Foxhole

18:38 - 20/09/1005 - Zebharan Desert

The foxhole was dry. For that much Sol could be thankful. He’d been in wet foxholes before and he’d take hard-packed sand over swampy slurry any night. That and the fact that the Storm King’s troops hadn’t found him were the only upsides of the last two nights. His canteen was half empty, and he was already thinking of desperate ways to extend the lifespan of the meagre vessel.

He glanced at his shovel. It had saved his life, that much was for sure. He’d hacked away at the hillside’s sand, rock, and dirt for hours to make this little shelter, wielding it with hooves and then with magic and then with hooves again. It blended in with the surrounding rock formations, just well enough to not be noticeable in the night’s dark. And not a moment too soon either. The shells had started falling just after his shelter was complete. Then came the enemy patrols, then the combat engineers, then the minelayers.

His hillside position was nestled admist loose rocks and dry shrubs, blending in with the environment. Downhill to the north, a dirt road ran some hundred meters away, cutting across the sand in a rough line from west to east. It was the only evidence that civilization had come to this part of the world. On top of being rigged with enough mines to stop a whole platoon.

He wiped the sweat from his brow, baking in the heat of the invisible sun and wondering how much longer he could live like this. The desert switched between swelteringly hot or bone-chillingly cold and there was nothing to go by in the sky above to indicate when the change would occur.

What’s the point of eternal night? He asked himself, as if there was anything else to really do. It’s dark, can’t see anything and it makes you want to constantly go to sleep. Truth be told, he never really ‘got’ Lunar philosophy.

Clutching his Lilac Mk.III rifle, Sol mused on his chances of survival between staying put versus making a run back to friendly lines. Instinct nagged for him to attempt the latter, though the risk of exposure to hostile fire was far too great. Compared to fighting hordes of undead thralls in the war against Sombra and surviving by the skin of his teeth, sitting still and staying out of sight should’ve been a trifle.

His first aid kit had been all but used up saving someone else in an earlier engagement, but his supplies weren't totally exhausted. His water and rations would keep him alive for a week, at most. Surely his platoon-mates would come for him before then. Surely they would. Surely they had to know he was MIA, pinned down in what was supposed to be friendly territory. It was only a matter of time. Surely.

Sherly’s a dependable guy after all, he made a glib remark to himself.

His train of thought halted as he heard a rumbling sound coming somewhere ahead of him. He took a peek, adjusting his night vision goggles, the world now rendered in grape flavor, compared with the utter black it used to be. He made out a jeep’s headlights illuminating the road at the bottom of the hill, the vehicle itself steadily making its way down. Sol smirked. Don’t they know where they lay their own mines?

Then Sol’s smirk disappeared. Storm forces don’t get around in jeeps, they use airships for everything or go on foot.

Sol jumped out as the realization hit him. “Wait!”

A deafening blast rocked his ears. He shrank into his shelter. The jeep was thrown off the road, a smouldering crater left where it once was. On impact with the ground its metal chassis crumpled like cardboard. The twisted wreck started smoking, fire shimmering through the skeleton. Faint curses and cries mixed with the roar of the blazing vehicle.

A pony's body had been hurled out of the truck, lifeless and bloodied on the roadside.

Sol felt his heavy breath rush past his gritted teeth. He was shaking, drenched in sweat, and not from the heat. If the enemy was around, they surely heard that and they’d be on their way. His self-preservation instinct screamed for him to stay put, but there were ponies in that wreck, ponies lying around helpless. There was a chance some survived. But was it enough of a chance for Sol to risk himself?

“Agh, screw it.”

Rifle slung on his back, Sol launched himself from the foxhole and immediately hit the ground. He slithered forward, inch by painstaking inch, his legs moving like clockwork. Harsh, coarse, coat-blastingly gritty sand filled his mane, his coat, even his mouth. The closer he got, the anguished cries of a mare grew louder. Someone was still alive and needed help. Acrid smoke spiralled upward. Each passing second heightened the urgency, heightened the screams. If he didn’t pick up the pace then there’d be nobody left to rescue. And if the enemy was close, they would have already taken their shot.

He sprang to his hooves and galloped down the sandy incline, narrowly maintaining his balance. Within moments he skidded to a halt near the remains of the jeep, the searing heat of the flames licking at his coat. Up close, the devastation was far worse; the vehicle twisted into a grotesque sculpture of mangled metal and scorched rubber, barely recognisable as the vehicle it once was. The stench of oil, blood, and burning flesh hung heavy in the air. He’d have gagged had he not grown numb to it already.

“Help! Oh Nightmare, help!”

