The Windigo

Chapters

1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
15
16
17
18
19
20
Day 21/Epilogue
14

1

The following are typed transcripts of entries taken from a journal belonging to a pony by the name of Cath Amber; referred to almost specifically as just Cath. He had been a part of a group of ponies who had decided to take a walk deep within the Everfree forest and ended up lost after a large snowstorm hit. According to the captain of Celestia’s royal guards, the search for the party took almost two months to complete; which ended up being far too late. An investigation of the events that took place around the lost group is currently in effect, but is dwindling due to lack of firm evidence and useful leads. Cath decided to keep a record of the events from the start of their journey, and continued to document the experience to his unfortunate end. I have been given permission to disclose the journal to the general public, as the case is beginning to go cold, and hope of revealing what inspired Cath to write as he did is fleeting. Read it as you will. One last note, some of the entries were missing from the journal or unintelligible.

Day 1: Hello! I thought it would be a good idea to write down our little adventure here so we can look back on it later and remember all the things we had forgotten. It’s always like that isn’t it? You have a great time and all, but when it comes to remembering what you actually did, you haven’t a clue. But this time I’m going to actually do what I’ve been saying we need to do all along and actually write what happens down. So, my name is Cath Amber, and I’m here with Wymble Skyre (coolest name I’ve ever heard), Cross Dreedle, and Peers Abslove. (Strangest name I’ve ever heard). We are just about to get started on our two-day hike into the Everfree Forest. I am in hope that we are out around the end of the week as long as the weather remains fair. Looks like we are starting out, I’ll make another entry when I have the chance.

I wonder if I should just start on a new page? This is my next entry, and it has been about three hours since we started. We’ve stopped for a moment to eat and take a breath. It is absolutely beautiful here; I don’t know what all those other ponies were talking about when they said that the Everfree was a creepy place. We’re all having a great time. We saw a very large snake and some odd looking birds, and Cross nearly fainted when a large spider fell onto his back. Took us at least ten minutes to get him to his feet. Judging by how long we’ve been walking, I would say that it is nearing two o’clock, and it has gotten a lot denser in the number of trees around the path. Good thing there is a path, or it would have taken us twice this long to get this far. Moving again, I’ll write when we next stop.

It has been another couple of hours since we last stopped, and
I’ll just start a new line, Wymble thought he saw something, and we went over to look so I lost my train of thought. Why didn’t I bring a pencil? I thought that it would be better to bring several pens, but not a pencil? About a quarter of a mile back (according to Peers the outdoorspony) we passed a really old road sign, I don’t know why but I thought it was really neat to see history like that. Maybe that’s just me. I asked, it is just me. Anyway, the sign read: “Now entering the Briar Sanctum”. That may just been Wymble’s name for best name I have ever heard. Yeah, that title was for all names in existence, no big deal. Anyway, on the back of the sign, as Peers pointed out to all of us, it read: “Now entering the Everfree forest.” I didn’t know that the forest was divided up into a bunch of different forests. I thought it was all Everfree. Also, on the back of the sign, somepony had carved “It is better here in the Everfree Forest. –BZ” It is unfortunately impossible for me to tell if the carving was new or old. I’m hoping that it was old though. Yeah I’m a history geek, I admit it.

All right, so it has been another three hours since I last wrote and it is getting dark really quickly. To make thing worse, it looks like a storm is moving in. I must apologize to whoever reads this (most likely myself) that I have been lacking on more details about what is going on in the woods around us, and I have forgotten most of the smaller details. Nothing really important happened I guess. So I’m going to make a bunch of notes right now. The trees are really gnarled and extraordinarily dense. Every bush contains more spines than the last one and are impossible to eat. Peers confirmed this when we asked him. From the few gaps in the trees, I can see the storm clouds coming on. They aren’t moving incredibly fast though, so we should be able to find suitable shelter before it hits. We didn’t expect foul weather, so we didn’t pack tents or anything like that. Peers keeps pestering us about that, saying how right he was. Pestering Peers, I like that. Most likely I’m not going to be able to write again until morning, we really need to find some shelter, but in this dense wood it will be a tad difficult.

We found a cabin. It’s a bit run down, but new enough to hold when the storm hits. It’s a bit small and only has two rooms but contains two beds thankfully enough. Peers has been complaining about it not being true camping, and therefore refuses to sleep on anything but the floor. Cold night for him, but he likes it that way. Plus it means that I don’t have to share a one-pony bed. Wymble and Cross are in the other room sharing a bed. I doubt either of them is going to get much sleep, I suppose if you were tired enough you could sleep anywhere. So, we found this cabin in the middle of a very convenient clearing deep within the Briar Sanctum. (Still awesome) The trees became so dense that the trail was completely gone by the time that we were halfway into the Sanctum; but Peers (outdoorspony in any circumstance) told us that he was taking note of various landmarks that he could use in case of the trail disappearing, so we’ll be all right. We found the cabin in the dead of night, so we can’t really tell which way we came from. Peers apparently went out and place a marker on one of the trees that borders the clearing, and he says as long as he knows the initial direction he can find the way out again. When we finally found the door to the cabin, Wymble told us
Sorry again, I was distracted so I’m starting a new line. I was just looking up at the moon (a really nice full moon to top it off) when I saw this black cloud pass by, completely silhouetted in the glow of the moon. I have never seen a cloud move that fast before, usually the Pegasus ponies move clouds at only moderate speeds, and this is the first time I have been in an area of Equestria where the weather happens on its own. I guess that seeing a cloud move that fast was just a new experience for me. It also was very slick on the edges, with only one protrusion from the main body of the cloud. When I had seen clouds moved by wind created by the Pegasus ponies, it warped the shape of the cloud as it passed by. This one didn’t for some reason. Seems a bit eerie, but I’m guessing that’s just me again. Cath Amber: history geek and afraid of clouds. I guess its all part of being in a strange area of this world. I guess that the storm is going to be here much sooner if the clouds are moving that fast. Well, I’m going to try and sleep. I’ll write again sometime tomorrow.

Cath

After his entry, it seems that Cath attempted to sketch the shape of the cloud he had been distracted by. Or rather, that is the most probable assumption of the crude drawing above.

2

Day 2:
Didn’t get much sleep last night, but it seems that I’m in good company on that point. Wymble and Cross seemed to be just as tired this morning, as they were last night. To make matters worse, that snowstorm probably set a record for the most snow fallen in a single area in one given night. Peers had to climb out of the only window in the small cabin and dig away the snow from the door just so we could open it and try to find some dry wood to make a fire. We managed to burn some scraps last night; but the fire went out a mere hour after it was started. It’s very cold, and the sky has refused to let the sun appear, as the entire sky and horizon is painted in a single coat of monotonous grey. Usually I find fallen snow beautiful and very peaceful, as snow usually comes with a silent serenity where it falls. But not here, here the silence is almost overwhelming. I forgot to write last night that I had not seen or heard the sounds of birds or beasts since we entered the Briar Sanctum. We are about to head out into the dense woods to try and find more wood, but I am dubious of how fruitful our efforts will be.

We searched for almost an hour and a half, but in this bitter cold it is impossible to stay out for any decent amount of time. Thankfully the cabin remains semi-warm with all four of us ponies inside, and we did manage to obtain at least some dry wood to make another fire. Peers has a lot of survival equipment with him, as he goes off into the woods quite often. We should be able to return to our homes soon enough with his help. Well, we did lose the marker on the trees that marks the way out, and even in the day the Sanctum is incredibly dark. The line of trees that separates the clearing from the wooden thicket of the forest have a foreboding feeling to them. I asked the others about the trees and they concur that they just don’t look inviting. The clearing that the cabin is in has no other plants or trees, and is completely surrounded by those strange trees. Perhaps the reason is that they are all gnarled and twisted, much like those of the krummholz (the twisted wood of the sub-alpine).

Cross has begun to panic. It seems really early to panic, but I must remind myself that this is his first real trip into the forest, or anywhere that could be defined as wilderness. He started screaming that we were never going to escape the woods, that we were going to die and rot here, etc. Peers has become irate very quickly at this, and is beginning to yell back at Cross, who is still panicking. I wonder if they even notice me writing all of this down, I sort of doubt it, as two of our group are yelling at each other and Wymble is watching in silence. The argument is intensifying quickly, and they both look close to snapping. I want to try and interfere before somepony gets hurt, but I don’t know what to do. I think that it

Well, we finally managed to get Cross back inside the cabin. I knew that he was a fast runner, but man did he cover a lot of ground. I know his feeling though, as I’ve also been wondering whether we will get out of here alive. Best thing is to keep a cool and level head. The last thing that we want to do, but unfortunately the first thing that always happens, is bicker. Our fire has gone out again, and Peers has decided to go into the forest alone to find some more food and look for one of his landmarks. At least we have a couple days worth of food. We won’t go hungry unless we don’t manage to find some means of escape.

The sky hasn’t changed its tombstone-grey shade of cloud. The wind has begun to pick up again slightly, and Peers isn’t back yet. It’s been almost two hours. I know that he’s tough when it comes to battling the elements, but the icy chill isn’t just a surface feeling, it eats you down to the core. Cross just got to sleep, thank the stars. Wymble and I were chatting earlier, trying to keep the spirit up. It was an interesting conversation, as every topic that we discussed avoided our predicament, and yet alluded to it. Shame that none of us are unicorns; then we could just whip up a roaring fire, some shelter and such. I’ve heard that some unicorns can move magically long distances in a matter of seconds. How nice would it be to something just moved past the window.

I think that whatever the thing was was Peers, as he returned just as we went outside to check if something had moved. Peers looked very cold, haggard, and downcast. He just told us that he was unsuccessful in finding any of his landmarks. He keeps looking out the window at the forest. Normally I wouldn’t think anything of it, but he looks worried and a bit scared. Staring at those dang trees will do that to ya I guess. Oh look, Wymble woke Cross. I guess that means we get to eat now.

Why should we be the ones to get trapped out here? You always hear the stories about ponies who get lost on long journeys to far away places and die in gruesome ways; and you always think: “It will always happen to somepony else.” But I guess we are all somepony else to somepony. I just don’t feel like writing right now.

Cath

I saw something in the woods. It was just standing there, unmoving. At least, I think I saw something. I don’t know, it was really dark and there was something that looked out of place. I don’t know. I DON’T KNOW.

The last segment is most likely written by another pony than Cath Amber. It is highly probable that Peers Abslove is the author, as he apparently ventured into the Briar Sanctum alone.

3

Day 3:
The ghastly wind has picked up, causing all loose snow outside to be thrown into the air. The only thing that we can see out of our window is a wall of white powder as it swirls around us, threatening to hold on forever. Moral is at an all time low, but that is not surprising. All of our dry wood from yesterday is spent, and we have decided to burn everything that is not vital to our survival; including the second bed. About a quarter of the other bed is gone, but the straw burns too quickly for it to really be effective. It will all be gone by the end of the day.

Cross has apparently decided to give up hope. He is lying on the remaining bed, rolling back and forth with a distant look in his eyes. Panic has come and gone; at this point he is on the edge of a nervous breakdown. In this state if he has a nervous breakdown, he will die. Wymble has decided to give up neither hope nor sleep. He spent the last twenty hours doing almost nothing but sleeping. Takes your mind off of reality when you are lost in a state of dreams. Much like the writing I am doing, keeping this journal may seem pointless, but it keeps me busy. Keeping busy is the key to survival, Peers said at one point before this trip. Peers himself is acting very strange; he is pacing about the cabin, occasionally muttering under his breath, and glancing out the window, even though he can’t see anything through the snow.

Locked in this cabin by a wall of snow limits what I can write about besides the increasing stress levels and despair of my companions. As I am writing this, Peers is telling Cross that we are all going to make it out alive. Cross is remaining silent, still rocking back and forth. Ah, it looks as if he might actually say something. Saying anything would be an improvement from his current state of being. Well Cross, what are you

He’s right. We are almost out of food. We prepared for two days worth of food, and being day three, it is nearly gone. Same with our water supply. Our fire isn’t hot enough to melt the snow, and if we open the door it will go out. We aren’t going to get out of here alive, are we? It seems early to give up hope, but how are we going to get out of this? Peers has been in situations like this before, so he will be all right for a while at least. Wymble, provided that he wakes up, has some experience, and is a tough pony after all. He should do well for a few more days as long as we find something to eat and drink. Cross I don’t want to talk about. I don’t know how long I myself will last. More than just being in a snowstorm, there is an ominous feeling in the air. In the silence. I think that Peers is feeling it too, judging by his actions. There really is no telling why we feel this way though, I don’t think anything could be out there in the snow right now. Curse this forest. Curse every place where the weather isn’t controlled by Pegasus ponies. Why don’t we have one with us? If we did, then we could have them fly up to the clouds and push them away, letting the sun’s glorious rays down. There would be a lot of things that would be nice to have at this point, but it doesn’t do well to dwell on what we want anymore than to dwell on where we would like to be. Somehow, I believe that

At this point, the next page and a half are ripped from the journal. It is unknown, but likely, that these pages had writing on them. The following writing is most likely from the same day as before the missing section.

We need this journal in case anything does happen to us, and that is why it cannot be burnt as firewood. Besides, it wouldn’t even burn for a mere twenty minutes. I have just finished explaining this to the others who finally took notice of my journal and tried to burn it. That is not happening. Somepony will find us eventually, in whatever state we may be in. They need to know what has happened. Whether we freeze to death, or something kills us all, or we just kill each other. Or all three! How would that even work? Cross is beginning to cry and moan loudly. I wish he would just shut up, moaning and crying isn’t going to do anything. Its not like we can just summon food through our tears, or pull a Mary Shelly and create a being who could survive this environment outside of the cabin to find food and water for us. Now Peers is going over to try and quiet him down. Best of luck to you Peers, I would sure

We are dead. Dead. THERE IS NO WAY TO SURVIVE THIS. Not now that Cross has grabbed all the remaining food in his mouth and bolted out the door. Idiot! Selfish, weak idiot! He is going to die in no less than an hour and a half, being lost and cold out there. IT TOOK THREE DAYS! How in the name off all things that follow the path of sanity does this all happen in three days? It feels like it should be a lot longer than that. Time has slowed itself down as we sit here doing nothing. Well now, we have no food, little water, Wymble has finally woken up, and Peers is staring at the door motionless. Why is he staring at the door? Hold on one moment. All right, he is staring at the door, motionless, and apparently comatose to top it off. Well, not comatose exactly, his eyes are very much alive and present. Funny though, he seems afraid of the door, and he was crying for some reason when I went over to him. The door isn’t going to hurt you, Peers. Not unless something is on the outside wanting to come in, then you might fear the door, being the best entrance. But in that case, you fear what it is outside and not the door. All right, I’m rambling at this point. I’m just going to try and get some sleep to escape from this nightmare for a little bit.

