Dark Blue

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Everything aches. My back and shoulders and head and legs all ache. I try to move, but I just feel so heavy.

Drip. Drip.

Something falls onto my face. Something wet and warm, splashing off my forehead and teasing my lashes. I’m able to finally lift one of my legs and wave it in front of me, briefly stopping the drops.

Drip.

In all of my shuffling, my sluggish attempts to open my lids, one drop splashes directly onto my eye spurs all my limbs into motion. Rolling onto my front with a hiss I hold a hoof over the eye and blink away rapidly. The stinging clears up in a few moments, though an element of soreness remains.

I remain there, blinking away, and I realise I cannot see my own hooves in front of me. Confused, I continue blinking, trying to recall past events, and remember being in the caves. I remember the pit, and the sapphire in the walls, and then the pony tackling me.

Ah. Right. I have some choice words for that pony.

I cast a light spell and illuminate my immediate surroundings. It isn’t as bright or as warm as a lantern, leaving much of the world around me in blue-tinted monochrome. Even so, I make out the shattered remains of my lamp ahead of me. I’m lucky I had not landed on it, or the glass shards on the ground.

I take a glance around, examining my surroundings. My saddlebag is still on my back, empty save for a few gemstones and some light supplies. There is no sign of my assailant, however, and I let out a high pitched harumph.

“How very rude,” I say to nopony in particular, though I hope that they are still around. I slowly rise to my hooves. “I was merely minding my own business and then was so sorely interrupt—”

I cry out and fall onto my front again as I settle one of my back legs to the floor. None of the weight connects, I feel something slide that shouldn’t, and the pain that strikes me saps all my strength, leaving me shaking on the floor.

Leaving the small part of my mind amazed that I kept the hornlight cast, I rolled onto my back. With tears in my eyes, and the right still considerably blurry, I gingerly pull a terrifically broken leg into view. There is a nasty gash down the side, and the bone below the knee is worryingly short. Swallowing down my anxiety, I can see why when some of the bone prods at my skin from beneath.

I let go of my leg and try to relax myself as nausea floods my gut. A hot flash fills me, quickly making me sweat, while my mind proceeds to race and my breath escapes me. A prelude to panic. One I can ill afford.

Swallowing again, I drag my thoughts into order, thinking about grounding myself—

Drip.

Something dark and wet and warm strikes my forehead. I finally process from where.

A cloaked figure. A pale horn with dark liquid running its length. Dulled eyes staring me down. All hanging from a single rocky outcrop, piercing their chest.

My light winks out. I roll to my side, and while my body tries to vomit, all I am able to do is dry heave and dribble bile down my lips.

I am used to dealing with panic. It is not a feeling I experience often, and sometimes without logical cause, but it never feels quite so bad knowing I am in the comfort of my home or surrounded by friends. Without both, the feeling is unbearable, coming out in shaking limbs and rapid, shallow breaths. Without sight or the wherewithal to try I cannot ground myself.

I remain in that rotten state for what feels like an eternity. Quivering, panting, sweating and sobbing. The adrenaline in me forces my mind to race through previous events, remembering my search, remembering the attack, remembering the corpse above me. It makes me feel sick again, but my body knows I have nothing more to give.

I wish I had a blanket to cower under.

Drip.

The dull, wet thud of blood hitting the cave floor breaks through my panic. I wish it didn’t, knowing what the source of that noise is.

Drip.

But I cannot ignore it. It is all the sound I have other than my breaths and whimpers. So I focus.

Drip.

It’s regular, I think. I open my mouth, take in a shaky breath and start counting.

“O-one-little-pony, two-little-ponies, three-little-ponies—”

Drip.

“One-little-pony, two-little-ponies, three-little-ponies, four—”

Drip.

“One-little-pony, two-little-ponies, three-little-ponies, four…”

Drip.

I keep counting in my head, noting that the space between the drops grows, gaining a fraction of a beat each time. Despite the irony of it, that focus slows my breathing, calms my mind. Sweet Celestia I still feel like a wire about to snap, but my body is back under my control.

First thing is first; I need to address the broken leg. I know I can’t walk on it in its current state, but that is no reason to leave it unattended, so with my horn now relit—albeit far dimmer, so the light doesn’t reveal what is above me—I start my work. Using the water I intended for drinking, I rinse off my leg. The wound continues to bleed, but the runoff is mostly clear once the bottle is half empty. I wrap the wound in a bandage, then run it up and down my leg, then to keep the bones still I place a chisel inside of the wrapping and secure that in place too.

