The Bewitching Hour

“Journal entry: Day five,” narrated Quicksilver Bullet outloud, quill set to the scroll on his lap. The stallion was seated on a moss-covered log in the middle of a swamp, the dense jungle partially obscuring the blazing sun. He nibbled on the feather which tickled his bushy mustache and chin hairs, a reminder that he needed to shave. His sweat-soaked dusted coat was placed underneath his backside, a fedora propped on his scalp. “Trail’s starting to get cold, and there’s still no sign of the fabled Jabberwocky.”

The hunt had taken him into barely explored regions where only Daring Doo would typically venture. But the hunter had faith in his skills and weaponry; the instruments on hand enchanted to deal with whatever beasts befell them.

“I can't help but feel a little irresponsible sometimes,” confessed his wife, who sat on a bed of blankets across from him. Quiver Bolt's coat was pale gold, a scarlet mane trailed down her back.

“I’ll say,” Quicksilver dryly chuckled. “Not to offend you, dear, but you coming along was a mighty big risk.”

Her aquamarine eyes sparkled with life as she smiled, “You know I couldn't bear to be apart from you for so long…. Nor her, for that matter~.”

In her arms, swaddled in another blanket, rested the fruit of their union. A baby unicorn with a white mane, pale blue coat, and icy blue eyes appeared to stare directly into one's heart and soul. She rarely slept, nor did she whine or cry.

“Heh! Quite the stubborn little tyke. Just like her mother,” he complimented, his chest swelling with pride. “Beautiful too.”

“Yet her silence is getting worrisome,” admitted Quiver while rocking their foal in her arms. The baby simply stared back, tapped with her little hoof when she needed to fill her diaper. “You don't think something's wrong with her, do you?”

Quicksilver shrugged, sporting a cheeky grin. “I don't pretend to understand kids. This is all new to us. But I'm sure with such a wonderful mother around, she'll turn out alright.” Then, inspired by the sight of his wife and child, the cryptozoologist started to furiously scribble out the rest of his entry, quill repeatedly dipped into an ink blotter.

The sounds of animals and insects around them oddly calmed him. He felt at home in the wild. So much to see and learn.

The light started to dim, and the mysterious sounds grew louder. The couple had set up camp but weren't quite ready to settle in. Quiver started a campfire while Quicksilver rolled up the dried scroll. They skewered bugs on sticks and cooked them over the blaze, the scent of dinner able to smother the forestation aroma all around them. Their mouths watered in anticipation.

Their eyes shot wide open from shock when an aura wrapped around the scroll, directed to the foal's face, who unfurled and attempted to read it. Her tiny snout crinkled in annoyance, unable to make out the words as her horn flared.

“Well, would you look at that,” said Quicksilver in a hushed whisper. “We’ve got ourselves a genius in the making!”

Quiver Bolt smiled and choked back sobs. “My sweet little darling,” she cried and snuggled her to her bosom. She started to read the scroll aloud while their baby perked her little ears and soaked in the world around her.

She nursed the foal while they ate their own meal. After a while, the little one settled down into a comfortable sleep. Quiver tucked her in atop the blankets and kissed her temple. A lullaby put her to bed. The moon and stars had started to peek out, the air-filled by cricket chirps.

Finally, the couple had a rare moment of alone time. Gazes met over the crackle of a fire that cast the lovers in a romantic glow.

She made the first move, rested a hoof on his broad shoulder, leaned in to meet his snout. Their nuzzles locked into a series of kisses that started slow, then became heavier, more insistent, both spurred on by the races of their hearts and warmth from their bodies.

He carefully pushed her into a bed of leaves, pressed his weight atop her while she parted her legs to admit him. His shaft escaped its sheathed, pressed against her entrance, and they moaned when he slid into her heated depths.

She wrapped her limbs around him and rocked underneath his movements. Their maws continued to mash with each thrust. On a similar adventure, in the heat of raw passion, they had conceived their little bundle of pride and joy.

Groans rose from Quicksilver, who flared into her womb. She soaked him in preparation to receive his seed. His muscles tightened and they gasped when he pumped his payload into her core. She trembled beneath him, chewed on his lower lip.

“I love you, Silver,” she murmured when they started to come down from their high.

He smiled and stroked her tangled scarlet mane. “I love you, too, Goldie. You are my whole world.” He returned her playful nuzzles.