Cath

Every other pony is asleep except for me. I just want to write this down before I forget what happened, and to make sure that I’m not dreaming. I woke up in the middle of the night. Somepony had started the fire again, so I was able to see what happened, and how I can write now. Peers was still staring at the door, but he moved over to his bag and took out a large hunting knife. He went over to the door and carved a W into the door. I’m not exactly sure if I want to ask why. He seems to be getting more and more nervous.

4

Day 4:
We are almost out of water, and the fuel for the fire is just short of being depleted. It has been almost a full day since Cross abandoned us. You know how at times you can tell if something has happened or not? I can’t feel it here at all. My head tells me that Cross is dead and has been for a while, but I want to keep up hope. Forget that, I need to keep up hope. Once you lose everything you have, the only thing you can do is hold on to what can’t be taken unless you willingly banish it. Hope is one of those things that you give up last, a thing that nopony can take from you. Wymble apparently believes in the hope of sleeping this whole thing off, as he has once again curled up with himself on the only bed we have left. That will be the last thing to go, I hope. It is not impossible to sleep on the floor of the accursed cabin, and keeping warm is the first priority at this point. The day that the fire goes out sets for the night that we all freeze to death.

I asked Peers about the W which he carved into the door. I was right in thinking that that was going to be a mistake. He lashed out at me in a way I have never seen. A side of him I didn’t know existed. He keeps pacing, looking out at the wall of white, which continues to obscure our vision from the cabin. I don’t exactly know how the snow did not blow out our fire when Cross opened it to run yesterday. Every nerve in me tells me to be enraged with Cross, and to deal with him in accordance for his actions when we find him. That is assuming he will still be alive when we do find him, or if we find him at all. I wonder if anypony back home has recognized the fact that we are not returning at the time we designated before we left. Even if somepony does, how will they find us here? I don’t know if they would realize we entered the Briar Sanctum.

I managed to get some sleep, thankfully. It seems that sleeping through this may indeed be the way to better our chances of survival. The wind has died as suddenly as it came. We now have a view of the forest again, and the surroundings. I had not noticed that the clearing expands further to the south of the cabin. After the wind and snow calmed it became obvious that there is a downward slope to who-knows-where. Peers seems to be packing his things. What’s he doing? I just inquired as to the nature of Peer’s actions, and he has informed both Wymble and myself that he is setting out to find Cross. Reckons it won’t take too long to find him, as he couldn’t have gotten far. I would ask to accompany him, but I’m not sure if that would be wise. More than just the cold and chance of getting lost, Peers is becoming more irritable by the hour. I don’t think he wants any help either. Funny, as he never knew Cross that well.

To sit in solemn’s silence on a dull, dark dock,
In a pestilential prison, with a life long lock.
Awaiting the sensation of a short, sharp shock,
From a cheap and chippy chopper,
On a big, black block.
Somepony wrote that. I don’t know who.

It has been two hours since Peers left looking for Cross. Time spent wanting the many things we have to want, and wasting what little we have to waste. Wymble and I talked some. Mainly about what is awaiting us back in town. Home, family, friends and the like. Wish we had something to do to keep us busy. The more bored you are makes you all the more aware you are of how hungry and cold you are. Writing in this journal doesn’t exactly take your mind off things. I could start writing a story to help pass the time. A story about a pony who gets lost in caves made of pure ice. No matter how I start, or how I want to go, the story would always be concluded in a cold manner. I wish we had something to eat. I don’t care what it was, just something. Shut up.

Peers came back thankfully. He apparently did find Cross. Peers says that he was frozen solid. Not too far away from the cabin, down the hill to the south. So I was right, there is a hill over there. He went on to say that he took time to attempt to bury Cross, but only had the strength to cover him with snow under a tree close to where he had found Cross initially. There wasn’t any of the food Cross stole around the body; he must have eaten it all. If there is any way that Cross running off could help us, I guess it would be because Peers found some edible inner bark in a couple of felled trees near where he “buried” Cross. It also burns like a dream: long and warm. So, the question becomes do we eat it or burn it?

I never thought that any of us would die so soon. I tried to keep up hope that all of us would survive, but there is no point in denying the inevitable. Four days. Four days we have been on this trip, and for three days we have been stuck in the cabin. The last three days of Cross’s life consisted almost entirely of sorrow and despair. So, was four days too early for any of us to die, or too long?

It’s odd how the three of us have acted in the last hour since Peers returned with the confirmation of Cross’s death. I would have taken the silence in the cabin for mourning, but it is not the type of silence one encounters at a funeral, that silence is heavy with the emotions of all who are present. This silence is the silence of those who are not sure what to think or what to feel, as it is cold and empty. I don’t think any of us went through the various stages of grief; we can’t spare what little emotion we have left. What do you do when you feel the things that make you who you are being sucked away? It took four days for one of us to die. It will probably take six to turn one of us into a shell, with no essence of whom they were inside. Just a body. Just an empty body.

Cath

Its very dark out, and has to be close to midnight. I presume the other two are asleep, but I don’t want to risk waking them by sitting up to check. We’ve all been very light sleepers lately. I just woke up for no reason, but as I did I swear that a light was hurriedly extinguished from outside the window. Tomorrow I’m going to pay my respects to Cross, and take a look just inside the woods.

5

Day 5:
It’s just after dawn right now, and the grey haze of a sky has once again refused to change. Just great rolling storm clouds which are close enough to storming to block out the sun, but not quite ready to actually downpour. A dreary, dreary morning at best. Can’t say that I’m excited for today as I have sworn that I will go pay respects to Cross. I’ll wait for Peers to wake up before I pester him for an exact location. I want to give Cross the time to honor him, but I’m not intent on joining him where he is. It seems to be getting slightly warmer, but it remains cold enough for the chill to dig its teeth down to the bone. The second bed has been completely destroyed in order to keep the fire going, and the burnable but edible inner-bark Peers found us is nearly depleted for either purpose we might use it for. Speaking of Peers, looks like he went to work on the door again last night. The W has turned into Wind. I want to ask him about it, but honestly, does it really matter anymore what any of us do as long as it doesn’t endanger anyone else?

I don’t think Peers has eaten recently. He brought back that edible inner bark, but I haven’t seen him eating any of it. Maybe he’s more concerned about keeping warm then keeping fed. When I go down to pay respects I’ll try to find more inner bark, plenty to eat and burn. Last thing anypony wants to do is starve itself.

I swear that time is a living thing, watching for the moments you want it to run past, just so that it can slow down to an agonizing pace. Wymble has awoken, but Peers is still sound asleep near the fire. This edible bark is probably the bitterest thing I have ever tasted, and a good bet will be the bitterest thing I will ever taste. The texture of it is like rubber that has been dried out for several summers; very crumbly in larger strips, but is very chewy when you are actually trying to eat it. While you are struggling through the task of chewing it into pieces which you can swallow, the agonizing taste threatens to seal your through, making it impossible to eat. Still, food is food, and the worst time to complain is the time when you have everything to complain about, and have a right to do so. Some paradox huh?

There has been no wind since the snowstorm ended. I can see Peer’s tracks from yesterday, walking off into the distance. Almost like those at a beach, imprinted in the sand until time, waves, or another come along to I forgot what I was saying. A thought just occurred to me. I was right, there are tracks outside the window. Something was here last night, looking in. Oh, and Peers is waking up. One last visit. Just like going to chat with anypony.

I’m going down the hill in just a second, just wanted to put something in here, explaining where I went, in case something happens. So, Cross’s body/grave is located about a half mile south, down the hill. He was placed under a tree just inside of the woods. Peers tells me I should be able to see where the snow has covered him. Wish me luck.

Can’t. Can’t. Cross wasn’t buried, he was

No.

Cross wasn’t buried. He was lying there on top of the snow. If he died because he froze to death, then why was there so much blood? The snow was stained crimson everywhere around him. He was torn open in at least six places, including his stomach and neck. It looked almost as if something had been eating him, as the wounds were grotesque and jagged. His hooves were at odd angles, as if something had broken them. He was mutilated, and I didn’t bury him. I couldn’t stay. I didn’t want to stay as long as I did, but the sight captivated me. I couldn’t turn away from it. Still, he deserved more time from me than that. It wasn’t right of me to simply abandon him like that. Why can’t I be who I need to be? I said I was going to pay respects and get more bark so that we could continue to live. I failed at both, with no reason. There is no excuse.

Myrrh is mine; its bitter perfume,
Breaths a life of gathering gloom.
Suffering, sighing, bleeding, dying;
Sealed in the stone cold tomb.
Strange how dark a holiday song can be, and how fitting it seems.

Now the question at hand, do I go back down the hill to the sight which I know awaits me? The single image haunts my dreams and mind, and yet the thought that I did not pay my respects, and instead insulted a good friend by turning and running from what I needed to do. Comes the question: do I do what I should have done, and lay my friend at rest with as much dignity I can give him? Will that redeem me? Peers tells me that anypony would have done the same, and that I should not go back. Knowing that I failed in being a friend, and failed at bringing back what is keeping us alive, he still wants me here. He truly is a good friend. If any of us survive, he deserves to. He also seems to be calming down a bit, maybe it’s the fact that one of us is dead, maybe it’s that he himself is feeling better. Whatever the reason, I’m glad he’s here.

Wymble is getting sick. I wondered why he’s been so quiet, turns out he’s trying to ignore the pain. Shouldn’t have to be like this, one friend taken by the cold on the fourth day, and another taken by illness of some variety shortly after. I normally wouldn’t worry too much about being sick, but we have no help. What kind of world do we live in where two ponies are allowed to die in short succession of each other? So much for a harmonized world, so much for the magic of our great leaders keeping us safe from harm. Where are they now? Speaking of which, where did Peers go? It’s getting darker rapidly; I probably should go and try to find him.

No, I couldn’t go back down that hill. Not for a friend, not for myself, not for anypony. I suppose if staying in the cabin meant certain death, then I might be able to go back, but it’s not as if staying outside didn’t mean certain death.

Cath Amber
In memory of Cross Dreedle, who passed away at the age of nineteen. May his spirit rest, and his memory live in all who knew him for who he was, and what he had done that made him the pony we knew and loved.

6

Day 6:
Last night was a sleepless night for all of us, even for poor Wymble, sick as he is. The night gave us a clear night with no moon, and no stars. So maybe it was cloudy after all, but the air is cold enough to make me think otherwise. Still no wind, and the ground outside is still covered in a thick blanket of snow and ice. But this morning we were granted the first blue sky since the first storm hit which trapped us in this frozen and forsaken spot. It’s nice to see the sun again, regardless of the fact that whatever warmth it distributes out to Equestria does not come to us. But yet it is a cruel treatment, to be able to see and be blinded by a thing that gives happiness and warmth, and yet not be able to benefit from its gifts. I have never really stopped to look at our cabin since we first used it for refuge, but I feel that it is time to become truly acquainted with our dwelling. There are the two rooms, but one is unused as having more ponies in one room results in a warmer room. I have been going back and forth in my opinion about which is more important: food or warmth, and I for the present I believe that warmth is the greater of the two. If the temperature drops too severely, Wymble will die. Let me rephrase that, Wymble will die sooner. What am I supposed to think? That somehow he is going to get better in this place? Sometime in the last two days I said that we needed to keep up hope, because it keeps us going and it can’t be taken away unless you willingly let it go. I have not given up hope, but I am facing reality. What usefulness is lying to ourselves at this point? Yeah, if we lie they are going to get better? My hope is as follows: we are all going to survive as long as possible, and that eventually somepony will discover us, in whatever state we may be in.

Realized that I got off track and started ranting, it’s not good to lose your head, as Cross did; and we all see where that landed him. But in our cabin, we have one bed that currently holds Wymble, the embers of the fire, (we’ve run out of useable burnable material, it’s just down to the bare coals), our single, grimy window, and the door with the word “Wind” carved into it. I want to ask, but at the same time I think the response would be frightening. Peers has been sitting in the corner since last night, unmoving, and staring at the wall with wide and distant eyes. I’ve walked by him, but he doesn’t respond to any motion. It’s like he doesn’t realize that we’re there, or as if he’s in some sort of trance. Something I was thinking on last night, during the endless hours of watching the monotonous darkness around us, that Cross has been the only one of us who has shed a tear this entire time. Peers has looked either aggravated or nervous, Wymble has looked downcast and said very little, and I already know how I’ve been. Downcast, tired, irate, and I can add haunted to that list after yesterday’s events.

I recall learning in school that during times of hardship in Equestria that the most successful business was entertainment. It was because ponies wanted to forget about their predicaments for a while and have a good time. I don’t think that in the past days any of us have even thought about entertainment. When was the last time that any of us have smiled? Maybe Wymble smiled in his sleep, having a good dream and Peers just left. Said something about going for more bark. Better him than me, I don’t want anything left of Cross to be madder at me than it already is.
Wymble has begun to cough at regular intervals, in a very raspy way. What’s worse is he’s asking for water constantly. He doesn’t seem to hear me when I explain that we don’t have enough to give him more than just a quarter of a cup, which I know won’t be able to calm his throat. We’ve been melting snow for water, but with the last embers diminishing quickly we can barely get anything. I’m sorry Wymble, but there’s nothing I can do.

