him when her face took on a pain expression anytime she finished helping someone. As if she knew that nothing good would be gained from it, but to not offer her services might bring worse.

In turn he could not join the village foals in any activities. They ignored him just like the adults did his mother. And when he had arrived to be tested, he was almost dismissed had it not been for one of the klerkurs. But he still failed.

He kicked a stone with his hoof, and did not hear a splash or the clacking of stone striking stone. Always alert, his attention was drawn to where the errant object that suffered his mild wraith had gone, and spotted a large blackish object standing out among the pebbles of the beach. If only because of sheer size alone.

It was likely a log, but then why not a hollow thumping sound instead? As he drew close he soon realized why.

The object that had drawn his curiosity turned out to be a very tall black unicorn pony. The gray and blue clothing was torn and waterlogged.

He knew most in the village fairly well, but as he looked the stricken stallion over he realized he had never seen anyone like him.

His fur was scorched and there were fresh burn marks, as if he had been beaten with a brand just recently. The mane was a ragged, soggy dark orange. He seemed to bear a beard, though most of it had been burned off by what might have been the same attack that accosted the rest of his body.

A cold chill washed over him as he laid eyes upon his horn. Several small fractures could be seen up and down it's length. Asmund gripped his own in commiseration, having once suffered a crack to his as well. It had hurt terribly for weeks after.

A violent splash pulled his attention to the ocean in panic. But when he looked, he found nothing there but the heavy ripples that indicated there was something. A fish was likely the culprit and his attention soon turned back to what he believed was a dead stallion.

Then the unicorn gasped raggedly and jerked awake with a shriek that caused the poor colt to stumble back in panic, tripping over his own hooves as he backpedaled, landing on his flank on the cold beach.

Meanwhile the black pony just stared into his green eyes with his stone gray ones, fear, anger and resentment seemed to boil from them. Then suddenly, and without indication, his head just dropped to the sand, his unconscious and irregular, breathing intermixing with the lap of the waves on the otherwise silent shore.

"MÓDIR!" He did not stop calling for her his entire stumbling journey back to their home.

He was warm. It had been so cold, and finally he was warm. His eyes were too heavy to open, and the only thing he could hear was a crackling fire nearby.

Why did his head hurt so much? Where was he?

Trying to think only brought pain that he could not make sense of. Unconsciousness claimed him quickly, and he was grateful.

His head jostled, and a low murmur of voices grabbed his attention, bringing him to full alertness. Or at least as full as his current state would allow. His eyelids still wouldn't respond to him, feeling like five hundred pound lead weights had been attached, so he had yet to be able to see his surroundings. But his hearing seemed to be okay, if only he could understand what was being said as the language sounded light, yet strong and a bit thick. A different dialect maybe?

Something was being pressed against his lips. Instinctually he opened his mouth to take whatever it was that was presented. Likely stupid, but the moment whatever it was that hit his lips, Orion became painfully aware of how dry he was.

Water!

Cool refreshing water struck his throat, and if he had use of his limbs he would have likely yanked the cup away from whoever it was, but he drank deeply and greedily. It was suddenly pulled away and he felt himself growl in frustration.

But he soon passed out again, unable to even voice a thank you or demand more.

"Módir, is he….going to live?" Asmund spoke tentatively. He sat in the corner of their small lodge. More of a hut, but theirs all the same.

"I do not know." She responded. It was frustrating for the mare to attempt to get anything into the young stallion. This was the first time she had managed to get him to drink since her son had found him.

But it was heartening to know he still fought for life despite his injuries. She was also more than a little amused by the fact that he had the strength to growl at her for making sure he didn't make himself sick. If only her face would show a smile.

The burns on his body had been severe. If not for her skill with herbs they would likely have become infected by now. But her first assumption had been fire burns, had been proven wrong.

The spell resonance had been pure energy. Like a lightning strike. Someone had attacked this poor stallion, barely more than a colt if she had to guess.

Why would anyone do this?

After she had initially treated him, cleaning his wounds and pushing magic into accelerating his own natural healing, she had decided to examine the rest of him.

What she found was puzzling. His body was slow to accept external magic. Yet whatever had been done to him had been extremely effective, bypassing the natural defenses easily. It was a puzzling conundrum.

Her confusion only grew when she had peeled his lips back and saw his teeth. For the most part normal save for the cuspids, and to some extent incisors. They were sharp. Especially the cuspids, no they were canines.