After he withdrew from her, she licked his equipment and cleaned herself. Then the couple readied themselves for sleep. He took the first watch, aware his wife needed her rest badly.

Plus, it was the hunter's sacred duty to defend his family, with his life if necessary.

He checked his rifle and sidearm, took flint to his machete, which caught the glint of the moonlight. The darts in his rifle were filled with enough sedatives to stop a miniature dragon.

A few traps were also placed around the area in case some predator dared cross in close. He couldn't wash away the concern he held for his family, almost to an obsessive degree.

By the time his lover took his place, he was finally able to drift off into a fitful sleep.

*****

Similar days passed on the hunt. They picked up the faint trail of the Jabberwocky and pursued it. There were many theories about such unknown, 'fictional' creatures. An escapee from a magical book or comic, fiction come to life? An experiment by a mad wizard that went out of control? Ancient primordial being who survived extinction? He tried to keep an open mind.

The vegetation thickened further deeper in. Gasses rose from the discolored sludge that made up the vast swamps. Moss hung like tendrils from gnarled branches, the atmosphere thick with swarms of bloated mosquitoes, blocked by a repellant around the travelers.

“You okay, sweetheart?” Quiver Bolt kept their quiet filly swaddled to her chest by a strap attached to the bundle. Their baby didn't make so much as a coo. Instead, her icy gaze studied their surroundings, almost analytically.

“Oh, I’m sure she’s fine,” assured Quicksilver, whose machete slashed through dense vines that fell away. “Wouldn’t be our daughter if she wasn’t brave.” He shot the tyke a warm smile.

Muck squished under thick boots over their hooves. At times there was no choice but to wade through the slurry. Tiny rays of sunlight reflected off the surface, alongside twigs, plants, and chunks of debris that skimmed over dirty soup.

The stench filled their nostrils, so overpowering that Quiver swayed. Quicksilver instantly stopped to aid his partner, leaning her frame into his.

“I-I’m fine,” she assured him. “Just a bit dizzy.”

“Nah, love. You haven’t recovered after the pregnancy,” he noted and shook his head. “Maybe we should turn back...”

“No! Not when you're so close. I don't want to hold you back from your dreams.” She shook away any discomfort, pressed on ahead. “There!” She spotted large claw prints left in the mud. “I'm pretty sure these are fresh tracks!”

“Good eye, darling. It must be real close.” He checked the rifle situated on his back. “Get behind me.” He took the lead, followed the claw prints to the muddy shore, into a sea of thick trees ahead that barred the path.

Pretty soon, they were almost entirely shrouded in darkness due to the labyrinthine scenery. Some trunks had been ripped apart or upended completely, scrapes left all over the ancient wood, bark peeled away like skin by claw marks.

Their hearts skipped at sight. Anything that could do this was likely beyond even their skills.

“Don't worry,” assured Quiver despite her shivers. “I've kept my magic in reserve, just in case.” She lit her horn with her aura to reassure him, ready to help him bring in this beast, and prove to the public his research wasn't 'nonsense.’

The couple jumped when a thud sounded and quaked the area. Trees were felled under a one-beast stampede, the pair and their foal eclipsed by a monster that supposedly didn’t exist, if academics were to be believed. It shrilly roared and drooled, a mixture of contrasted colors.

The Jabberwocky was the stuff of nightmares, a chimera of various creatures. Scales and fur mixed across its bulk, winged and with a twisted humanoid face. Its thin tail snaked behind it, front claws raised and maw wide open. Gooey eyes trained on their baby like it was a prized snack, and its bloated musculature moved with a swiftness that belied its wretched appearance.

“Oh no,” cried Quiver, whose horn flared and fired off a beam. The ray seared its chest, which smoked and bubbled. But its roar increased, its rush was unbroken, the drugged dart that sunk into its breastbone ignored when it closed in.

Its claw swiped up the bundle, mouth opened impossibly wide and tilted back, the foal tossed towards its throat. Quiver's aura barely seized their baby before jaws snapped down, filled by discolored, serrated teeth. The beast howled in frustration, turned back to the hunters.

Another dart struck home. The monster pounced. The impact shook the area and tossed them aside, another tree ripped apart in its wake.

“A-ahhh!” Cried Quiver as a leg snapped at an awkward angle. Yet her sole concern was their baby, as the bundle landed on a bed of leaves almost a muted thump. She limped towards her child, fell with a thud, and crawled. Her horn flared once more to raise a barrier around them.