Peers returned about fifteen minutes ago. I asked him if he saw Cross, and he said he did, that the snow still hasn’t covered him. It also turns out that whatever had been eating him had apparently returned at some point, as there is even less of his remains than before. Peers also commented on the lack of tracks around the body. The snow would capture the tracks of the creature, but he said that there were only hoofprints. He did find some inner bark, but very little. We now only have enough to either eat or burn. We can’t do both. He’s the predicament: Wymble needs to eat something, if he doesn’t his body will fall into deep malnutrition and won’t have anything to fight this sickness or keep internally warm. If he doesn’t eat anything it is a death sentence, and he will be dead by morning. If we don’t burn it, however, there is a good chance that we all freeze to death tonight. It is going to be another still night, and thus very, very cold. The three of us huddling together doesn’t give off enough substantial heat, we need a fire.

I asked Peers how he was doing, and his response was that he didn’t need food. I don’t get it; I have not seen that pony eat anything since Cross died. The only explanation I can come up with is that he is just refusing to eat, thinking the fire is more important. Regardless of whether that it true or not, eating happens to be important. I think that we should eat the bark, and give Wymble some chance of surviving the night. Freak chance is better than no chance. The incessant, raspy coughing shows that he’s still with us. I don’t want that to quit without knowing that it isn’t the last noise he’ll make. I’ve known Wymble longer than any other the others; I refuse to see him die.

How is it that Peers still doesn’t want to eat? He keeps insisting that he doesn’t need any food, that he’s fine. He’s becoming aggravated again, so I’m deciding to leave him be for right now. I would keep insisting, except that he has the ability to stay outside longer than any of us, so he must be getting sustenance from somewhere. I wonder if he found something to eat down by where the bark and Cross’s body was. The bark doesn’t give that much energy, and he seems to be doing fine. I wonder if I should ask him. Not today though, maybe tomorrow. The sun has set, another moonless and starless night to encourage the cold to negate and surpass any warmth the day had brought with it.

At least tonight our cabin will be warmer.

Cath

Behind every laugh is a scream waiting to happen.

7

Day 7:
Last night wasn’t much better. Once the coughing quit I would have been able to sleep, but the mere thought of why said coughing ceased was enough to keep me wide awake. I don’t know what time I finally dropped off, but it was far into the night. I guess Peers didn’t sleep much either, as he just sat next to the window and stared out at the woods. A very long night. It wasn’t fair that we didn’t give Wymble a chance to live. I’ll never forget that look in his eyes as he saw Peers throw his only chance of surviving the night into the fire, a look of utter betrayal and bitter sadness. He knew at that moment what the night brought for him. I guess he accepted his fate, as he stopped asking for water. He just coughed, alone, until it killed him. Now that the morning has come, another injustice has been served to my friend; it’s a nice, sunny day. After days of treacherous wind and cold, he has to be laid to rest on a day that he would have previously relished in. It would be so easy to curse Celestia’s name, to say that she should have control over all Equestria, but
But nothing. She should have control of the weather in all corners of her domain. While she lives in a state of luxury, far away in Canterlot, ponies all over Equestria are made to work to bring the change of the seasons. I swear on the lives of my friends, if I survive to see civilization again, I will demand that she do her duty as our ruler. There is no excuse for letting this happen, for letting ponies die in agony because she can’t be bothered to work.

Peers has offered to bury the body, but Cross’s memory still haunts my mind. To shuffle off what I consider my duty to a long-time friend would mark me as nothing more than a beast. The days seem to be warming slightly, despite the changing weather. I figure that I do have the luxury to bury him closer to the cabin, and not down the hill next to Cross. I don’t think Wymble will mind being buried away from the other. It also might protect the body, as something did feed off of Cross’s body, and I have no intention of having Wymble’s defied in any way, but any creature. It’s odd that there is something out there, and it has not come looking for the rest of us. Don’t mark me incorrectly, I’m glad that it is not close but I almost knew what we might have to deal with.

I left Peers with Wymble’s body to go out and search the nearby woods for a good spot. Thankfully there is one not too far from here, underneath a large tree, with a good amount of sticks and loose snow nearby, as to make something of a decent grave. When I returned, Peers was sitting next to the body, staring intently at his face. Poor Peers, he said that he didn’t know Wymble too well, but I guess being trapped in a cabin in the middle of a forsaken spit of the forest known as the Briar Sanctum will make you feel like you knew them all your life. I see the fire is down to coals again. Maybe there’s some of that bark closer to home. How’s that, we’ve been here for exactly a week, and already I know this cabin better than my own home back in town. We’ve been gone a week, hopefully somepony has noticed that we haven’t returned and a search has begun. Then again, the Everfree is a massive forest.

Just returned from burying Wymble. Peers said he would go and pay respects later, and to take all the time that I need. He left just a moment ago. It was a calm ceremony; I dug down in the snow a bit, laid the body in, and covered it with an assortment of branches that were nearby. They were soaked, so they wouldn’t be any use to the fire. Thankfully it is somewhat warmer out, so I was able to stay out a bit longer and say a couple of words. I’m not one to believe in spirits, ghosts, or the like, but if there is some chance that he could hear me speaking I asked him to ask Cross to forgive me, just in case. I don’t really feel any relief from the heartache I feel when remembering Cross after asking, but maybe it takes longer when you’re ghostly. Peers also had the idea that there might be some more of that bark nearer to the cabin, so he is going to check after paying respects. Windigo?

Peers has carved “Windigo” into the door. Why does that seem familiar? I don’t have the luxury of letting him be at this point, we’re the only two left; keeping some connection to him is vital. He’s seemed very disturbed by something. I would go as far to say he’s bedeviled. Staring in a nervous state at night, being irritable and almost twitchy during the day… I don’t’ know what he’s dealing with but it’s something serious.

Peers has returned with plenty of that inner bark, enough to burn and eat. There’ s a part of me that feels anger that he couldn’t have found this before, but we didn’t know that it could be found this close. He should have searched closer though; he could have found some and Wymble would still be alive for a bit longer. Maybe long enough to have broken the sickness. Whatever illness did kill him doesn’t seem to have spread, so that’s something. I guess that if he was still alive it might have spread onto one of us at some point, but I guess that I should be thankful that I have eluded whatever did strike him down.

I figure that I should go visit him again, say something more. Perhaps it will ease my mind, and take away the guilt of leaving Cross. I have presented this idea to Peers, and he seems very adamant that there is no reason for me to go back. As he put it: “What is done, is done. There is no need to revisit what cannot reply.” I suppose he does have a point; that Wymble is gone and my visiting will not bring him back. It might bring me peace though, and ponies back in civilization visit the deceased in their graves, so I don’t see any reason why one more talk wouldn’t hurt.

Peers seems very aggravated that I would go back and visit the grave, regardless of what ponies back home do. His argument was that we’re not in civilization, so we don’t need to follow all of the rules we would back home. He does, again, have a point; we aren’t in civilized Equestria, there are rules which we don’t need to follow, and probably shouldn’t to some extent. But no matter, if another visit is not for him, then let it be for us; I’ll look to see if I can spot which trees that edible inner bark comes from should worst come to worst and I have to fend for myself, alone.

Cath

8

Day 8:
How is it that I was able to sleep last night? Two of my friends are dead, and the only other one besides me in the cabin is acting stranger by the day. At least Peers can find this edible bark we’ve been burning and eating. Yesterday I tried to ask him what type of tree it was from; he glared at me as a response. I waited a while before asking him what the word on the door was there for, and at that point he started screaming at me in a flow of half-intelligible phrases. I swear that will be the last time I ask him about that. Whatever it is, he wants it to never be brought up. Why did he carve it on the door if he didn’t want anypony to ask about it? Something is eating away at him, but I don’t think I can bring myself to ask what.

The days are getting warmer and warmer; perhaps we will soon be able to try and escape from this hellhole. The snow is beginning to melt, so water is no longer a massive issue, but there is so much snow on the ground that we could be out of here by the time it all melts. That also means that Wymble might be uncovered. I have an excuse to go and visit him now, Peers kept trying to convince me that it wasn’t necessary, and I must admit that I wasn’t going to, that all had been settled. I have been feeling better about the whole thing since I buried him, like Cross also has forgiven me for turning his back on him in his hour of need. Perhaps I can gain some of my own self-respect back by going back to visit Wymble.

I have spoken to Peers about this idea, and while he agrees that snowmelt has a chance it will uncover him, he still doesn’t see any reason to go. What is done is done, we can’t do anything more for him. I don’t see it that way. We can show his memory, and body, respect by ensuring that he will rest soundly until time comes and takes the rest of him away. I’m sitting here, eating and writing, while enjoying a warm fire, with another live pony, while he is cold in the ground. What is Peers doing? His head is cocked to one side, and he’s staring at the other room. I would ask him under “normal conditions”, but even these days that is not a normal condition. Better to let him go his course; after all he’s not foolish, he would tell me if something was irritating him, besides the obvious.

Another hour and I’ll go to revisit Wymble. It is warm enough that I actually went outside and ran around a bit. It’s been over a week, and I’ve never really had the chance to stretch my legs merely for that reason. I’ve walked down the hill to the south and back into the woods to bury Wymble, but being able to run around just for the sake of running! I don’t think I’ve ever been that happy to run in my entire life. I wasn’t able to be out very long while running, as it does burn off what little energy the food gives me, but if the days keep warming up… this is a very good sign. We will be able to try and leave in a couple of days. While I was outside, I noticed that Peers was watching me running, from inside the cabin. I didn’t (and still don’t) understand the expression he had while watching me; it was like a mixture between being slightly pleased, annoyed, and anxious. I swear that his eyes are getting whiter, but it may be that he is just keeping them all the way open all the time. That has also been curious, he goes into these trances where he just sits and stares at the door, or a wall, or the forest; eyes wide open.
All right, just jotting down that I’m going off to revisit Wymble. Not that anyone besides Peers is going to need to know that right now. I’ve already told him, received a cold stare and silence as a response. Just before I wrote this I asked him where I could find some more of that bark, as to keep it stocked. Plus, it will be good to have some when we try and find our way out. Without looking at me, he replied that he took it all; that there was none left. I’m going to try and look anyway. Why is he so reluctant to tell me where I can find it? Well, wish me luck.

Oh dear Celestia, why do you let this happen?

That isn’t fair.

Wymble was uncovered, and looked surprisingly similar to Cross. The main difference between his remains and Cross’s is that he was completely skinned. Other than that it was pretty much the same: parts of him torn open and the surrounding snow was stained almost completely crimson. His throat was torn open, and that doesn’t make any sense. He was already dead; there would be no point in killing him further, unless
I can’t even think straight right now, too much has happened too soon. Peers hasn’t said a word since I got back. Between sobs I was able to at least partially relate back to him what had happened. He didn’t look surprised, he didn’t look disgusted or sad or anything. He was completely emotionless. At the end of my rambling, he just slid a piece of bark over to me. I must admit I was grateful for that, something to calm the nerves.

I didn’t back out this time though. I went back after writing that last segment and reburied Wymble. I will not be haunted by two of my friends. If something haunts me, it will not be anything or anyone that I know. After I reburied him, I tried to look for some of that bark, but I didn’t know where to start. None of the trees were torn open anywhere, nothing gave me a sign about where I am supposed to find this stuff. I came back and, with regret, told Peers this, but he just restated that he had taken it all the first time he went out. I then asked him if there was any more down by where Cross was, but apparently he took all there was to be found down there as well. To make matters worse, he told me that it was likely that there wouldn’t be any more. How does he know that? Where is he finding our only food? We’ve agreed that tomorrow we’ll both go into the forest and try to find a landmark that would lead us out. Somehow, this decided to cheer Peers up slightly, as he actually smiled.

Cath

Wait, wait, wait, wait. He can only find this stuff, this “bark”, where the others have been buried. When I have returned to their gravesites, they have been unearthed, and are torn up. Obviously something has been eating them; that much is obvious. But there have not been any other tracks besides Peers and mine. None of the trees around Wymble were touched, and now that I’m thinking about it, none of the trees around Cross were torn open either. What is this stuff? It’s edible, burns for a long time, and only Peers can find it because he knows what he is looking for. He also refuses to tell me how to find it. Both of the bodies were missing skin. Cross had large sections missing, and Wymble was completely skinned. What the hell have I been eating?

During the investigation, we did indeed find two bodies of the original four, believed to be Cross Dreedle and Wymble Skyre. They were both skinned clean.

9

Day 9:
I burnt the rest of the “bark” or whatever it is; I have a bad feeling about it though. Doesn’t bode well me, and having thought more about it, I’m even less sure about any of this than I was before. What was that supposed to mean? I told Peers that I was burning the rest, and his only response was that it might have been good to save some to burn later. He wasn’t even fazed that it was our only food. I don’t dare confront him with my suspicions, but I feel that I will have to keep a closer watch on him. I figured at one point that if any of us would be able to survive this, he would; and that may well be the case, but not how I originally thought. I have spent as much time as I can outside of the cabin as the days have been getting much warmer. The snow is starting to melt, but there is just too much of it to have hopes of seeing grass again anytime soon. That is unless we can find a way out; I stated yesterday that we would be searching in the wooded area of the Sanctum, and I will not go back on any chance to escape this nightmare.

I finally got Peers to go outside and run about a bit, it was a bit tricky as he kept claiming that he has had enough time running about, and that sleep is the only thing needed for him. Mainly I needed him out of the cabin so he would look at what I am writing, as I have found he keeps trying to do. Even though my suspicions did not truly exist until last night, I feel that ponies don’t trust me if they have to know what I am writing, and that I potentially shouldn’t trust them if they are trying to spy. It seems that perhaps that thought is not as crazy as all the ponies back home told me it was. Every time he passes the window, he looks in directly at me. Either he suspects that I suspect, or he is losing his mind. I fear for my own sanity if this continues in the manner in which it has been progressing. Oh, he’s coming back in, time to stop for the moment.