Another mystery was the things found with him. Books of notes in a language she struggled to read. Her skill with reading had never been strong. Survival was the skill most Gleymt employed.

Not to say they were destitute. But life came harder on the islands. Why their ancestors chose here to land and live was best left to the klerkurs. Keepers of the Sun and Moon records. They were a secretive lot, and if they knew the why, they never shared it.

She shook her head and looked at her patient again, his mane once cleaned was actually quite lovely. The strange orange and brown blend seemed to look more akin to embers in the pit. A combination she had never seen in her life as ponies bore either solid colored manes, or distinct patterns.

The glint of metal in his mane caught her attention. Though already aware of them, she dared not remove the metal ornaments that seemed to pepper his braided tresses. The significance of them were lost on her, but she would not offend him by removing them.

Though she did wonder about the ones that represented spider webs. Were they a rite of passage? A pivotal moment in his life that marked his progress? Why only three? She could not know.

She thought of the klerkurs again. She looked at the large satchel with it's mysteries for a long time, and made a decision.

"Asmund."

Her son, both the blemish on her soul and the light of her life perked up instantly. He had been investigating once again the strange clothing this unusual pony wore.

"Yes, módir?" He said eagerly. Her heart hurt for him.

He would never gain standing in the village and would likely never find a herd either. Too many here knew the truth of him. She often thought about sending him away to another island, but she worried that he would say things best left quiet.

"I want you to watch over him, I must go to the village. You know what to do, try and get some soup into him if you can, but water is the priority right now." He nodded sadly. He would have liked to go with her, despite the other village foals shunning him he still liked to see the various sights one saw when entering the tiny seaport.

She picked up the large satchel, making sure it was tightly closed. "I will return as soon as I can. Be safe my sonur." She slipped out of the flap that was the door to her home, and into the night.

The journey to Avirstable was never a long one, though it always seemed to be so. The darkness of the night made it worse, and she hated the dark.

Before long the homes of the villagers loomed before her, lit by torchlight and the occasional candle. None held activity. Clearly all were asleep.

She passed them by.

She knew not all slept this night. Sangéquines had long held contracts to patrol the night for the sleeping residents. It was common among many of the villages and towns of the islands to have them guard them from the night.

They did not frighten her, but she was no fool. Their darker natures were often at odds with the day walking counterparts, and many have run afoul of their rougher treatment.

It did not matter, her destination was near.

A well lit, large stone tower in the center of the village was one of the few structures made of the precious resource. The wood supports that were evenly spaced around and up the building helped shore up and support the three story structure.

She stopped and sighed.

Of course there would be Sangéquines guarding the tower openly. The imposing red eyes mares watched with growing smirks as the outcast approached.

"Looky looky, Saffron. His daughter comes to call. So late in the evening no less." The taller of the two laughed uproariously at her own implied joke.

The mare, Saffron, only grinned. Sharp fangs glinting in the torchlight.

She wasted no time.

"I have come to seek the Adalritari." She stated simply. She would not bend to their goading.

"Of course you have, best to do that in this hour, less to see so to speak." They shifted, leather armor straining with their movements. "But what if he wishes not to see his disgrace of a daughter?"

"I have come to seek the Adalritari." She stated once more. Careful to not change her tone at all for fear they would take that as an excuse of hostility.

Saffron frowned and removed her helmet, a shock of heavily braided red mane fell to her shoulders. She moved in close to her face.

"Why should we wake him for you, svívirt? He has not wished to see you in years. Tartarus, no one wishes to see you or your ill-gotten spawn. We have a bet on how much longer you last. Please tell me you plan to die within the month. It would please many greatly."

She meant her own wager was riding on the month. The healer bit her lip before she said something ton offend.

"Is accosting travelers seeking knowledge what we do, Verdir?" A new voice spoke up from behind. She dared not flinch. The voice was heavy with age and the last pony she had expected to be out in the night.

A brief silence stole the night before their voices spoke out as one. "No, Adalritari." And they smoothly regained their positions with no hint of the earlier open animosity.

A stallion shambled up to her left, she carefully did not look at him. She could not till he addressed her.

His position was one no few mares absolutely must respect. For he kept the records of their history, and his voice carried with it the law. A shiver shot down her spine, it had been a few years since she had last heard his voice. Just as on that fateful day dread filled her to the brim.

