Anonymous in Nu-Questria

You took off your suit jacket and waistcoat. You rolled up your shirt sleeves and began the long task. The good work. Focusing your mind on primitive concerns and blocking out the rest. Your only goal was survival.

You scanned the rest of the ruins for any useful materials. All the valuables had been scavenged a long time ago. The furniture and storage crates one would typically find in a pony dwelling had long since disintegrated and returned to the earth. You managed to find a few nicely-shaped pieces of glass, but little else. At least they would make for a good spearheads.

You hiked for a bit up the tree-covered foothill. Finding a small brook, you drank from it and slaked your thirst. One need out of the way.

You find a round, flat stone in the bed of the stream. You scrape off the mud and moss and feel the coarse, wet stone underneath. You grab one of the shards of stained glass and begin to rub it against the surface carefully. For a few hours you work to hone an edge into one side of the shard of glass. You smirk as you finish and hold it up to the light. There’s now a fine point at the end.

You test it. Not a lot of pressure needed to draw blood.

You scour around for a low-hanging, straight tree branch to use for the spear. You find one and pull it down using your weight. Then you sit down near the brook on a mossy, shaded rock. You slice off long strips of bark from the branch and carefully begin to mold it into a strong, flexible haft. You carefully cut a notch in the top for the glass spearhead. By the time you finish, you notice the sun has started its descent. Your stomach gurgles deeply in your chest.

You stand up and adjust your belt. You tighten it around your waist to help curb the hunger pangs. Now the true test begins.

The vegetation in the area was chaotic and rough in many places. You combed through the underbrush for plants and fungi that you might recognize as edible. It all seemed similar to what you remember from Equestria long ago, yet there were subtle differences. A slightly different hue to a clutch of berries. A longer stem and frills to a fungus. Thin sprouts with leaves that split in different numbers than you remembered.

Your memory is too hazy when it comes to wild produce. You decide not to risk getting sick. The safest bet, you figured, was following the old “berry rule”. You tie up your suit jacket with a bit of makeshift string to create a hobo bag with the spear handle. You methodically and carefully start to pick berries that are violet, black or have deep red hues.

The sun is orange and getting close to the treetops as you make your way back to the grassy clearing of the tomb ruins, carrying a plump bag of fruit. You empty them all out on a large stone slab and start to organize them by shape and color.

You test a few of the darker purple and black ones by dripping some of the juice onto your forearm. After a few minutes you don’t feel any burning or tingling sensation, so you reckon that they might be safe to try. You drip a few drops of juice onto your tongue from one.

The taste is as sweet as pure honey to your waiting tongue. You feel a tingle run down your spine as your hungry body reacts to the sensation. You can’t help but pop it into your mouth and chew.

You place the taste as something close to a wild blackberry. There’s a small pit inside of it, which you spit out. You feel your spirits lift a little bit. It’s hard to resist eating another one, but you maintain your self-control.

Warmth was next. You remember how to make a bow drill with sticks and improvised string. Luckily you had already collected the materials for it.

Soon you are sitting by a crackling fire, popping berries into your mouth as you fire-harden the end of the spear. The cool Equestrian night air feels good on your neck, which had gotten too much sun. You expect the night to be a bit colder, but bearable enough. There’s no hints of frost in the air, or signs of a storm coming in. Still, you planned to take shelter in a bit of collapsed ruin where a slab had fallen onto a section of wall, creating a small gap. For no other reason than to hide from anyone or anything wandering by.

You spit out another pit as you raise your spear out of the fire and look at it. “Fuck you, Hitch.” You say disdainfully. You blow on the blackened spear tip.

You’re surprised that the ponies had not come back to try and collect you yet. In the past, every pony you told off would come back a while later and pester you again like nothing happened. You figure they’d probably try again tomorrow.

For a moment, you think about that orange mare, but you shake your head and clear your mind. Focus. Survive.

You make sure the glass shard still fits snugly inside the notch at the end of the spear. You take out the bracelet, but you decide to keep the crystals tied to one part of the string. There’s a lot of predators that are easily distracted by shiny things. You figure it’s better to keep it just in case.

You finish tying the spearhead as tightly as you can and raise it up, watching it twinkle in the light of the campfire. “Behold,” you say to yourself. “The spear of friendship.”

There’s a sudden rumble in your stomach and you feel a pang of nausea. You quickly get up and pace, breathing steadily. You try to fight it but the feeling rises. You grab a block and lean over, retching.

All the berries come back up.

As the heaving calms down and you wipe your mouth, you decide to call it a night.