The day is warm enough to go out into the woods, as we are just about to do. Peers is currently packing some equipment,
Peers, there is a reason you can’t find that hunting knife of yours. I told him that he gave me permission to use it to help bury Wymble, which was true, and that I accidentally lost it, which was false. I know exactly where it is, ready for me to use should it come to that. I had originally put it there as a defense against the creature which keeps eating my friends. I don’t want to take my suspicions to that extreme yet though, I have no proof, nor should I have any reason to think that he is the same as the creature. It’s true that there have been no tracks besides ours, but it could be a tree-dwelling beast. If the bark is what I suspected it is, and there really is no way of telling besides my long-shot guesses, then perhaps I should look into that possibility. I pray that it would not come to that circumstance though. The thought borders on being too horrible to comprehend, and in civilized Equestria, it would be too horrible to imagine.

I have brought the journal with me into the woods, where we now are, and I am observing Peers, as he is acting even more peculiar here. He’s looking at the trees in familiarity, but when I ask him whether he recognizes them as one of his landmarks, he replies with “no”, but still looks as if he is visiting a place full of memory. He can move very silently through the woods, I’ve noticed, hardly disturbing anything. I know that he has had a great deal of practice when it comes to walking through heavily wooded areas with ease and a certain degree of grace, but even then it is eerie how silent he is. I don’t think that when we first came into this place that he moved that quietly. Maybe it’s just my imagination, but at this point nothing should go understated until proven otherwise.

We’re still in the woods and it is now warm enough now to walk about, even in these cool shadows, for a long time. Better than being cooped up inside that cabin without any room to live. Probably what drove Cross over the edge and killed Wymble. I’m hoping that that’s what it was anyway. There could be other factors that don’t relate to what is now a constant fear of mine, my thoughts being related almost exclusively to that dreadful topic. We have pressed as far as I dare today though, no sense in becoming even more lost. It’s odd, I remember the Briar Sanctum being just about the most revolting and overall foreboding place I had ever been, but it doesn’t seem so bad now; the spines on the plants don’t bother my hooves as much, and I am starting to think that I could potentially eat some of these things if we could rid them of their spines. Perhaps these thoughts only exist from the fact that we have been here for what seems like an eternity. How long has it been now? A week and two days, which could never be considered a long time back home. Hard to believe that all this has happened in such a short span; it’s almost like I have lived (if that is a way to describe this experience) longer this week than I have in years. Does that even make sense?

Back at the cabin now, Peers returned about twenty minutes before me. I am now certain that something is very much wrong with him, and it’s not just this place; his mind is bedeviled or broken. He somehow found the hunting knife over by Wymble’s grave and brought it back. How did he walk all the way over there without me noticing? I am now fearful of my life. If he can slip past me in an extraordinarily thick forest off, while I was trying to keep an eye on him, hide that he found it from me, and return in enough time to carve a second “Windigo” into the door… that doesn’t exactly sit well with me. What does “Windigo” mean anyway? Why is he drawn to that word enough that he is possessed to carve it into a door twice? I don’t want to know what this thing is, as it is a fair bet that it is the reason for his almost insane behavior and potential nightmarish actions. Above that, his eyes have been wide open for quite a while now and I don’t even think I’ve seen him blink recently. They look distant and alone. I’ve known ponies with odd quirks and features about them that fit along with a strange personality, but this is something new. The way I see it, I have three choices: stay with him, strike him first (but only once I am certain that he is both guilty and that something is seriously wrong with him, and that he is beyond help), or run.

Cath Amber

Something peculiar about this particular entry is that Cath has signed his last name as well; it is a fair bet that he was trying to keep a grasp on his own mind, and not be pulled into what was happening around him.

10

Day 10:
Windigo. The word plagued my sight this last night; I couldn’t help but stare up at where it was carved twice upon the door. Peers has taken to staying in the other room, and I have the sense that he doesn’t sleep anymore. The fire is officially dead, it must have died sometime yesterday, and I just overlooked it. The warmth of the days now make the night tolerable without a fire, and to be farther away from Peers when I am asleep is probably the safest thing right now. I still can’t be certain of my suspicions, but I can’t be too careful right now. The one bad thing that I can see about the days warming up is that I have the luxury not to be worrying about my own survival as much, and therefore time to be in emotional turmoil over my dead friends. My heart and mind have been stretched so very thin by this whole experience. I sincerely hope with all my being that Peers is not what I am close to believing he is. I can think it, but I can’t bring myself to write it. Of course, if he isn’t the creature that ate Cross and Wymble, then it is still out there. That is a reality that seems rather far-fetched right now.

The sun is rising in the sky, a brilliantly blue sky at that. Peers hasn’t emerged from the other room yet, which I have no qualms with. There are three options the way I see it: his mind has broken, something has bedeviled him, or both. I need to stop thinking about this; I need to get my mind set on something else. I need to start thinking about something happy, or something just distracting.

I’m outside the cabin, a ways down the accursed hill. I have taken the journal with me to see how easy it is to write while on the move. It hasn’t proven to be much of a challenge, which (should worst come to worst) will be a very useful asset to me. I have taken to listening around me. The sound of silence. I noticed this at some earlier day, that there are no birds or animals. It is an eerie silence, but somehow very restful. It’s a silence which makes you want to lay down and sleep, nurtured by the fact that nothing will come and wake you. No loud chirping, or rustling of a squirrel through the trees. No, it is very serene. If I escape, I think that I would have to visit this place again, for the silence if nothing else.

Still outside, I have decided to try and eat one of the less spiny plants. It doesn’t look healthy, and even less appealing; but it may be food. Anything besides that inner bark would be a blessing. No, I can’t start thinking about that again, I’m just going to try and eat this shrub thing.
Note to self: the leaves are edible, but the stem is too bitter to even have in your mouth. You can literally feel your throat closing, and your entire body rejecting this thing. This pencil that I am writing with is infinitely better to have in my mouth than the stem of that thing. Unfortunately, that is the only one I have seen, or I would pick more and harvest the leaves. It is warm enough that I have found my hooves sinking into the melting snow, so I have to keep moving. It would be a dreadful thing if this journal fell victim to the snow.

I wandered back to the cabin, but I have fled back down the hill partially, just so that I am out of sight if Peers decides to look outside. I simply stepped in, and there he was: sitting on his hind legs, staring at me with those wide eyes. There is something unnatural about his gaze. I I just heard the door open, time to move.

Ok, I am in the actual forest part of the Sanctum, and I think that I have hidden well enough that he shouldn’t be able to find me. I don’t actually know if he is looking or not, but it is better not to take chances. I found a hole of sorts, more like a divot in the ground, surrounded by more thorny plants. Thankfully my hooves are pretty much immune to the thorns, but my legs and sides are cut in several places. Ok Peers, nopony can move that silently. I guess you were looking for me, but there is no way that you could move as quiet as that. That is impossible feat for an earth pony, especially here. Oh dear Celestia, I see him but does he see me? Why am I still writing this down?

I think he has moved on, but I’m too afraid to look out. He was just in the right spot that I could see him moving before. I can’t see him anymore.

The evening is starting to set in; not very fast, but setting in nevertheless. I have started to head back, stopping every once in a while to avoid detection. If I can make it back without him seeing me wandering about here, then perhaps… If we are to have a confrontation, I would rather it be in the cabin, where I have a greater chance of defending myself. I don’t much like the odds in the woods, him being able to move silently and swiftly.

I have returned to the cabin, and I believe that my arrival has gone unnoticed. I am unaware whether Peers is also here, but the door to the second room is closed, and I do not have the courage right now to see whether it is occupied. Those eyes are enough to drive me away. Cross goes over the proverbial edge, Wymble falls to an illness, and now Peers has turned into a monster without any of us realizing it. I have no more doubts about that he is responsible, my suspicions are correct, and that I am in danger. Perhaps if I had not run off earlier that I might have been able to trick him into believing that I do not suspect him; that I could gain an advantage and strike first. A low and self-centered blow I must admit, to strike while the other is not looking. But Peers is larger and stronger than me, and now has abilities that nopony should have. The question now is, what do I do? Should
Peers is in the second room; he just spoke to me through the wall. He said something along the lines of “There were no other tracks in the snow, were there?” That is as good (or bad) as a confession. That also takes away any chance I had for an advantage in this situation. I see only one option now.

I’m outside of the cabin now. Peers probably heard me leave, and I am hiding in the same place I did before. I am still unaware whether he saw me here or not, but I am inclined to think that I was safe. Well Peers, if you want me you are going to have to chase me. It does not matter that you move silently nor swiftly, I will not let you take me without a fight.

Cath Amber

11

Day 11:
It’s still dark out, but I had decided to keep moving during the night. It is a reasonable guess that I would have been found if I had stayed in that one spot for the entire night. Chances are he (or rather it) was out searching for me last night. My plan is to lead him as far as I can away from the cabin, then circle around back to that general area, as that is where we got lost in the first place. I don’t know much about keeping my bearings, but I figure that if I keep going straight I can make an educated guess about where my overall goal is. Shortly after I finished writing last night I finished making my way down the hill and passed by the remains of Cross. I couldn’t see him due to the intense darkness of this forest, but I could both feel his presence and smell him. Or perhaps it was the same thing. I don’t know exactly how far I am, but I wager it has been about half a mile past Cross. The night has been much warmer of late, but still cold enough that it is essential to keep moving. I wonder how large the Briar Sanctum actually is; I may have left it during the night and wouldn’t know. The plants where I am bear a remarkable similarity to those nearer to the cabin, so it is a fair bet that I have not left the Sanctum behind yet.

I took another gamble with one of the plants in order to eat, and I don’t feel any worse physically than I have previously, so I think I won this round. It was sort of funny, as I was eating my first thought was about this quaint little café back near my home that I used to hang out with Wymble and a couple of my other friends at after school. Never had any money back then, but it was still fun to go sit there and just talk. This forest doesn’t exactly have the same atmosphere to sit and talk in. Not that there is anyone left to talk to; well there is, but I really hope I don’t have the privilege to do so.

Wonderful, the clouds have come back. If it snows again, I’m as dead pony. I’m a dead pony anyway. No! Don’t think that! I still have a chance to get out of this alive, and leave Peers here to rot, him and his Windigo. I still don’t know what that means even. No secret that it is the reason why he became the way he is now though, no doubts about that. I wonder if there was any help for him and I just wasn’t able to see it. That’s it; first thing that I am going to do if I get back is to find out what this thing is, and to see what can be done. For the memory of the pony he used to be if nothing else. I will do whatever it takes to ensure that this never happens again. I won’t be haunted by the memory of three ponies. Two I guess, because I didn’t abandon Wymble; but I still feel like I let him die. I feel that I could have done more for him in the end.

Why am I writing this down? It is because I need to be able to express myself to something? I just fell down a small hole into a mess of the most gruesome looking nettles in Equestria. I really hope they weren’t deadly, just painful. I was in the middle of pulling out those spines that I am now punctured with, when I just felt the need to tell somebody what happened. Still bleeding, still in pain, still have spines sticking out of my stomach and legs, but I’m writing. Maybe I’m going crazy as well.

A sign. An actual wooden sign with words, nails and planks. We’re not the first ones here; some other pony actually was here and got out! I assume they go out, as they would have needed to go and get sign-building materials. Oh sweet Celestia, I can make it, I can make it. The sign itself reads: Outer Centre: two and a half miles from this point, straight ahead. Not the most professional sign I have ever seen, I must admit, but it tells me exactly what I needed to know: somepony has been here at some point, and I am close to being out of the Briar Sanctum. Maybe Peers won’t be able to follow me if I escape just the Sanctum. I don’t care what the Outer Centre holds; it has to be better than this. After all, somepony has been there before; how could it not be?

I’m getting tired, but there is no time to rest. Found another strange but edible plant, so I won’t die of starvation, and I’ll have something in my stomach. I have stopped next to this wonderful sign for a momentary rest. This is peculiar; somepony carved a small note on the back of the sign that I hadn’t noticed before. It reads: “The Outer Centre is mine. If you have been in the Briar Sanctum or the Inner Centre, then go away.” The sign itself is quite old, and the carving isn’t exactly new, but it looks recent enough in comparison to the sign that if somepony is living in the Outer Centre, then they are probably still there. Sorry whoever you are, I need to see another pony right now. I don’t care who it is (well…) I just need to talk and hopefully find a way out. Eat something more than these plants and what I had earlier. Why am I so tired right now? I need to keep going, no time to waste.

Any remaining daylight has come and gone. I fell asleep next to the sign, and the only light which to write this comes from the moon, which is surprisingly bright tonight. I am having to write each of these sentences in segments, as the clouds are currently parading in coats of grey and black across the sky, briefly letting a moonbeam through every once in a while. I haven’t seen any stars yet tonight, but that is no surprise. I have wasted enough time next to this sign and it is time to make up the lost time.

I swear that the forest floor is becoming progressively worse as I continue. I can’t see a thing, and I trip over every single thing that comes into my path. I am going to break a leg or two if I keep this up. To make matters worse, there have been thunderclaps in the distance. They are still pretty far off, and don’t seem to be moving quickly. I thank whatever does control the weather here for that at least. I can’t continue on in this blackness, but I need to keep warm tonight. I guess finding another hole somewhere and curling up in that will have to do. The old Peers once told me that a snow-cave could be warmer than any shelter, maybe I’ll give it a go.
Dang, every time I stop walking or writing, I swear that I keep hearing a noise like a hoof-fall just as I stop. Paranoia can keep you alive, but it can also keep you insane. The more times you look over your shoulder, the more you see.

Cath Wintergreen Amber

The first appearance of Cath’s middle name, a defense against paranoia perhaps?

12

Day 12:
I’m currently somewhere around one mile from the edge of the Outer Centre. Hopefully whoever carved that note in the sign still lives there and can give me some help. Yes, whoever it is did specify quite plainly that they do not want visitors, but I really don’t care right now. I will have an unwanted visitor waking me up in the night if I can’t get out, and most likely this pony will bothered eventually. Find them, meet them, and warn them. That is the best idea right now probably. I made it through the night in one piece, and whatever was following me seems to have stopped, as I can’t hear any more of those noises. I really don’t want anything to be following me that whatever Peers is now can track. Plus, if something was following me I would be able to hear it, the silence around here is staggering. Not even the new Peers can move that silently.