"I would expect more discipline, from ones who count themselves among the Sangéquine." He spoke softly, almost gently. But that was as much a slap in the face as the actual action itself, and both mares shuffled, their helmets hiding the blushes that were no doubt forming.

He walked past without another word to them, and as he reached out his hand to open the door to the tower, His Tower. He spoke but one word.

"Come." It was cold, void of the warmth she once knew. Hearing it made ice grip her heart, but she dared not disobey and rushed in after him, as she fought the surge of dread that threatened to wash over her continuously.

She shut the door behind her gently as she gazed about the first floor, it had been a long time since she had last been here. The familiar sight of the scrolls that sat in their cubbyholes caused memory to stir. Lamps with oil lit the inside with a comfortable warm glow. Always the words of the past were well cared for and always watched over.

Three klerkurs sat, reading from scrolls they had pulled from the racks. Their eyes drawn to the door, and glares replacing apathetic eyes when they spotted her darkening the sanctity of their domain.

They made no move to stop her following him however. His word was law and they would not dare go against it. She was here for a reason, and only by the grace of the Sun and Moon was she to remain here.

Her father had not stopped, seeming to ignore the hostile air around them as he walked to the stairs and ascended them. Of course he would not wait for her. It was a sign of his displeasure that he didn't even speak up for her, her reprimanded their lack of discipline. Like before, she quickly followed after.

They passed the sleeping quarters on the second floor and approached his private rooms of the third, her heart hammering in her chest. He entered, leaving the door open for her, and she in kind quietly closed it as she so often did when she was a foal visiting him in the past, though those were better times.

He sat at his desk, and she stood at the door, sweating under her hood. He did not address her, but stared hard at her for long moments.

"Remove your hood." He barked suddenly. Far harsher than the tone he used with others. She jerked and hastily removed the garment. "It seems you are still healthy, Leanna. I trust the mistök still lives?" She merely nodded, and he likewise, only grunted. "Why have you come? Have you finally acknowledged your culpability? No, you would not easily revoke your claim of innocence." He sighed angrily.

Of anything she took from him in her birth, it would be his refusal to bend on what she believed true. Even if no one else saw it. Or wanted to.

"What could be so important that you would come in the quiet of the night? Well, speak filly, I have not the time to look upon your face."

She grit her teeth in agitation, but held what she really wanted to say inside her heart. As always those words festered there in the darkness, and ate at her soul for it. "Four days ago Asmund f-"

"Do not speak its name!" He hissed out. She gulped and nodded. One does not anger the Adalritari.

"Four days ago, we found a pony, barely a stallion, on the beach. He has suffered horrible afflictions, burns being the most prominent." He cocked his head at this, his ears swiveling fully toward her. She finally had his attention, even if it was not for her.

"I trust he is receiving your care?" She nodded. "Well that is good, if for nothing else your ability to heal is a saving grace. Likely this colt had suffered during the storm five days ago. It's not uncommon for the Hugrakkur to throw their colts into a storm to prove their worth. But for one of them to wash up this far and be alive is a miracle itself. Does he have a name?"

"No. He is in very bad shape. I believe he suffered not just one strike but multiple targeted lightning strikes judging from the multitude of burns. It's very possible his horn was overloaded with the discharge of magic being directed at him. It bears several stress cracks."

While the Hugrakkur were known to demand the best of the best from their own people, she doubted very much that they would allow this to happen. Those storm blinded ponies were not so careless, just foolhardy, and to do it to a stallion would be just as unthinkable.

"Horn? A unicorn? Then he is not of them. But maybe one of the others, we are not the only island of unicorns after all."

That was true. Of the ponies who lived on the islands, more than a few held unicorns amongst their ranks. The fact that Haust was primarily a unicorn colony made no difference, just one of the many if a bit smaller then the rest.

"I don't believe he is from the islands." She hefted the sack to the floor, grateful the weight had finally been removed. "This was found with him, and I was never the strongest reader. But he has books in here. I removed his clothes should he awaken and have need, but the books and a strange device remain inside." She levitated the satchel to the center of the room and set it down and waited.

"A visitor from the Lands eh? Now that has not happened in many years, it was believed that Celestia had learned better than to try those waters."