It’s shoddy. It won’t hold forever. It will hold for the few hours it needs to.

I roll over, rise to my hooves again, this time taking care to not put pressure onto the injured leg, and I hobble along, working deeper into the cave, lighting my way by dull blue hornlight.

The walk is slow and miserable with my own thoughts for company, and it ends up turning into a long, downward slog that meanders for goodness how long. I can’t shake the image of the pony from my mind, distracting me enough to trip over the odd bump in the ground. Fortunately the puzzles of how to climb down some of the bigger drops keeps my mind occupied.

It’s as I come down one more ledge and round another bend that I hear the faintest sound of rushing water. The air is cooler, despite how deep down I am, and each step forward brings me closer to the noise until finally I step into a cavern so large my horn isn’t able to light it all.

I can make out water falling into a pool ahead of me, the spray giving the air around a refreshing feel that wets my fur pleasantly. The surface of the pool, rippling as it is, reflects the light from my horn like a twinkling night sky.

Despite my situation, I decide to sit down by the water’s edge. A dull headache throbs somewhere deep in my skull from exhaustion and what I hope isn’t an injury. Looming over the pond I examine my head, and to my relief I am at the worst merely grubby, save for the splotch of dried blood dead center on my forehead.

If being near the water was refreshing, then splashing it on my face can only be best described as divine. With every hoofful I throw onto my face I rub at my cheeks and forehead, tidying myself up. It dribbles into my mane, making my perm sag somewhat, and other trickles run down my neck and onto my chest and shoulders where it makes the fur around it stand on end though even that feels good, but to my annoyance my right eye remains blurry despite washing the blood from it.

Then I simply just sit there, too exhausted to carry myself further. I know I need to continue on, but my body and mind demand I rest, so I do for minutes. My mind wanders, distracted by the wavy night sky in the water, and I think of my friends again. I laugh at the idea of them worrying over me, and getting a flurry of ‘I told you so’s from all of them.

I wonder if the dead pony has any friends. I couldn’t even describe them to anypony, other than confirming they were a unicorn with a light coat. Maybe that’s something for somepony else to sort out if they follow in my hoofsteps.

Another little wave of nausea washes over me, but it’s mild. Despite my somber feelings, I rise once more to my hooves with a grunt, and check for other exits. There has to be one somewhere for the water to run off to, but it isn’t visible from where I stand.

Walking along the water’s edge, I try to spot if there is some underwater passage, but my hornlight is simply scattered off the surface and makes it impossible to tell. What does catch my eye is the glimpse of a space behind the waterfall, though with no clear gaps either side of it I can’t be certain of what I see without getting wet.

I tense up, preparing myself for the cold shock while walking the wet, slippery edge of the pool. My perm is entirely ruined at this stage, sticking to my head and shoulder. Alas, there is little I can do for it now, but at least its sacrifice to my curiosity paid off.

My hooves fall onto wood instead of rock and the water flowers beneath. The walls are smoothed and squared off at the top, and they are even bracketed here and there by more wooden archways to support the weight of the rock and earth above.

With another sigh of relief, I dip my head and continue walking along the carved out corridor. There are a few doors on the right side of the cavern, lifted up a few steps to presumably keep them from flooding. Most of them are rotten down, allowing me to peer inside to empty beds and shelves. The end of the corridor turns gently, with a right hand turn to one last room, of which a warm, orange light shines out.

A light means warmth. Probably fire, maybe magic, but definitely somepony, or somecreature at least.

Awkwardly I pick up my pace, but a few steps in something darts out of the door. Another pony in a cloak, their face obscured by shadows and my weakening hornlight. They look my way for all of half a heartbeat before they bolt off in the other direction, deeper into the corridor.

“Wait!” I shout. “I just need some help, some way out…” I fall quiet, deciding it isn’t any use to shout after the retreating sound of galloping.

The noise disappears into the depths, while I make my way into the lit room. It really isn’t any different from the other rooms behind me, with a wooden bench along one wall, wide enough to lay on, and a table and chairs and shelves along the other. The light is cast by a touch slotted into a sconce near the exit, above the table.

Knowing that this space is lived in, I make the decision to wait. Surely the occupant will return and I can explain myself then, and surely they will understand my plight and help me back to the surface. it would be better than getting lost in a possible underground labyrinth.

And besides, however spartan the room is, it has a somewhat cozy charm to it. I can settle in for a little while at the desk, letting the torch dry me off and keep me warm while I wait.