I’m taking a break for a moment; enjoy the fact that I found an actual stream, with fresh snowmelt water flowing down it. I have been preoccupied, so water has rarely crossed my mind, but I’m not entirely sure how. I have just realized how thirsty I actually was all this time. Plus, the plants around this small stream look slightly more alive than those nearer to the cabin, I’m really hoping that they won’t turn out to be poisonous, but if they are I’ll know all too late, I need to eat something.
Well, I’m still alive ten minutes after I ate those things, so chances are I won again. A deadly game, but I have become good at these games recently; this entire experience has been one big game of life and death. Time to win.

Oh that’s just perfect; yeah, swell. I walk another half hour through this dense forest, trying to stay on a straight path so I don’t miss the border of the Outer Centre/Briar Sanctum, and what do I find? I find a crevasse of some sort. It doesn’t look especially deep, but really hard to get back out of it should I fall in. Why is there never a fallen log perfectly spanning the gap when you need one? I’m going to try and find a way around, but I can’t see an end in either direction. This can’t set me back too long though, I need to get across this thing. To make matters worse, I’ve been hearing noises behind me again; something is following me again. I’m going to try and act ignorant, but circle back and see if I can spot whatever it is. There it is, the lurking fear of what it could be. If it turns out to be Peers, we’ll see what we shall see, as he does have the upper hoof here.

Ok, I’ve walked both to the right and to the left of where my initial path was, and I was careful to mark my staring point so I won’t end up lost again. I didn’t see any way across, but there is a way up from the bottom of the crevasse over to the left about ten minutes walking distance from where I am. I didn’t see anything to the right, and there wasn’t anything following me from what I could see. Plus the noises have stopped, so I’m beginning to have doubts whether anything was following me in the first place. It would have taken previous knowledge to see me coming to get a look behind me, I was being careful.

I got to the other side of the crevasse, and in total I took about four or five hours to do so. Much longer than I would have expected. The bottom looked like something out of a drawing of the Inferno, dark and red rocks everywhere, lots of jagged breakdown, it would have been really easy to break a leg down there. Several times I found my hooves slightly stuck in between two or three rocks, or in a small hole. I crossed the rubble at a faster pace than I should have probably, but something about the base of this crevasse unnerved me, and considering everything that has happened that’s saying something. At the top though…the top is the reason I didn’t stop to rest for a second after the long climb back out. I’m sure my eyes are playing tricks on me; they have to be. The moment I reached the top of the other side I saw something disappear into the trees in front of me. So I turn sharply around to see another something move swiftly out of sight on the other side. I didn’t know what to do. I ran, I didn’t look where I was going, I just ran away from there. I don’t know what’s real anymore. Can I trust my eyes? Can I trust anything?

I feel that I am very close to the border of the Outer Sanctum. Centre, sorry, centre. The border of the Outer Centre. One thing is for certain, whether I can trust my eyes or not, something is following me on this side of the crevasse. It hasn’t been quiet in its movements, unlike the shadow on the other side, if there really was something there. Couldn’t have been though, I circled back around and I didn’t see anything. Stress and fear, that’s all that is. But I also haven’t been able to get a look at what is following me on this side, so perhaps I wasn’t as careful in concealing my actions as I would like to believe. I am unaware on the intentions of this thing, as it has had ample opportunity to strike me by now. An attack would mean that I would get a look at what it is, but do I really want to know?

I’m back in a cabin. Who in Equestria would have thought that I would be in a cabin so soon again? This time, however, the cabin is in the Outer Centre. I’m not sure whether my pursuer wanted to be found, or if I was able to sneak up on him. Either way, another pony was following me, and it wasn’t Peers. Peers isn’t really a pony anymore though. He carved the note on the sign, stating that the Outer Centre belongs to him. Took me a while to get a word in edgewise, he had no intention of letting me past him and therefore into the Outer Centre. Once he finally calmed down slightly I was able to introduce myself and explain that I just wanted to see if he could help me find my way out. I didn’t think that it would be wise to bring up Peers and the others, if he thinks that I am leading something dangerous to his home, he most likely would drive me out, and would have good reason to do so. Maybe I’ll ask him what this “Windigo” is. Crazed old hermit pony in the Everfree, (or a branch of the Everfree anyway) he may be able to answer a question or two for me. I really can’t push my luck too far here though; it took a lot of persuasion to let me stay in his home, and he still isn’t too happy about it. Speaking of this cabin, it’s a bit in shambles, seems to be thrown together without too much experience in building. But there is an actual table, a fireplace and two rooms. I don’t have a bed, but next to a fire…that is perfectly acceptable. I’m writing this on said table, next to one of two windows in this place. Looking up at the crescent moon reminds me of the first day we arrived at the other cabin; when all of us arrived at the other cabin. Writing about our predicament, then about an odd cloud that wisped past the full moon, now I’m watching some other wisps of cloud passing by the crescent. More like shadows than anything. Shadows can move then?

Shadows
can
move

Cath Wintergreen Amber

In the original journal, Cath’s writing was very different from his usual form. His lettering is usually neat, but here (especially during the section describing the crevasse and the top of the other side of said crevasse) the writing is very untidy, almost slovenly. He was clearly disturbed at the time that he wrote that particular section. In all, the neatness of his lettering has decreased since the start of the “experience”, as he would say.

13

Day 13:
Two days after I ran away from the cabin, I find myself in a cabin. This cabin does not have strange carvings in the doors, nor a large scorch mark where a fire was burning on the floor. No this cabin is more like a home, with a bed, chairs, a window, a proper fireplace, a desk, and other smaller luxuries. It seems like the finest establishment money can buy to me. I have slept one night in this cabin, and my Host seems to be fine with me staying here as long as I don’t decide to move in permanently. That figures, him being a hermit and all. Host has been gone since I awoke from a deep and dreamless sleep this last night, and I am eager for him to return so we can proceed on finding a way out for me. I know he will want to address that matter as soon as possible. I do not blame him, nor do I criticize him. The sun hangs low in the sky, but it is early in the morning. I do not like to imagine when Host left the cabin, well before sunrise is a good guess though. The day seems to be warm, and there is much less snow here in the Outer Centre than in the Briar Sanctum. I may step outside for a moment to get some fresh air. That seems like a good idea.

Host finally returned after about two or three hours. It is rather difficult to say exactly how long I have been up and how long he has been gone. He informed me that he does not know exactly where the more civilized areas of Equestria are, but he does know a way out of the forest. This route would place me on the edge of a field next to the Everfree, and while it does not sound familiar at the moment, perhaps I will recognize it when I get there. Even if I don’t, I will be glad to see a field. It would be a relief to be surrounded by grass and not trees or shadows. I would be able to see everything, nothing could hide, and nothing could stalk and sneak around silently. I know he’s still out there somewhere, or perhaps he didn’t make it across the crevasse. No, I can sense that he is in the Outer Centre. You have left your hunting grounds Peers, try and get me now. Let’s see you and your shadows here, for I have won! Go carve more Windigos into the door in the cabin. Go eat your bark, and become what you will.

I have asked Host about when we can depart for the field; his response was that the journey to the edge of the forest is very treacherous and long, and that I will need to regain all of what strength I have left to even attempt making the voyage. No matter, I will wait and rest. This decision does not exactly sit well with me, granted, but I will not argue with the pony who took me in. Already my legs and hooves are beginning to heal from the hike over here, and I believe that Host has mended them somehow. He is a lot like old Peers, but a bit more talented at this than old Peers perhaps. So it looks like I will be hanging around this place for a couple of days. Host has been very kind to me, supplying me with food and water. Actual food at that. It is just my hope that he will not discover what hunts me, and that what hunts me discovers him.

Host left for a while again to gather more food. He is not used to having to feed more than himself, thus the constant coming and going. I offered to help, but he says that it takes a very keen eye to pick out the good plants from the bad. Apparently most of the plants around here are harmless, but very few are actually edible. There are, of course, a couple of kinds of leaf that are deadly to ponies, but overall the flora is relatively safe. I took a quick walk around the cabin and the surrounding area, but saw nothing suspicious. If Peers is tracking me then he has not yet found this place. Now that I actually take a moment to look about, it is (in a way) a lot alike the previous cabin. There is a ring of exceptionally tall trees surrounding the cabin, almost like a clearing, and the immediate area around the cabin has a layer of snow around it. That may not be as many similarities as I first believed, but there are similarities, to be sure. Do I take any pleasure in this though? No, I do not.

It is getting quite late now, and our final meal for the day has just ended. To be actually full is a thing that you never quite miss until you have spent a good long while without much food, then have enough to satisfy you. Host and I talked over our meal about the life in the forest and the outside world. Turns out the reason he became a hermit was because he had been part of a convoy that failed to reach its destination. It was attacked by the timber wolves one night, and apparently on he and one of the stronger youth of the group were abandoned in the Outer Centre. They built a small shelter, which eventually became the cabin I now am writing this in. Apparently one day the youth decided he was going to try and find the other members of the convoy, and he never returned. Host and the youth had taught themselves how to find food, water, track various types of wildlife, make fires, and overall survive. Host made all of the furnishing in this cabin from wood found in the forest, no modern tools or materials. Anyway, Host tracked the youth to the edge of what is now the Briar Sanctum, found that many ponies had come out from the Sanctum and into the Outer Centre, and had missed the cabin. He stopped his story there. I pressed on what happened next, but he quickly avoided the question with a general “there’s nothing else, nothing more happened.” This is clearly a lie, but I am, again, at his mercy.

The question about why he doesn’t want any visitors just occurred to me. That should be harmless in asking, and is it very dark out there. There is an unnatural blackness about the darkness in this section of the forest as well. The light from the cabin shines out to the tall trees, but beyond that is total darkness; even the area that is lit up somewhat still retains a great amount of shadow.

I asked Host about why he is reluctant to see other ponies/doesn’t want to see them at all, and he replied it is because of the things that live in the Briar Sanctum and the Inner Centre. If ponies walk into his area after being in those areas, chances are that something will be after them. This does not bode well for me. I was hoping that he meant timber wolves, but they don’t live in either of those areas. He backtracked to comment that it was just the Briar Sanctum he was worried about, and that if you go into the Inner Centre, there is no power that can save you. I have my own demons, which he doesn’t need to know about, but I made it out of the Sanctum alive, so what could exist in the Inner Centre that is so terrible? Of course I asked him, several times. He eventually came around to barely whisper one thing: “The Master of Ceremonies.” Shadows may move, and friends may kill, but I am skeptical about the truth of the name he gave me. Would this “Master of Ceremonies” match up to an Ursa Major? Probably not, this hermit probably has ever witness an Ursa attack. Try that for terror. As for what he is afraid of in the Sanctum, he would not say. He claims that he does not know what it is, but that something does live in there. I am willing to doubt that though, because nothing bothered us besides ourselves while we were in that cabin. If Peers has moved out, then nothing lives there.

It is very late, and I need to get some sleep. I am just writing for the sake of it at this point. The shadows are reaching towards the cabin. I don’t care what they actually are or what they come from, they are reaching. Host is asleep; he can’t help me now. I am dear Celestia what is that? Why doesn’t it move? What is it? It hasn’t moved, and if it is alive it would know that I am looking directly at it. What manner of face is that? It can’t be alive, for nothing bears the looks of that thing. A wide, smiling mouth with jagged teeth and two wide red eyes with white pupils. Who said that if you look into an abyss it will also look into you? Dear Celestia what is that thing? Tomorrow I will go and find out for myself. The shadows and the night terrors of young colts already haunt me along with other living nightmares. What is that thing? Go away. Go away! Stop looking at me!

Is it still there? Tomorrow, tomorrow it won’t look at me.

Cath Wintergreen Amber

15

Day 15:
How long do I have before Peers, or the Windigo, comes? Host still hasn’t returned yet, and I know that the moment he sees that message will be the moment not to be here. Point me in the direction of the exit and I will make my way eventually. Tell me where to steer clear of, and I will survive as long as I can keep two steps ahead of my pursuer. It does not matter to him which cabin he kills me in, but it matters to me? Wait, no… that is not what I meant. I don’t want to die at all, in any place. He can go and die, but I prefer to live thanks. The shadows are all around us, I mean me. I know that much to be true. An endless wait for Host to return so I can find out what I need and leave so he will be put out of danger; hopefully. If there is something terrifying in the Inner Centre, then perhaps I could try my luck there. Perhaps Peers wouldn’t follow me. Not Peers, the Windigo. I don’t even know what that is, but the greater mental clasp I have on the fact that Peers is not Peers anymore, that the old Peers is dead and gone, then the greater chance I have of beating it. Equestria has been called the “Country ruled by Harmony”, but that really only means that there is a great amount of chaos ruling somewhere else. I think I may have found that hidden chaos.

Two hours and forty-six minutes from the time I finished the previous segment, Host returned. I met him at the door and immediately asked him the direction I needed to go to escape, and where to avoid. Surprisingly enough he did not seem intruded upon at these sudden questions, as he had just returned, and told me straight to go directly north from the cabin to reach the field. He also warned me that to the south lay the Inner Centre, and upon no circumstances should I enter there. Something about that place troubles him, something dark and for him unspeakable. I am guessing that it is this “Master of Ceremonies” he spoke of previously. Whatever this thing is, I doubt that it is worse than what Peers has become. Also, he informed me that I entered the Outer Centre from the west, and that I will need to head east for a way to bypass the cliff that separates two sections of the Outer Centre. The cliff itself is supposed to be impossible to ascend, and it would only slow me down. He did leave me with a new warning however: “Do not enter the Eastern Field.” I guess I would know it if I saw it, but I should try to stay away from it if possible? Is the Outer Centre really all that much safer if there are all of these overshadowing and foreboding threats around? There’s the Briar Sanctum, the Inner Centre, a massive cliff apparently, and the Eastern Field. Most of these things mean nothing to me yet, but I suppose it goes without saying that the less I have to overcome, the better it is for me.