It was an understatement. It hadn't happened ever. Oh there were rumors of outlanders arriving on shore. But none could confirm the veracity of those claims. They knew of the leviathans that patrolled the waters around their islands. It had been a pure miracle when their people first came here, supplementing the dying population that called this place home with their own. By all accounts, the beasts should have destroyed them all.

But the blessing of the lost sisters were upon their ancestors, and they had arrived safely.

These days most were careful never to go out too far, both fear of dying or worse, leading one of the creatures back home. Accidents still happened, and ponies didn't return from the seas. Then there were the condemned.

He picked up the bag with his own magic and brought it to his desk. It did not take him long to pull the contents and start perusing them when he jerked in surprise. "Do you believe he will live?"

"He seems to have a strong will to fight, judging by how greedy he got with the water. There is something else."

"Yes, what is it?" He distractedly asked, flipping through another book.

"His teeth. They are mostly normal except not. He bears sharp teeth where his cuspids would be. That and the front of his teeth share in a similar trait."

His head jerked up. "A Sangéquine unicorn? That's impossible. They've never produced anything more than what they are!" He fairly shouted in alarm. He was correct however, the night pony species only ever produced their leather wing offspring. There had never been a successful union, and they did try.

She was quick to respond. "No, his teeth are thicker than theirs. If I didn't know better I would think I was looking at the teeth of a predator. But the molars indicate he does eat vegetation."

The elder stallion sat for a moment in silence.

"You will not mention that detail to anyone. Not until I've had a chance to speak with him." He drummed his fingers in contemplation. "I will….be sending a verdir to your home. They shall be a runner for when and if he awakens. Now leave me. You have given me much to think about and none of it is what I really wanted." Another pause. "According to this book, his name might be Orion Falls. Be sure to remember that."

He waved his hand and the door opened with his magic. She did not hesitate to depart.

Asmund poked the black pony again, for what must have been the hundredth time. Getting no reaction. Not unexpected at this point.

He had long lost interest in the strangers' clothes, while unusual, they were not all that different from his own. He had been warned not to touch the ornaments in his mane enough times that he actually listened.

Instead he had begun poking the stallion, hoping for a reaction. So far nothing. In a way, he was kind of hoping that the pony would wake from annoyance and then he could surprise his mother with the fact that he managed to wake him. He wondered if she would praise him if this method proved successful.

Poke. Nothing.

Poke. Nothing.

Po-

His mother burst into their home with a burst of cold air and annoyance. She paused in the middle of the room and looked at him.

"Asmund, what were you doing just now?"

"I was trying to wake him up so he could eat, modír." That was a well reasoned, well rehearsed thought, but not the truth, and by her narrowed eyes, she likely didn't believe him.

It was rare that he ever got words of praise from her or even chastisement. As far as he could remember she barely ever said a cruel or kind word to him.

To him it was somehow worse than being chastised. Like his own mother couldn't acknowledge him.

He had watched from the bushes, as he always did, as other foals were either praised or punished depending on what they had done. He knew right and wrong from those interactions, but it made him yearn for his own mother's voice to be raised in a similar way.

He wanted to know what it felt like to feel the warmth of praise in her voice. Or the cold judgement in her punishments. He never got any of that, even when he acted out.

"Do not bother him. He needs his rest, he will wake when his body demands food. The only thing we can do is attend his wounds." She said neutrally. "But I have returned, so you should be getting to bed. I shall wake you should things change for good or ill."

And that was it. Dismissed as if he were nothing more than a day laborer. He nearly stomped his way to his mat.

Sleep came slowly to him, and his only view was that of his mother, carefully and tenderly changing the strangers wounds. That somehow hurt him more.

She sighed when her son had finally fallen asleep. The mask she wore around him falling as bitter tears leaked from her brown eyes.

Those tears were born of her own mistreatment of her foal. But anytime she looked at him, she saw his father in those green eyes of his, and that stirred in her a raging anger that threatened to burn her very soul.

So the mask remained so she did not lash out at him. Even when he did good she could not bring herself to praise him. She knew it to be wrong but it was as if the bitterness held her tongue captive. Even if he showed such promise.

In these moments of helplessness she would weep silently, biting her lips to keep from whimpering aloud.

Wiping her tears she set about finishing redressing the black pony's wounds. They were healing, even the horn, if taking far longer than normal. She didn't understand why that was, but they seemed to be good regardless.