A desperate voice pierced the cacophony of destruction. Beneath the wreckage, a small thestral mare clawed her way into the open, her eyes wide with fear and pain. Once-sleek silver hair was a tangled mess, her blue Equestrian officer's uniform shredded and stained. A Marechester SMG was strapped across her body, and a gruesome shard of bloodied metal jutted from her shoulder.

Sol's instincts kicked in, and he darted to her side, grasping her legs to pull her free. “Come with me if you want to live!” he called.

The mare didn’t protest, her agonised cries punctuated by sobs. Sol hoisted her onto his back, her hooves feebly clinging to him as he carried her away from the fiery wreckage. He set her down gently on her back, preparing to scan her wounds. Only then his breath caught in his throat. He recognized her. Not just recognized, he had met her before.

“Warmaster?” Sol gasped.

Then the air filled with thunder. Something exploded, the fuel tank most likely. It sent a shockwave of heat and noise bowling over him. He instinctively ducked down to shield the Warmaster with his body, feeling the scorching air sear his back. Miraculously, no debris struck them, and Sol pushed himself up to examine her injuries more closely.

The mare, Warmaster Selenite herself, lay weakened and injured. Eyes clenched shut, her face was smeared with dirt and bespeckled with cuts and bruises. First her eyes opened slowly, then shot wide open, slit pupils dilating as they met his. Her mouth parted slightly, breath catching as if words were stuck on her lips. Within moments her eyes softened. A grunt, then she spoke. “Th-thank you-” She took a glance at the rank badge on his collar. “-Sergeant.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Sol replied, looking her over, seeing the metal shards still jutting from her shoulder. “First I'm going to get that out of you, and then,” a pause, “then I'm going to cauterize the wound.”

Selenite panted heavy breaths as she looked at Sol. She looked at her wound, then back at Sol. She nodded her head, her breathing easing ever so slightly. “I-I understand, Sergeant,” she gasped.

Before removing the metal, the deep-lilac aura of Sol’s magic yanked a cloth from his saddlebags and put it next to the wound, ready to stop the inevitable bleeding. His magic then engulfed the metal in Selenite’s shoulder, and he pulled. To their mutual relief it came out quick and clean, Selenite only releasing a grunt and a whimper. Before much blood could flow out of the open wound Sol pressed his cloth into Selenite’s shoulder. It would slow the bleeding for now, but they both dreaded the more permanent solution.

Whilst Sol’s magic unfastened Selenite’s jacket he withdrew the knife from its sheath, the steel blade gleaming ominously in the flickering firelight. With a swift motion, he wiped it clean and cut through Selenite’s undershirt to provide clear access to the wound. Then, he levitated the knife into the flames. The metal began to glow a sinister orange, promising pain. Meanwhile, Selenite yanked off a glove with her teeth, her movements hurried and jerky. She stuffed it into her mouth, her eyes betraying the dread of what was to come.

As the knife heated, Sol's face was set in grim stoicism. It would hurt to do this, it would hurt her even more. But he pulled it from the fire, the blade now glowing fiercely, and brought it towards Selenite. “Ready?” His voice kept low and steady, more confident than he was. Their eyes met, and for a moment, he saw raw fear stayed only by trust in her gaze.

The knife hovered above her wound, radiating heat. Selenite's eyes widened, reflecting the fiery blade for a moment before she met Sol's gaze. She took a deep, shuddering breath and gave a shaky nod. “Do it,” she grunted around the glove in her mouth, her voice trembling. She bit down hard on the glove, eyes squeezing shut.

“One, two, three!” On three Sol pressed the knife to her wound. Selenite barely held back an anguished howl, teeth pressing into her gloves. Instantly the smell of singed flesh hit him like a howitzer shell. Selenite’s repressed wails set every empathetic fiber of Sol’s being into overdrive, screaming at him to stop. But he couldn't. He had to save her.

The knife burned against her skin, the searing heat cauterizing the wound. Sol's arcane grip trembled, but he kept the blade steady, counting the agonizing seconds. He pulled it away, allowing Selenite a moment to breathe and respite, only for him to press it back again. The cycle of press, groan, and release continued, one press after the other until the bleeding had stopped.

Once the bleeding stopped, Sol drove the knife into the sand, the hiss of cooling metal a small relief. Selenite collapsed onto her side, clutching her shoulder, her breaths coming in ragged gasps. The scent of burnt flesh lingered, already fusing with the stench of burning oil and rubber. Sol's own breath was shaky, calmed only by the knowledge that the operation had saved her.