Host has not yet seen the message, but it is only a matter of time. I need to leave as quickly as possible. I will say my goodbye and leave with all haste. Freedom awaits me at the edge of the Everfree forest. Host told me that I would cross into the section of the forest known as the Everfree before I reach the field, so hopefully the darker being of the wood will not follow me past that point. But I have spent my time and I am off.

East then north, the directions are simple enough. I was planning to find this cliff and walk next to the base, so I would not risk entering the Eastern Field, but should my antagonist attack, I would have nowhere to run or hide. I pen i k for t ppl es in.

It appeared in the original that Cath’s pen had run out of in. Judging by what letters could be written; Cath seems to have forgotten his pens back at the cabin, along with other supplies.

Back at Host’s cabin, I had forgotten my pens and the food Host had provided for me. I took too long to leave. I did not stop at the cabin to write anything, and I now write this a ways to the northeast of the cabin. I took too long, and thus another spirit will hang over me as I run, cursing my hoof prints, and willing me to trip and break a leg. He was innocent, and that is all he wished to be. In solitude from the rest of the world, alone with his memories and his forest. He had everything he needed, and he made it sound like it was everything he wanted. I never even knew his name, and I am ultimately responsible for what happened. I suppose after seeing the same sight with two of your friends who were buried…the effect of somepony you didn’t really even know pales in comparison. Yes he did take me in when he had perfect reason to turn me away, but it was clear that he did not trust me. Never gave me his name, refused to reveal the ending of his story that led him to where he was.

Inner Bark. A feast lay out on the table I had written my entries on. I know its taste, and it is something that no pony should ever have to endure. No torture of the mind can compare to the discovery of the true nature of the food your own friend provided for you and others. Then you return to its source, and the pieces come together. This does not stop the abomination though, it will never stop until one of you sleeps and have no need for his or her hide. A grim spectacle, and even though I have been made to endure the sight and stench of it twice now, I could not stay a moment longer; not for a pony I barely knew. It was just like the others though, skinned, blood, gashes and gaps in the muscle, and on display for me. He/It knew I would return for what I had forgotten. Well played. If you know the game and you make the rules then who is to say what is fair and what is not?

I have traveled far northeast by now, and thus my path turns directly east until I feel that I have traveled far enough. Regardless of the knowledge of what hunts me, if I did not have to keep in the back of my mind that something lay out there in the eastern gloom of the Outer Centre, then I would have no qualms with walking east for well over three miles just to ensure I am not backed up against a wall.

The day is waning on, and the sun has begun to drop in the sky. Shadows have become longer, and harder to avoid. I can’t really see what the shadows contain; no pony can except the one who made them. Whether it be Celestia or something of darker origin, the shadows are bound to their will, and they will reach for them with the long hooves of shades. The hooves of the long gone, and the long present are always reaching for you, especially here. I must travel. I must leave.

The noise that stops half a second after I do follows me. I cannot see the maker, but is there really any need to see? I walk forward, treading as carefully as I can, but yet the thing behind me walks even more softly, silent save for the moment that I stop, then it becomes real. I have glanced over my shoulders as I walked, but both the trees and the shadows of the evening obscure my vision. I have even stopped suddenly and run the other way, yet the only things to welcome me are the trees and shadows. Perhaps you are hiding with a shadow that is loyal to you?

The night is almost upon me, so I take the last despairing drops of sunlight to write. I have traveled so much less than it feels, or perhaps so much farther than it seems. I don’t know anymore; I don’t know what to think, or what has happened. Three dead, three killed off by a creature I know nothing of. Why does it hate us? I find no reason to ever have to know, the only thing that must be done is escape to this field beyond the forest. The field inside the forest is warned against, and the field outside is sought. Where are you? I know your face, and I have no doubts that you are watching me, two small, white and centered pupils in large staring eyes, and a crooked smile to turn the tide and weave ice into the wind. I will never stop running. Try as you may to work your way into my mind, the running will never stop.

Cath Wintergreen Amber

A curious entry, as Cath spends little time writing about where he is, and where he has gone. Instead he chooses to write about his pursuer, and describe his feeling towards the fate of Host. Another interesting aspect, as the last two times he could barely write when he had discovered what had happened, and here he is able to take a moment to describe what he was feeling and what his reaction was to the incident.

16

Day 16:
I somehow survived another night. I guess it would be hard for a shadow to find me when its brethren surround me. I woke up well before sunrise, sated me hunger and thirst by the means of my provisions Host had provided me with before I had left. Poor Host, he was truly innocent in all of this. It was not long after I had woken up before I started to move once again, and not long after that when the sun started to glow in the east. Walking into the sun, into the light. It was a strange feeling to see this thing of great beauty and light, when my world is filled with fear and shade. I suppose beauty can exist at the same time as fear, and without light there would be no shade, but how can our world and the sun even be related to each other? The sun gives us warmth and light, but our earth is naturally cold and shaded over. Celestia once again decides that it must be so, and thus it is. Before me now is her work, her legacy, and all that she is good for.

I can see the cliff now, the massive cliff to the north; I guess I went a bit farther north than I thought. I am separated from it though, so there is nothing to fear from it. It is awe-inspiring though, a sheer wall of rock, hundred of feet high. The sun’s rays catch it and it glows, casting the light into the dark forest that cowers beneath it. While it is awe-inspiring, it is also terrifying to be in its presence; the mere size of it is nearly impossible to comprehend. I am surprised I did not see it earlier, it seems impossible to an extent to have missed it. But I was already towered over by the trees, obscuring my vision and attempting to make me lose my way. But the closer I come to the cliff, the less dense the forest becomes. It is a welcome sight in that respect, but the only other problem is that it is a major obstacle. Host told me that if I travelled far enough east there was a way around the cliff, but I’ve been walking east for quite some time now, and I can’t even see the end of the cliff, it just stretches on.

The sun has risen high enough to actual start warming me after the night. I couldn’t find anything that offered much shelter. Unfortunately now the sun is right at eye level, blinding me. Walking with a lowered head and still trying to keep on course is a dangerous combination, it just begs for a broken leg. I have not heard any sounds behind me yet; perhaps my pursuer did not realize that I had moved? I suspect that the silence will be broken before the day is up; in fact I can almost guarantee it. Sometime today I will circle back and try to see if I can spot Peers. Dang it! I can’t stop calling it Peers. Peers is dead to me; this isn’t him, it’s the Windigo or whatever. I have to keep my head wrapped around the truth, or it is liable to slip.

How did I lose sight of the cliff? It was right there a moment ago, and now it has just vanished. I can’t see it at all, but then again I am in a deeper and denser part of the wood again, so chances are I’m just at a bad angle. Sure is dark in here, almost too dark to write, but a stray beam of light has penetrated the treetops, making it possible. The reflection of the light on the page, however, makes reading what I’m writing painful. But if I should close my eyes, then the words would be lost. Hmm, that looks like a clearing up ahead, I’ll move over there, find my bearings, and jot down where I am.
Oh. That’s the Eastern Field Host wanted me to stay away from. Ok, probably should have walked next to the cliff until it dropped away and I could get around it. Now that I think about it, I’m not even sure what that means, as there is a section of forest on top of the cliff. Guess I will find out when I get there. Sure it would have been dangerous if my hunter had shown up and cornered me, but that would have been preferable to this place. Yeah, Eastern Field, don’t ever come here again. Who cares if I get lost now? At least I will be lost away from this place. I think Host lied to me; this isn’t years upon years old as he claimed he has been here. But Host isn’t responsible, that much is clear to me. Oh, and look what is written about fifteen times on the one tree in the middle of all of this. Figures. Eastern Field. What is this? Is this the world beyond the comforts of home? It must be, as there is too much of it. Cross, Wymble, I will be able to walk just a little bit more peacefully knowing that you both have plenty of company. Now I have to go find my cliff, or be anywhere else. Maybe Peers will find me first, and what a blessing that would be.

The sun is just past being completely overhead, so I’m willing to judge it is about one o’field. I mean clock. One o’clock. But I found the cliff; I did go a bit too far. I am currently at the base of it, and the massive rock face is a welcoming sight for me. I was right, I will have to scramble up a hill to the upper section of the Outer Centre. That shouldn’t be a problem thought, it get me farther from the field and the tree that sits in its center.

It is close to twilight now; a heavy curtain of dark red hangs in the west as the sun is setting. I have come far today, from deep within the forest to the top of a very imposing and yet majestic cliff. The last rays of sunlight reveal to me a great landscape below: the dense forest that stretches on for miles in every direction. I can see the crevasse from here, a red gash in the middle of green, and beyond that the Briar Sanctum. Off in the distance is an area that has the appearance of having caught fire at some point, as the trees over there look burnt and dead. I wonder if that is the Inner Centre, it would be in the right place. And yes, there it is in the corner of my eye, the Eastern Field. I can feel the presence of the tree, no matter how far away it is, silently monitoring its surrounding, a watchful monolith. If a fire swept down from the sky and burned everything that we know and don’t know in this world, that tree would still stand. I can tell that it was and still is soaked. I can’t read the words upon its trunk from here, but my eyes and memory have engraved them into my mind, so the distance does not matter. I dare not look directly at it. Why did I ever choose a safer path than walk next to the cliff? It would

Why in Equestria does it smile? That is not what a smile is for! You don’t smile with intentions such as yours! A hole in the ground, crafted for me by some unknown hoof to hide me. I write, looking out at the trees, and then I see it: the smile and the eyes: always staring, always smiling. In the corner of one eye lay the tree, in the corner of the other teeth were bared, welcoming me in with smiling jaws. In front of me lay the cliff, and how easy it would have been it accept it. But if I had jumped, I would have joined the field, a fate worse than death.

Peers, please don’t look for me. I’m not that hard to find.

Cath Wintergreen Amber

At this point in time the “Eastern Field” is still a mystery to those ponies who were working on this. It eluded the searchers and remained undiscovered when the search was called off.

17

Day 17:
What a peaceful night. Surprisingly enough, the hole that I slept in was decently warm, warm enough that I actually didn’t want to get up this morning. However, the sight of strange tracks around the hole was enough to move me. I do not know if Peers knew where I was, or just passed by several times. Either way, it was time to move. It was light enough when I found my hole to see the surrounding, and more importantly, what landmarks lay north of me, as it would be all too easy to lose my way. In the morning, however, the immediate scenery had not changed. It’s strange, I feel, in a way, that this is a new journey. Behind me lay the cliff, Eastern Field, Outer Centre, Inner Centre, the Briar Sanctum, and the areas of the forest I do not yet know the names of. But I am above all of that now. I had made my ascent, and now I walk upon an elevated level of forest. Is this not a new beginning? Yet, the closer I come to my escape, the harder my pursuer will try to stop me I fear. It has had so many chances to end my journey, to stop me from going any further and yet it does not. Why is this? I am both eager to know, and fearful of the answer.

I know that I have said this on some previous date, but it is staggering to think that is has only been seventeen days since we set out. Too long, granted, but yet not an abundance of time. I now know that great events do not need a lot of time to occur. Anything from the fall of a great kingdom, to the death of a loved one can, and will, occur in the blink of an eye. So which controls which, time or events?

It is strangely beautiful in this new region of the forest. I do not know if I am still in the Outer Centre, but every essence of my being tells me that I am someplace new. The colors of the trees have turned exceptionally vivid, and everything here seems full of life and energy: a haven or a natural sanctuary. The sun has melted any snow that may have lay up here, and the only dead plants are few and far between. I have only been walking for a few hours, and yet I have found no less than five streams to refill my water supply, and I would be much more willing to gamble if I should eat the plants here. This extraordinary area is perfectly silent, save for my own motions. No wind disturbs the trees, and no animals of any kind, again save myself, walk within this serene temple. I wonder if I am an intruder here, perhaps this is a place where ponies were not meant to go, a lost place of the Everfree. I know that my own opinion of this forest will be changed by my visit to this place. Between the various sections of darkness, a small golden light hides.

Ah, it seems that I am not the first pony to visit here, but I am the first in a long while. I have found what appears to be some type of ruins. Where they came from, who built them, or what age they are I have no idea, but it is clear that they are quite old. They are not the civilizations of legend, though. No they are quite simple: basic stone, quite small in size, and have no elaborate carvings or symbols upon them as any pony who dream about such things imagine. All of reason tells me to keep going, that I must reach the field soon and without delay, but I do not think that Peers would dare enter this place. Everything about it radiates an ancient sense of calm. Perhaps the best thing to do would be to live as Host once did, a hermit in his own world. No pony would ever know what became of me, this is true; but is there a chance that that is, in fact, not enough of a cost to make me continue?

This lost city, hidden within a natural temple of light and trees, must obey the laws of time though. I have found a cemetery deep within. It is in a gloomier spot, the darkest I have seen yet within this place, and gives me a strange feeling, mainly because there is an open grave dead center of the graveyard. The headstone is blank, and the earth all around is hardened, so it could not have been dug recently. As for the rest of the graves, all of the names have been worn away. This open grave is both foreboding and inviting, a combination for those who have given up hope, or want to.

I have broken open one of my pens, and used the ink to write my own name upon the blank headstone. I shall be buried here someday.

I have decided to stay here for at least one night, and tomorrow see if it really is worth going back. While I am here I am in safety, and it is obvious that the moment I leave this place I will be plunged back into a constant struggle against the darkness, and Peers. I give up; it is impossible to refer to it as anything else but “Peers”. I’m sorry my friend, but I have known this terror through your name for too long to know it as anything else. My mind is too weak to grasp it any other way.

I have found one building that does have some sort of symbols carved on the inside of the walls. The pictures are elaborate and cryptic enough that I cannot decipher them. A couple of the hieroglyphs are guessable, but their message means nothing to me. It is impressive though that these have lasted while everything else crumbled. This building is overgrown with creeping ivy and other types of plant life, taking back what ponies occupied. It really puts things in perspective, that even though we feel very accomplished in our feats of society, whether it be engineering, invention, magic, or politics, some day a natural temple will come and turn Equestria into a lost city for other ponies to come and wonder at. Will they even come?