Even the ones around where a pair of arm bands seemed to have burned their way into almost bonding with his flesh. She had tried to remove them, getting only a bit of wiggle room, but found a field of magic keeping them on. A very powerful field. No doubt from the pony himself.

Her understanding of magic outside healing was quite limited. She had no idea how she might go about disrupting that field, so they remained.

That decision didn't seem to disrupt the healing, already fresh skin and fur was starting to return under the bands.

"Orion Falls," she said quietly. Brushing his mane from his face and revealing a scar nearly running the length of it.

His arrival had been so strange. When they had pulled him into their home, he had been a riddle that no answers had yet revealed themselves.

He was not quite as tall as her, though he was close. His mane held a tangle of ornaments she knew not the meaning of, and had largely ignored due to more pressing concerns. She eyed the scar over his face. It was large and much older then the fresh wounds that decorated his body. But it wasn't the only one.

Once she had gotten his clothes off that first time she nearly gasped, his entire body was covered in a myriad of old cuts, clearly more had happened to this young stallion then just what was recent.

What kinda life had he lived before showing up on the beach? As she worked on him, that same question, or a version of it, would pass through her mind with each new scar found.

A sudden thought occurred to her, she had not mentioned the scars or the unmovable bands. She shrugged, what more could they really do to punish her.

Pulling the woven blanket over him she sighed tiredly. Another long night of quick naps and bandage replacement was in store for her.

Just as her father had said, a verdir had been dispatched to her home that very morning. The lithe mare that scowled at her the moment she pulled back the door flap.

"Is he awake yet?" The tone was neutral despite the face. At least normal verdir knew to keep their civility with a healer. Even one as reviled as her.

"No, he still sleeps." She did manage to get more water in him this morning. He drank more this time then the last, and managed to mumble something she did not understand, but hoped was a thank you.

"I will see him." That was not a request. She had no choice.

"That is fine, but you will remove your helmet and be quiet. My sonur still sleeps and I will not have you frightening him." It was about as much authority she was going to get and she held onto it tightly.

The mare just stared at her but did as she was told. The earth pony had a forest green mane to match the earth tone color of her body. Her yellow eyes held no warmth.

They both stepped in, one clearly more alert and wary than the other, despite this being her home.

The verdir quickly approached her sleeping patient and examined him, being gentle in pulling back his coverings.

"He looks to be in worse shape than I was told."

"The scars were there before his wounds, he is actually healing well if a bit too slow for my liking." She stated simply.

"Slow? Is there something wrong?" The green maned mare looked back at her accusingly. The healer maintained her calm.

"I'm not sure, it's as if his body lacks the ability to process magic correctly. I wasn't sure till this morning if that was correct. There seems to be three flows of magic in him at the moment. Mine, his own, and this foreign one I do not recognize. I can only tell it's properties, it seems to be pegasus magic of all things."

It had been a surprise for her this morning to finally identify that third magic. It was the direct cause of his wounds, though for some reason a lot of his own magic was entwined with it. She suspected he had attempted to protect himself from his attacker.

"The mystery deepens." The mare considered for a moment. "I am Fabiola Dust. I will watch over you and him, and your...sonur." Not quite the curse but almost. "How long will he remain like this?"

"I cannot say. He is better than when he first arrived, but other than water I am unable to get anything else into him."

"Then I wait for his life or his death," she sighed. "Where may I sleep and take out my things?"

"I must keep him near the fire till he is well, so you can take his spot over there."

Her home was shorter than others but was built much like everyone else's. Inside were sturdy wood walls and a gentle sloped ceiling. Decorations of bright colors including woven wall mats that could be moved to change the way the home was divided. She had pulled hers down so she could keep an eye on her charge, but normally had them up for privacy for her and her son.

The place she had indicated was a walled off section of the home, meant for patients but with her current one's state of health she dared not leave him out of her sight for long. The room held its own fire pit which would be good to heat the home better. Winter had long since settled in and it was bitterly cold at night.

Fabiola just nodded and set her things inside, taking time to roll out a bed mat. Once done she grabbed her spear and exited, presumedly to go and secure the area.

As far as recent interactions with those of the village this had been pretty typical, and vastly better considering the fact that the mare would be staying in her home for sometime.

She looked to her charge, not for the first time wondering if he was worth the trouble.