“Damn it,” cried Quicksilver, whose rifle was broken, his satchel's contents scattered. Various weapons were scattered across torn-up earth. He tried to dive for his machete, just to be lashed at by a spine-tipped tail that almost skewered him.

Among his collection was a sword he had discovered on one of his trips. What he assumed was merely a decorative ceremonial piece, its blade made from crystal. From what limited documentation he'd been able to recover from the site, it was dubbed a 'Vorpal Blade.’

His hoof desperately reached for any weapon. Once more, the Jabberwocky struck with a hiss.

His obsession had taken him into the heart of the wild. And now it was about to claim his family.

The monster snapped forward in a blur of motion. Unseen by either parent, the foal's tiny horn shimmered and wrapped about the Vorpal Blade. As the creature pitched downwards to swallow them up, the weapon turned upwards.

Groans came from the beast when the crystal tip found its heart. Gushers of blood erupted from the wound, its heart pierced under the aura-directed blade, and Quicksilver barely managed to roll out of the way when the Jabberwocky fell.

Quiver sniffled and called, “What happened? Is A-”

“Yeah! She's okay,” he assured his shaken wife and scooped up their baby, held them close while the couple trembled, completely oblivious to the fact that their little one had woven her first simple spell and saved their lives. The whelp's icy blue eyes lit up at the taste of her first blood.

First, he checked his wife and mended her broken leg with bandages. Then he studied the monster to make sure it was dead. The couple assumed it had fallen on the Vorpal Blade and impaled itself, a complete stroke of luck that spared them.

He took care of their foal while Quiver used her camera to snap a series of photos of the beast from every angle. They also took back all the physical evidence they could carry, uncertain if the Jabberwocky was one-of-a-kind, or if more of the beasts lurked deeper in the wilderness.

At least now, the academics would be forced to take his work seriously. But more than ever, he realized his family was more important.

So he kissed both of them on the forehead, packed up their belongings, and set out on the arduous journey home to perhaps retire.

Days later, after leaving the jungle, the ship he'd had prepared returned ahead of time. The captain and crew welcomed them aboard, astonished by the preserved parts of Quicksilver’s new trophy. It was a cruise to be celebrated, where everyone drank then settled down to sleep, headed downriver back toward civilization. The beast's attack soon faded to a bad dream.

The little foal would take her own lesson from the trip. A fascination with death, which would one day lead to her cutie mark. And a realization that the strong preyed on the weak. Without vast power and knowledge, she too would be a victim.

*****

“Bah,” mumbled Shadow Scythe to herself, head tilted forward when her awareness swam her back to the present. “Stupid sentimentality.”

A sniffle escaped when she wiped a tear on her a faded sleeve, trying to track the magical signature of Beatrix Belladonna to her most recently visited dimension. Unfortunately, each hop the reaper made increased the risk of the energy she 'borrowed' finally burnt out and stranded her.

Thankfully, the infernal witch was close. Almost like there was an invisible hand that directed her towards where she needed to be.

Divine intervention? Were they all pawns enslaved by fate? And if so, how much could she be blamed for her unspeakable crimes...?

Shaking her head, she doubled down on her ambitions to one day end Belladonna's travels.

Yet after her defeat at the witch's hands, her powers were not what they once were. She was still formidable, but unlikely to match what she would require if the witch's companions came to her aid. So she decided to explore a library forbidden to the public in this latest world she stumbled upon, hopeful she could learn and master spells that were unique to this dimension.

At least here, she didn't have to deal with hooves, a small mercy. Hands made life simpler.

What else could give her an edge? Perhaps a fabled weapon like the Vorpal Blade? But even were the reaper to assume her father still owned it, she would have to return home to steal the item, and dared not trespass further. She had already hurt her poor parents enough.

She was unaware the energy taken from the manor affected her dreams; even her daydreams forced her to confront what she wished to bury. Like everyone else at the mansion, each time she closed her eyes, memories would haunt her until the hole she left on her exit was finally closed.

For a moment, she studied her reflection in her sickle's shiny blade, a tired mare with dark circles under her icy blue eyes glaring back. Anyone she could have depended on, she had betrayed.

Condemned to a hell of her own making, the weary reaper stood alone, like she always had.