Night is falling, and I feel no need to seek out some sort of shelter. The stars and moon are just beginning to appear through the majestic purple and red sunset in the west. The trees are blocking much of the spectacle, but a vast majority of my sky is lit up in color. I doubt that any other part of Equestria has the ability to witness this sight. I doubt that any other part of Equestria would want to.

Cath Wintergreen Amber

During the search the area described in this entry was found. There is a scattering of ruined buildings about, but it is far from being a city. The building containing the hieroglyphs does indeed exist, and ponies who are experts in this particular field deciphered some as a description of Discord himself. Ideally this would give us an approximate age of the ruins, but there is much speculation that these particular carvings are no more than passed down history.

This entry is the first since day one that Cath has a happier tone in his writing.

18

Day 18:
As much as I would love to stay here in this lost city, my true home awaits. I am spending the morning here, however. Some food, water, and then I will once again set out into the forest. I feel that my journey is coming to an end. It has been a very long trip, and I am given new strength by the thought that I am almost finished with this nightmare; that I am almost awake. The sunlight pours into this place, collecting in pools of pure light on the leaves and in the corners. No shadow hides here. Before I leave, I will go to ensure that my final resting place is properly marked, open, and ready for the day when it will be used. I can think of no better place to be laid to rest, inside the forest that I lost my friends, but in a haven of safety. Perhaps if I am laid to rest in this forest, I will be able to join my friends on that day. Funny, is it strange to both look forward to and dread the day on which you breath your last? The sun is up, and I must be going soon. I will check my grave, and then press on.

That would figure. This natural temple and its hidden city is a treasure, a treasure locked away from the world. For every treasure that is hidden or guarded, something must always try to steal it. Now it seeks to rob me of my final wish. Upon every headstone, save mine, the word is written. Windigo. Windigo. The name is not splashed upon it as mine is, no, it is carved into the rock. Immortalized in stone, so the world must always know its name, and I must always be surrounded by it. You cannot enter the city, but the graveyard is your domain. Your attempt to secure this from me will not hold through though, I will have my final wish.

I have left the lost city, the walls of that natural temple disappearing behind me. It is much darker in the forest, as I expected. The trees still seem healthier than in the Outer Centre, and certainly more alive than in the Briar Sanctum. I would be willing to bet that the moment I reentered the woods that the Windigo started following me again, waiting for whatever moment it needs. Huh, I finally called it by its name. I suppose that does give me a slight advantage, at least mentally. The forest must end at some point. It must. Host wouldn’t lie to me.

There is the sign that I have been waiting eighteen days to see: the way out. I have been walking for about two hours now, and the scenery hasn’t changed much in the way of light or trees. But here is an old sign, the first change in my walk since I left the city. It reads: Edge of Everfree Forest: three miles. It needn’t say anything more than that. Sometimes, less truly is more. It may be unwise, but to only have three miles to go, I will allow myself a rest. After all, I rested at the last sign I saw, which was the sign that pointed me to the Outer Centre. It may be my tired and believing mind, but the forest seems almost hospitable and edging on kind. I have seen too much to be so quick to embrace the woods, but to spend a moment within the trees where I was being stalked, and clawed at by shadows would be magnificent. It will take time for me to be willing to reenter these woods unless it is for my final request.

Another half-hour of hiking. My food and water supplies are running low again, but I will throw caution into the wind for a moment to state that I will not be needing them by the end of today. I do not know how far it has been since the sign; I am walking slowly, so it is a fair guess that it has not been more than a half-mile. I am spurred on by a positive thought. If not for me, let my escape from the terrors of the forest be for my friends who did not escape: Cross, Wymble, Host. Once I have escaped will I count the final name among my fallen friends. Once I am free of his empty stare and eternal smile. The Windigo lives within the forest, and I am a fool if I think that it would dare quarrel with our Princess. Fool beast, you think that you are a power that can be matched against Equestria? You have taken an Earth Pony, a good choice I grant you that, but you have made your home in a forsaken place, and are unaware of what lies beyond. Follow me at your own risk.

Come to think of it, I probably shouldn’t have insulted and challenged the Windigo until I was out; it still holds the upper hoof. I just hope that its powers do not extend so far that it can know my thoughts.

Another hour and a half of walking a trail that does not exist. Throughout these past days my legs have grown much stronger than before I left, but the lack of sustenance has torn me apart physically, and the Windigo has come close to destroying me mentally, so that I tell myself I cannot go on any farther. I’m glad that I still have you, my journal. You are my last and only friend. Death has, at times, seemed like a release. But should I die, no one would be able to find you. The only survivor of a group who went out into the forest in order to have an adventure, and the only one who cannot speak for itself. No, you are not a pony like the rest of us were, but that doesn’t mean that you can’t be counted as a member of our group. After all, you have been here since the beginning of the trek.

The sun has begun to color the sky a bright orange as it descends, and soon it will be dark. It will be dark enough that any shadow can move about freely, unaffected by the light. I feel I am close to my goal. I must have traveled three miles by now. In truth it feels that I have walked a greater distance than that, but I cannot be an accurate judge of distance. Time and light are short, I must continue.

No. That isn’t fair. I did not turn away from my path at any point since I woke this morning. I could not have been turned around. But here in front of me is the same sign: Edge of Everfree Forest: three miles. Have I just walked in a circle? Where am I? Host wouldn’t have lied to me, and I followed his instructions perfectly. Yet, it appears that I have done nothing but spend a day in pointless hope. My supplies are low, but I should have enough for another day.

In the last light of the sun, I turn back to the forest I have just walked through. The forest is not as it was earlier today. It has faded over. The trees are no longer alive, their bark has turned a dark grey, and the wood has become gnarled and twisted around itself. The branches jut out like the protrusions of some beast, waiting patiently. Everywhere the shadows creep out. Silently moving through the forest, engulfing everything it touches. It reaches out towards me, long hooked points of pure blackness, inviting me to come and embrace it. Something is different about these shadows, however. These do not come from the Briar Sanctum, nor from the Eastern Field; these shadows originate someplace where the Windigo would not hunt, and the tree in the Eastern Field would not cast its shadow. Something moves in the dark, something foreign to me. The shadows that surround it are meant for dark purposes, and their keeper moves among them, but I have the feeling it does not know me yet. By what name do you define yourself? Will you contest for my life as my current pursuer does? However, if the Windigo will not tread along the same path as these you, then perchance I could walk untroubled. I know that I have not changed direction since I left the lost city. Something else is at work here. Tomorrow, against my better judgment, I will go back into the woods. Let tomorrow be the last day.

Cath Wintergreen Amber

19

Day 19:
The sun’s rays cut through the treetops, scattering small patches of light on the ground. The forest is somehow light enough to travel, but even then it must be done so at an agonizingly slow pace. I spent the night next to the sign that I came upon after a day of walking in hope that I would have escaped, but to no avail. It appears that I spent an entire day going in one massive circle, yet I know that I didn’t change direction significantly. Every once in a while I would have to move around something, granted, but these minor adjustment to my path would not have been enough to turn me about. Last night I decided to go about a half-mile past the sign to see if the field really was there, but there was nothing. I was not able to search for a great amount of time, but I feel that I went far enough that if the field were there I would have encountered it. Host wouldn’t lie to me; I must have gotten turned around. He wouldn’t lie to me.

The forest still has that unnatural darkness as it did last night. The trees have turned the color of thoroughly burned ash; the branches have turned into gnarled and reaching abominations on nature. The shadows that swirl around the bases of the trees peer up at me as I pass by, clearing from the trail for just a moment before closing the way behind me. An unnatural darkness lurks here, the shadows of the Briar Sanctum attempt to engulf me with outstretched and jagged claws, but these seem to only follow at a distance. They have no quarrel with me yet. Where do you come from? What would scare the Windigo, for it has not appeared recently.

It has grown very cold, and the patches of sunlight, where I have the opportunity to write, have become increasingly scarce. If I am actually in the proper Everfree at this point, then why do I not hear or see any other creatures? Why is there naught but the trees and shadows? This is a strange feeling, to be confused. For such a long time I have been scared, but now I have the opportunity to actually question my surroundings. Surrounded by these curious little shades, they seem almost playful. Dancing around the small patch of sunlight that has found its way through the dark roof above me. While I am wondering about my surroundings, I must also observe my current state of being. There is no more food, and very little water. If I don’t reach the field within another day, then… starvation is less preferable than being killed by what has hunted me for what seems like an eternity. I have seen its work, and my entire core is chilled by the thought that I may eventually be turned into a horrific scenario: completely skinned, legs twisted at odd angles, a scream frozen in my torn throat, and unburied. That I would never be laid to rest properly. This, for reasons unknown to me, is my greatest fear. Was not my grave prepared for me? Would I never be able to sleep among the residents of the ruins? To be forever secured in a natural temple?

Once again, the time has been lost. I would be willing to hazard a guess at how long I have been walking, but in all reality that does not matter now. Who really cares what time of day it is? Ponies back home may be concerned about deadlines, appointments and the like, but here there are only two times of day: when it is light enough to travel, and when it is dark enough to hide. Perhaps it is important to focus on such things to keep yourself sane, hence the writing. This journal is my only friend, and it has kept my mind in check throughout this experience. It hasn’t been killed off, taken, or mutilated like the others. Goes to show how futile life really is, doesn’t it? Then why do I continue to fight for my own survival? If I knew that answer to that I would be free of this forsaken forest one way or another.

Something is following me and has been for some time, I’m sure. The shadows around me have become more hostile, clawing at my hoofprints, threatening to trip and devour me. Some of the shadows have become more recognizable, I know them as the ones that follow the Windigo wherever it goes, namely after me. The ghost of a creature behind me, however, is not the Windigo. Would it have been, the moment I turn around I would be encountered by a smile. An oh so friendly smile. Here, when I turn, I manage to see something disappear into the trees, always moving away from me. This thing hides its face, and moves without care or direction. This is the type of creature that always lurked in your closet when you were nothing more than a foal. The thing that simply waited instead of hunted, letting you come to it. You always felt that you could escape it, but inevitably you would wake, and there it would be. The Windigo hid under your bed, instilling in you a sense of fear that could not be overcome by anything save the daylight. Unfortunately for me there is very little daylight to take comfort in.

The shadows have become all too familiar now, whatever uncanny darkness I may have traveled in has passed. It must be close to evening now, judging by the fading of the patches of sunlight. I do not recall the trees being this dense in the last few days, but the trail does seem familiar. I am so very tired, more tired than I have been in the last few days. This sense of urgency to escape, with the exit being so very close, it has ultimately drained me. There is no place to sleep here though, I must press on until such a place is found. It may just be the shadows and my tired mind, but it looks as if there may be a clearing up ahead. Dimly lit, so perhaps it is a clear night tonight.

Host lied to me. There may be a field somewhere, but what he said was wrong. I pass one sign after leaving the ruins, and walk for a day to find another sign, identical. Then I question my path and myself. I knew I walked without changing direction, and I have done the same today. Yet there is another sign, identical to the other two. I have good reason to believe that it is the first one, as the clearing is just ahead. Fair bet that the clearing is also the courtyard of the lost city I slept in just two days ago. I have gone in a circle after all.

So, that’s your game. Was the second sign a fake? Perhaps, but it really doesn’t matter now. My suspicions were correct, that the clearing was the courtyard. At first I believed this to be a welcoming sight. The moon, somehow full again, casts an eerie, pale glow into the circle of stone. A fine mist hangs just beyond the courtyard, shifting in and out of the crumbing stone. A line of trees separates the clearing from the rest of the forest, where an utter darkness has taken hold of everything. The pale, grey light from the moon works its way into the trees, slowly tearing at the dark, but the shadows also bite at the fringe. I personally sit in a single moonbeam, attempting to keep my entire being within the light. But now I am not so sure that is the best idea. You have been waiting for me; in the one place I believed I was safe. You hunted me, wore me down, took nearly everything I had, and wasted my time and energy with two pointless days just so you could wait for me. The Windigo stands in the center of the stone circle, motionless. You would think that it was no more than a black statue if it wasn’t for that face. Juxtaposition in itself, the eyes stare straight ahead, seeing through everything, yet they have nothing inside them. They lurk just outside your vision of sight, so when you just turn you head you notice that something far off to the side watches you. The smile, gleaming with white, crooked teeth says otherwise. White, the color of innocence, contrasted with a very malicious shape of a tool used to devour. The smile is the thing that waits for you. It waits just off to the side, a corner of it covered, still and silent enough to be missed at first, but it must be noticed. A smile full of meaning, however dark it may be. I do not remember the body being like that, however, it is far ganglier than before. I am off to the right, yet it stares straight ahead. Am I unnoticed?
If I lie low then perhaps I
My presence is very much known. It was not a sudden jerk of the head, but slow and calm, as if it merely wanted to take note of something. The ghostly white pupils, amidst the red eyes, made contact with mine, then it turned back to stare straight ahead, the smile became slightly wider. It is deathly quiet.

Cath Wintergreen Amber

20

Day/Night 20:
It must be just after midnight, and the moon seems to have decided to stick around to watch. The Windigo still sits in the center of the circle, waiting. It has barely moved, but it has stretched out its gangle legs to scratch the cold stone with hooked hooves. The eyes have never done so much as blinked, but it has finally hid its smile. There is just the dark outline of its body, and the eyes. I now have a choice to make: do I go and confront the Windigo on its terms, or do I sit here, just outside of the circle, and wait until morning? I fear that if I wait then it will run and simply stalk me yet again for another day, and challenge me once night falls again. Yet if I go and face this thing here and now, I will be limited to the circle of moonlight, while it can move in and out of shadows with silent ease. So what do you do? When you know that either way you are going to be at a major disadvantage? I was always told when I was younger that the best time to face your fears is when they are most prominent in your life, the time when they are seemingly overpowering. Somehow I don’t think my parents were talking about fighting a shadow that used to be your friend, and ripped three other ponies to shreds and skinned them. But what good is advice about fears if it can’t be applied to any fear?