Asmund woke up with a snort, and the mask slipped on as he went to help him set about his morning. She was teaching him his numbers this week.

Crackling fire greeted his ears once again. He was cold again, but not uncomfortably so. His mind wasn't so fogged either. For the first time in what felt like a long time Orion took stock of himself and his situation.

He hurt. Everywhere.

He had trouble remembering what had happened so he left it up to future him to worry about and just focused on seeing what worked and didn't.

Vague memories told him that his eyes hadn't responded to him the few times he had been semi-alert. So he left that check for last, he wanted to build some hope after all.

He slowly moved his arms, relief flooded him to know those worked, even the fingers moved, if a little sluggish.

He couldn't move his legs, but he could feel them. Maybe muscle entropy? How long had he been here?

His horn was throbbing, but still attached, he likely did something that nearly destroyed it judging by the pain that dully pulsed from there. Even the very idea of channeling magic through it was quickly dismissed as a sharp pain threatened to make him groan in agony.

"I must have done something really, really stupid."

He ran a tongue along the backside of his teeth, still there. So far charming good looks were still in working order. But a brief inhale through his nose made him very well aware of the problem. He smelled like piss and old sweat rolled in a shit burrito.

"How long have I fucking been here?!" If he had anything in his stomach he would have thrown up. In either case he squirmed uncomfortably and noted that he could move his hips and back just fine, and found that his legs had finally begun to respond as well, moving as if in jelly.

Ignoring the smell, he decided it was time to see if he was blind or not. He prayed for not.

His eyes slowly cracked open, the harsh light of a fire making him squint, but he doggedly continued till he had them mostly open. He could see. Thank Christ.

As his eyes adjusted slowly, he took in his first view of his surroundings. He seemed to be in a large hut with several mats hung between posts.

"Dividing walls for individual rooms? Not very private if you ask me…"

The ceiling was uniform dark brown wood that seemed to have tar in the seams to prevent leaks. Smart. His head turned to note the walls were made of the same wood, they and the posts supporting the home seemed to bear carvings that reminded him of the Apple Family farm.

Though as he focused on the carvings, he noted the very archaic, almost rudimentary markings that seemed to adorn the walls in set patterns that only bordered the edges, leaving bare the wall itself.

"I feel like an archeologist finding some lost language. Shit where's my hat and whip?" He chuckled and moved on from his inspection of the walls, he would make no sense of them today.

Time to see if he could sit up, and decide if he was going to be mute, an amnesiac, or be honest.

Seems he always considered three options.

As he began to push himself up with unsure limbs, he decided on the amnesiac role for the moment. Playing dumb would give him a chance to construct whatever lie he needed in order to be convincing, she he actually need it.

It was a struggle, his arms shook with the effort and his abs didn't want to work with him, but he finally got to a sitting position. He was snorting in frustration. That had been entirely too much work, how long had he been out of it? He knew his mind was repeating the question, he was just too distracted to stop it.

He peeled back the covers to see what he looked like, and his nose wrinkled at the smell. Jesus, he stank. But the bandages looked fresh.

A noise caused him to jerk around and spot a very tall tan colored mare with a dirt brown mane. The wide blue eyes on his stone gray ones.

"Oh boy, time to act."

And act he did. Shatner would have been so proud.

Scrambling as best he could, he heaved himself off the mat he laid on and tried to scramble away from the mare, and toward the wall. As he made his mad dash he noticed not all the walls were solid. There were closed windows there that almost seamlessly blended with the rest of the structure.

She in turn raised both her hands up and wide and started babbling out words in a calm tone that he had only ever heard in the classroom. She was speaking in ancient Equish.

"Did I fucking time travel? The hell did I do!?"

She had been stunned when she walked back into her home from the market. The stallion was not only awake, but sitting up.

She had tended to him for four weeks in hopes he would awaken. Managing after the first week to get broth into him on a somewhat regular basis.

It had been tentative for a while in the second week. His horn, for whatever reason, started firing off spells at random in the night. As if he was fighting something off. It was fortunate that the spells lost power almost immediately, but it had frightened everyone. Even Fabiola starred in terror.

After that he seemed to have settled down again, though sleeping fitfully. His wounds were again looking better. But the slow rate in which he was recovering still had her puzzled. She just didn't know what to do about it.

By the end of the third week she began to seriously worry he would never truly awaken. That like her son, he would be a permanent drain upon her.

So her surprise at seeing him not only awake, but sitting up put unusual joy in her heart. That's when he noticed her. Eyes wide with fear. She didn't know what to do. But he had quickly given her a course of action.

He scrambled with his hands to rapidly pull himself away from her. Rather than approach him, she held her arms up, palms forward, to show she was not a threat.

"I mean you no harm. Do you remember your name? Do you know where you are?" She spoke calmly, soothingly. There was little chance they actually understood one another, but she would try.

She continued to speak softly in reassurances as she slowly got down on her knees. This might take a while, and it was fortunate that Asmund had gone off to play near a creek behind the house.

He would likely overwhelm him with questions, and she did not want to push the stallion out of his comfort zone, as much as he already was.

No, she wasn't speaking in ancient Equish. There were words intermixed that he could infer, but not really understand.

Her voice was light like a feather, if a bit thick in pronunciation.

Still pretending to panic he took in her clothing and how she carried herself.

The tan mare wore a thick yellow gown, the material undetermined to his eyes. Underneath peaked what looked to be a petticoat of a drab gray. He watched on, keeping his ruse up, flinching when she pulled the red shawl she had draped around her neck and head off. This got her to babble more soothing words.

It was clear who likely took care of him. Still finding out how he got here would likely take a while considering the language barrier and the role he decided to play. He would have to plan out when he would 'gain' his memory back. Choosing a time like that was going to be difficult depending on how distrustful her and her people were.

He slowed his breathing, but kept his eyes wide. His nose took in his most apparent need and he decided on a course of action. He set about greeting her tentatively, and getting something to clean himself.

The sun felt nice against his fur, and the first of the spring breeze gave a nice bite in cool contrast to it.

He sat outside next to the grassy home, watching as clouds rolled by. He still couldn't believe it, he had been living inside a hobbit home. Well close enough at least.

The house had either been built into the hill, or the hill was formed around it. In either case the front could easily be seen. Wood walls with no paint and plenty of carvings of nature scrawled into them met in the middle with an oval doorway that had nothing more than a thick cloth covering it.

Apparently they had not heard of actual doors.

They knew his name. Which meant that his things were somewhere just not in the immediate vicinity. He shouldn't be surprised by that but it did annoy him to no end that they chose to deceive him by not mentioning it.

His only hope was they didn't have a clue as to what the books he carried with him meant. With the crystal removed, the 'lightsaber' was useless. A paper weight at best.

He sighed to himself, just more bullshit to worry about.

He watched as Leanna waved to him with a carefully neutral face, and headed down the hill. Likely off to pick more plants to make as medicine. She did that a lot.

His host, who's name he learned, was Leanna Song, though she gave that reluctantly, had been gracious and extremely helpful in his rehabilitation.

It was embarrassing to admit, but her name had been the first human sounding name he had heard in so long, that he just stared at her until she squirmed under his bewildered gaze.

He apologized of course. But it was so surreal for him.

He soon learned of her son, Asmund Song. Much like her, he too was tan but of a lighter color more akin to bone yellow. His mane was of the same dirt brown like her own. Though his eyes were bright verdant green unlike his mother's deep blue ones.

A bright kid if a little airheaded, he had proven instrumental in learning the local language. The little colt was exceedingly smart with a mind like a trap. Tell him a story and he could repeat it verbatim and he absorbed absolutely anything. He even remembered fine details that others might miss.

His understanding of their written and spoken word was top notch as well, and he was surprisingly adept at teaching. He certainly lucked out. For once.

And as Orion had suspected, their language was a variation of a dialect of ancient Equish, and if he wasn't too off, some type of Norse.

He couldn't be sure because he had only heard the Scandinavian language, or something like it, a handful of times, and only because of YouTube. This sounded close, but still off.

They were essentially Norse Ponies. Norse Horse. It was everything he could do not to burst out laughing when the thought occurred to him. He ended up wheezing in a coughing fit, much to the panic and concern of Leanna.

Still as his grasp of their language strengthened, he found himself engaging in idle conversation with Asmund. It wasn't hard to figure out the poor kid had no friends. At ten years old the colt would often be learning his letters and numbers, or going off in the opposite direction he assumed the village was in.

So in the lulls of his therapy into learning to walk again, something he never thought would happen to him, and studying to better his ability to communicate with his saviors he would tell humorous stories to him. Careful to censor and make it look like his memory was coming back in fits and spurts.