Just listening to the sound of the Windigo’s hooked hoof scraping across the stone floor of the circle is enough to make me want to run crying into the forest. It’s a sound that goes beyond fright, and implants itself in your mind, bringing you close to a state of shock. It has shown that it knows exactly where I am, and has made no movement towards me yet. Chances are that it knows my thoughts, and knows that I am eager to end this. It doesn’t need to approach me; it assumes that I will approach it, and the longer I wait here the more certain I am that that is the correct course of action. Oh, why doesn’t the moon pass on? Why has time decided to stop? I am unsure whether the moon’s glow is better or worse, as with it I can see, but it also illuminates the Windigo, which almost gives it a far more intimidating presence. Without it, however, I feel that I would already be dead.

The moon waits, but does not grow impatient; neither does the Windigo. I must go to it; there is no other alternative that is any more optimal. With that being said, I bid my life, my parents, my remaining friend, and you, my journal, a fond farewell. I do not expect to survive this. As for the few possessions that I have back home, I give it all to my parents, to do with it what they will. However, I give this journal to an old friend of mine in Ponyville. I regret to say that I cannot remember her name, but if it weren’t for her, I would not have earned my cutie mark. You know who you are, and I thank you for giving me that gift, so now it is my time to return the favor. I finally thank you, my journal for being here all this time. I know that you are not a living thing, you can’t speak back, or give me advice, but sometimes all you need is the pony who just listens. You are not a pony, granted, but you are that friend. It must know my intentions, for the Windigo has turned to look at me. It’s starting to stand. Oh, Celestia. Dear Celestia why? I’m going to die, that’s now certain. And there’s the smile. My initial final wish was that I would be buried in that certain grave, now it’s that this goes quickly. I have no words to describe what stands before me.

It threw the journal and the pen within to me, as two of my legs are broken. Why does it torment me like this? Just kill me already Windigo. You disappear into the shadows after breaking me. You want me to write? I can hear your shrill laughter in this eternal silence.

Once again you throw the journal to me from where it lay. Somewhere inside you, the memory that Peers had of me saying that I would describe everything in this trip must have awoken, and you are keeping me to my promise. It’s awfully hard to write with only one working eye to see the journal.

Inner bark.

Just let me die! You stop and throw the journal a few feet a front of me, and I try to drag myself towards it, but then I feel one of your hooked hooves pierce my back and drag me across the stone towards you. I cannot scream anymore, for you ripped the screams from my throat, and yet you want me to stay true to my word and document.

Why? Windigo, you throw me against one of the ruins, place the journal and pen in my mouth and leave? Finish the job. Or, perhaps this is a kindness. My front legs still aren’t broken; I can drag myself to where I said I was to rest. Deep inside, some part of Peers must still be alive. Thank you, my friend.

Now I am to rest eternally in a ruined city. This is my escape. I require no earth to cover me, time will do fine for hiding what lay in this grave. What? Why do you return? You left me this one final pleasure. Don’t take it. Please. Peers, if you are still in there somewhere, grant me this one last kindness. Kill me if you so desire, but let me lay here. Peers. Oh Celestia, it’s Peers. So you must be the Windigo, an odd cloud that crossed over the moon that one night. At least I know that Peers is not suffering, and that he was truly innocent in this. It was you, Windigo. So now what? I am broken in spirit and body, what more can you do to me? Better yet, why am I still alive after all this time? Get back! I don’t deserve that fate!

Cath Wintergreen Amber

This is described as “The Final Entry”, as there is nothing else within the journal save a small piece on the next page that was clearly separate from this entry. The piece does not have a labeled day or is signed. It has been officially labeled as: “Day 21”, but still is not included with the rest of the entries. Day 21 will be released to the public along with the final notes of the investigation, as Princess Celestia has requested.

There is much speculation concerning why Cath decided to write the details of his conflict with the Windigo. It does not make much sense, but it is clear that the Windigo was taunting him by handing him his journal, which he has described as “his last friend”. The accepted theory is that Cath wrote down the events of every day during his experience, which is the only thing that kept him partially sane after what he went through, which was enough to drive anypony mad. By the time he confronted the Windigo, his mind was broken enough that it must have seemed a necessity to write down what was happening, even after the Windigo left him to crawl to his grave.

Day 21/Epilogue

Final Notes/Day 21:

Windigo. Why did I ever run from you? Peers killed the others with your help. Thank you, Windigo. I will follow.

This is the last thing ever written in the journal of Cath Amber. It is a complete and total contradiction of almost every other journal entry. It seems that Cath has decided to accept the Windigo, and that he is grateful of what it has done. In Day 20, Cath stated that Peers was innocent, yet here it seems that he was guilty after all of the deaths of three ponies. It has been officially recorded that Peers Abslove murdered, mutilated, and (at least partially) ate: Cross Dreedle, Wymble Skyre, and the unknown Host. Cath Amber lasted 21 days: three weeks.

The search for the ponies ended with the discovery of the bodies of Cross and Wymble, which almost confirmed the fates of the others, save for the fact that this journal was found. The journal, in question, was found far away from any of the ponies, in the cabin that they originally were trapped in by the storm. It lay in the center of the room, amidst a large scorch mark on the floor, placed very deliberately. The dust around the journal was undisturbed, with no tracks of any kind.

After the journal was finished being analyzed and copied, Princess Celestia granted the pony in charge of this case to make one final search, following the path that Cath had taken. We had crossed over into the Outer Centre in the initial stages of the search, but were too far south from where Cath journeyed to find anything. During this last search the following were found:
Host’s Cabin
Host’s Mutilated Body
The Crevasse
The Massive Cliff (North of Host’s cabin)
The Lost City
The “Three Miles to the Edge of the Forest” signs. (There were two, and the actual edge of the forest was another three miles past the second sign)
The Graveyard in The Lost City
Gravestone Bearing Cath’s name
Peers Abslove

The following were not found and remain unknown:
Eastern Field
Eastern Field’s Mysterious Tree
Cath Amber
The Windigo

The grave bearing Cath’s name was filled in. We dug it up to find the twisted remains of Peers Abslove. The body was identifiable, regardless of the fact that there were several features that were different from Peers. Namely, the coat had become darker, the teeth had become separated and jagged, and the legs were significantly stretched. The cutie mark on the body was an identical match to Peer’s, and his was truly unique. (A rope tied into an Alpine Butterfly knot.)

The whereabouts of Cath Amber, as we stated, remain unknown. Another thorough investigation took place simultaneously with the final search into the Everfree/Briar Sanctum/Outer Centre. This search was through several large tomes of history and facts about Equestria, only found within the Canterlot Archive. There were only two references to anything by the name of “Windigo”. One had to deal with the creation of Equestria, and did not fit the description, the other was written by a pony no one working in this had ever heard of. The passage in the tome described the Windigo as being a “collector”, that is to say that the Windigo picks out the member of a group that it finds best. The passage goes on to say that the Windigo is an ancient creature, but very rare, and eventually saying that it eats anything it can. The Windigo cannot, however, eat in its own form, thus it must use another creature from a group to eat for it. The Windigo will use said being to devour the others, changing the being all the while. First come mental changes, and then the physical form actually alters. Physical alterations vary by the type of being taken by the Windigo. The changes always make the creature more apt to its surroundings and its prey. The Windigo does want the best, however, so it is liable to change its mind should it find that a different member of the group is superior to the current prize. The final point of the passage from which this information comes claims that the Windigo can both access and use the memories of the creature it has taken. This raises questions about who exactly knew any of this and had the opportunity to write it down.

Overall the above information cannot be verified, and the validity of the information is still in question. No records of the author have been found.

It has been decided that Cath’s good name should be preserved, and that he is overall innocent in this. Peers’s name has become somewhat taboo, and has turned into a ghost story over Equestria, to tell to young foals, and in the dark with nervous company.

Cath’s original journal has been given to the pony in Ponyville he requested should have it, and she has asked for her name to not be revealed at this time.

Questions that remain unknown are as follows:
Where is Cath Amber?
What happened to him?
What was Host’s real name?
What is “The Master of Ceremonies”?
What were the foreign shadows?
Who lived in The Lost City?
Why did the Windigo not kill Cath in the beginning?
What is the Eastern Field?

There is much speculation as to the answer to the second question, and the most widely accepted answer is that Cath is still alive somewhere in the Briar Sanctum, but is “not himself”.

There are still many loose ends to be tied up, but the case has been closed for now. This has been given to the public so they may know of what has happened, and (if they choose) answer unanswered questions themselves.

Princess Celestia has, in Cath’s honor, made three laws concerning the Everfree Forest, known as the Cath Amber laws.
Any section of the forest is the Everfree Forest, yet the separate sections of the forest will keep their name to identify them simply as a part of the Everfree, and all records and maps must correspond.The Briar Sanctum is unfit for ponies to enter for any given amount of time, and thus has been made illegal to venture into for any reason.There is a creature that has been marked as an enemy of ponies, that lives in the Briar Sanctum, who shall be known as The Windigo.

14

Day 14:
Begin week two. Has it really only been two weeks? So much has happened, it seems more likely that I am entering week six. Every pony out there has to obey the laws of time according to how time governs him or her, but they do not have to pay attention to it. The sun hangs very low in the sky, it seems that it has just arisen as I have. I fell asleep next to the table, my journal lying open, reminding me of the night’s horrors. I did not look out the window as I slid the journal off the table so I could write, but I feel that I must look out to check whether the face still lingers, still smiles. If it remains then I must go and confront it, and if it has moved then I will go to where I saw it off in the trees. But not yet, first I will go see if Host is awake or around. Do not let yourself be seen from the outside, do not let yourself be seen at all.

Host is, surprise surprise, gone. I am once again on my own in this cabin. Cabins always have the most foreboding feel to them, occupied or not. Crafted by bare hooves, stripped trees of their wood and crafted four walls and a roof to be placed in, much like a coffin. But you live in a cabin; a cabin is a refuge and a home. But you can die in a cabin, and you can seek refuge in death. Wymble. Cross. Shouldn’t have been…isn’t fair. The window or the door, either one would give me a proper view. But I am safer inside of the house should it still be there… the window it is.

It’s not there anymore. Nothing’s there. The spot where the face is empty, an empty space in between two of the trees. Early in the day to search, later in the day to reflect, that’s what one of my old teachers used to say. Now let’s see if she was right.

Tracks. Pony tracks. Pony tracks leading in through the woods directly to that spot, and then returning into the trees. Something was here, but I don’t know what it was. Pony tracks though…it was some type of pony. Or what was a pony. I searched around the area for a while, but did not dare to follow the tracks for any distance. The area around where the thing was was not disturbed in any way. The snow was unmarked, no branches broken or leaves torn off. It must have been able to move with great care. I bet it could move silently, and track down ponies at any distance. It must have been living in the woods for a long time, or had natural instinct. Peers, what have you become? Leave now.

Host came back briefly just a moment ago. The first thing he said as he strode through the door was if something was following me. I pray that my face did not expose the lie I told. Yes Host, there is something following me, but nothing you need to be concerned about. If you get involved, you will become a target. In all your years of being out in the Outer Centre, have you ever known what “inner bark” is? I have, I’ve known what it is like to eat my friends and have no idea what I was doing. Would it be crazy or sane to say that it was one last act of friendship? Trying to keep me alive? But it wasn’t me who did the awful deed; it was Peers. He gave it to me, and I ate. From the moment when the veil was lifted I never looked at it again, and I time and time again gambled for my life with the plants in the Sanctum. I won every time. I wonder if none of the plants were poisonous like Peers told us towards the beginning of the trip. When did he change? It must have been early, as Cross died on day four. Ten days ago exactly was when the first burial, and the first unearthing.

Host has been gone for a long while now…I hope nothing has happened to him. He showed me yesterday what types of plants were obviously edible and inedible, so I can keep myself fed if need be, and he has captured enough of the snowmelt to sustain us another week with ease. Another two weeks if we drink it more sparingly. It must be close to around three o’clock judging by the position of the sun right now. You know what? I’m going to treat myself to what is considered by many a classy pony to be a luxury in itself: an afternoon nap. See you in a couple of hours, journal.

An unpleasant nap, to say the least. Dreams of smiling faces filled my closed eyes, and something came scratching around my ears. The scratching was present through most of the dream, I recall. Host has not yet returned? The sun is beginning to set, and the only reason I would be outside after dark is if I was dead. I feel that it would be wise to go look for him, but I have the sense that it would be both unwelcomed and unwise. No sense in getting lost, and he would just as well have me gone. Still, no harm in checking the immediate area around the cabin; I won’t get lost there.

Do I leave? Is it safer in the cabin than in the woods? Is there any safe haven now? I honestly can’t say. What is it that it can penetrate my dreams, and burrow into my mind? Where is it? Every shadow is reaching and every shadow wants to consume. Where’s Host? Where is he?

Scratching. Scratching around my ears in my sleep: the sound of the wall being carved on. A simple message: “From one cabin to another. It makes no difference to me. You choose.” And underneath the entire thing was jaggedly scrawled a single word: Windigo. What is that, Peers? I would speak directly to you…but what are you? Have you named yourself now? You have had the advantage of knowing me, and I have always been behind for I did not know you. Windigo. You have carved this three times, and one might think it foolish to reveal your true self. Peers, you are dead. The Windigo is my hunter now. Regardless of whatever you are, you have killed my friends, and kept me at bay by being a trusted acquaintance. Having me call you Peers, the name of a pony who I trusted…now have it out.

If you have possessed the moment to kill me, then why not just do it? It didn’t take much time to wreak havoc on the other two, so what makes me so special? Peers and I were close, but not the best of friends, not like Wymble. I never thought I would become game to another creature. Ponies rule Equestria, and every other powerful being concedes to the rules of Celestia. Celestia. You, Windigo, remain within Equestria and you hunt us as game. Predator and the prey. Yet Celestia does not know of you, or perhaps she does. What does that make her? Oh, our great ruler who does not take the time. If she does not take the time to eradicate Equestria from the denizens of the pits, then what time will she take to keep herself in power?

Host? Where are you? Come back to me. Come back.

Cath Wintergreen Amber