The first time the colt had laughed it had been a startling sound. It had sounded unpracticed and strained, even his mother stared at him in shock.

Fabiola, the lone guard that had been assigned to this place, had grabbed her spear as if they were under attack.

It was very clear to him then, that Asmund had very little to be happy about.

Speaking of the guard, there was no love lost between the two. He hated the snide and arrogant bitch.

It was obvious that the guard had a very low opinion of the healer. Often making stabbing comments to Leanna that at first, he only barely understood.

What surprised him was she just accepted the jabs. As if that was her lot in life. She didn't even defend her son from similar verbal treatment. There was something very wrong, but he had yet to understand what it was.

Where Fabiola had been cruel to his hoists, she was sweet as honey to him. Often bring him sweet treats once she was done reporting in for the week thathe would put aside, complaining of being full or tired, then tossing them into the fire of giving them to Asmund when he could.

Her behavior disgusted him, and if had any knowledge of the situation he would have either done something, or at least spoken out. But to his shame he remained silent on the matter. In his current position he had no power or authority. Hell he couldn't even walk to punch her.

She always asked if he was ready to visit the tower, like he was going to let her carry him or something. In those instances he was rather blunt and told her no, while still trying to maintain the air of nervousness and uncertainty as one might expect a nervous amnesiac.

It had been a month since she had last asked him, with the same result. She had not been too happy with that last response, her lips pursed tightly, but had not pressed the issue further much to his relief.

If he was going to go anywhere, it would be on his own two legs.

He found his mind going back to the trouble with the Songs. The manner in which the guard, or verdir as they referred to the as, treated them, and their seeming acceptance of that treatment, was beginning to lead him to believe that the mother and son were not very well accepted in this society. He had yet to determine the why, and he was too cautious to ask directly so as not to expose himself.

He sighed and settled back into his seat in the grassy hill that was part house. Too many questions in his head, and it was beginning to wear on him. He was bored, and all this internal reflection only reminded him of the fact that he still could not channel his magic safely. The cracks in his horn had healed. But running more than a trickle through it brought pain, even if he was willing to power through it he could only channel his magic enough to pick up an empty cup.

He could not even channel his magic through his hands effectively either, which led him to believe that even while not active, the horn was still the foci for magic manipulation. Would explain why a null ring stopped his ability outright till it was either removed or destroyed.

He closed his eyes and yawned. At least he could say he was able to walk now, if somewhat shakily. But how to convey that the all vegetarian diet was doing nothing for speedy muscle growth? They had already seen how violently he reacted to eating hay and flowers.

He had thrown up everywhere. It was horrible and he had to act like he didn't know what he could and could not have, or what would happen when he ate their normal food staple.

He mentally shuddered at the memory, but his stomach growled, telling him that food would still not be a bad idea at the moment.

"I suppose I will have to feed the beast."

Opening his eyes he jerked back, well as far as the hillside would allow it.

In front of him was an older stallion, the brown and gray peppered maned pony was looking at him rather inquisitively. His robes made him look like a cleric from a Catholic church of all things.

With him were four more verdir. No Fabiola. These were all new, and all mares as well. He could see a rather tall one with red eyes just over the stallion's shoulder grinning at him like he was a piece of meat.

He waited, and waited. This guy wasn't saying anything. Neither were the mares.

"Ummm….can I help you?" He said slowly, despite the practice this language was quite a bit different then he was used to. Had he not been isolated with only this language he likely would have still been struggling with it. As it was he still had to speak carefully.

The pepper maned stallion finally smiled and pulled out a small navy blue book with a silver moon emblem on it.

"I believe you can."

Author's Note

Not much can be said for this chapter other than it is a chapter. It's not one of my more exciting and fast pace ones that's for sure.

You will however, notice the change in naming. I stuck with the last name being more of Pony origins, but the original inhabitants of the islands impressed upon the refugees of the past in some small way. Not just language but in the way they named themselves. As the story progresses you will find more and more examples of this with the more a pony colony is separated from the main nation.

But it will led into a more later on.

My plan is not to tell any of you anything MWHAHAHAHAHAH! You think I would reveal my grand plan to all of you. Nay I say nay!

As per always, leave a comment. Let me know what your thinking and where you think this story might be headed.

Thanks for reading.

Peace!