But he knew there was no time to dwell on that. Turning himself in each direction, Sol scanned the horizon. No sign of incoming enemy activity. But he knew a bright smoking fire in the middle of a dark desert would attract every yeti eye, just from sheer curiosity if nothing else. He had to get them both back to cover, now. Carefully, he lifted Selenite onto his back, plucked the cold knife from the sand, and started back up the hill.

Sol charged up the hill with a determination that matched the intensity of the desert heat, ignoring the protests from his stiff and strained legs. Selenite clung to his back, her small frame trembling with each jarring movement. Her body trembled with each sob, salty trails of her tears cutting through the dust and grime that clung to her cheeks like rough brushstrokes on a weathered canvas.

“Th-this was,” Selenite gasped, “s-supposed to be, friendly, t-territory, nrgh…”

Carrying on without a word, Sol didn’t stop to correct the Warmaster. Best to give her space, he thought. He gently lay Selenite down in the foxhole, pausing to catch his breath before applying clean bandages to her wound.

“We’re…” Selenite was almost hyperventilating while Sol worked. “We’re moving. Soon as-”

“We’re staying put,” Sol interrupted, continuing unabated with his work on Selenite’s wounds.

Selenite shook. “Wh- No!” she blurted. “I can’t stay, I need to get to a proper medic.”

“Warmaster.” Sol cut back. “We’re miles into the enemy territory with them alerted to us and probably out patrolling right now thanks to that explosion and you can’t even walk. They’d catch an overencumbered me pretty fast. The safest place near anywhere is right here,” Sol insisted, carrying on.

“But-” Selenite gasped. “But we’re in-”

A bright bluish-white light shone down the road. It stabbed through the dark and caught both ponies’ attention. Down by the east end of the road, a squad of storm mooks entered into their line of sight. Right where the Warmaster’s jeep had been going.

“...friendly territory.”

Even at a distance, their hulking silhouettes were imposing. A yeti in the lead held up a staff, casting blue light to guide their path and illuminate their targets. Sol counted seven, maybe eight of them. More than he could ever hope to take alone.

“Stay out of sight,” whispered Sol, clutching his rifle close and concealing it inside the foxhole. “Hide anything that catches the light-”

One look at Selenite and Sol froze. There were few things about her that didn’t catch light. The silver piping on her uniform. Her rank badge. Heck, even her black leather boots gave off a shine somehow. Even her eyes reflected light, like they glowed in the dark. The whole mare was a damn mirror; if a single slither of light reflected off of her wrong they’d be dead.

“Where’s your blanket, sergeant?” Selenite asked. Of course she’d know what a standard issue combat kit included.

“Here!” And without a second thought Sol scurried through his pack and tossed his blanket over Selenite. She didn’t protest one bit, quickly and easily obscuring herself underneath.

With their position concealed, Sol took a closer look at the encroaching threat. Each storm mook brandished a different weapon, some with modern machine guns that were bigger than some ponies (at least 20mm caliber, by Sol’s estimate) and others with weathered arquebuses. They walked across the rough slopes on the side of the road making their footing unsteady, but they had to do it in order to avoid the mines that they had laid.

Thankfully, they were sticking to the roadside and their predetermined path, and so hadn’t given any indication that they’d spotted him or Selenite.

Upon reaching the crash site, a couple storm mooks chanced a cautious step onto the mine-ridden road to rummage through the wreck. They looted weapons, ammo, food, even the dead. One of the storm mooks plucked a dead pony out of the jeep. An officer, if their uniform was any indication. The mook inspected the corpse like it was a souvenir, then stashed it into a sack much the same.

Out of the corner of his eye, Sol noticed that Selenite was cautioning a peek through the blanket. “This fucking road was meant to be safe,” she muttered.

The yeti with the lighting staff made some gestures in either direction up and down the road. A few low grunts and growls could be heard, unintelligible with the distance between them. Then again they were unintelligible to begin with. About half the storm mooks proceeded further west, with the rest returning east.

Sol breathed a sigh of relief, but his focus didn’t lessen. Even with that threat passed, there could always still be more.

When Sol lifted the blanket, Selenite was drenched in sweat and breathing profusely through her teeth. Being wrapped up in a blanket designed for desert cold in the height of desert heat tended to do that to someone. Then again, it could also be shock setting in from her wounds. He hoped it was the former, that he at least could treat. Sol went straight for his canteen and held it up to her, unscrewing the cap as he did. “I got water,” he said. “You want some?”

Yet to his surprise, Selenite didn’t take the canteen right away. Instead she tried to pull her hooves close to her chest, her wounded shoulder not really responding well, whilst staring at the nozzle with her lips pressed tightly together. “I’ll be fine,” she said, finally.

Sol gave a confused tilt of his head, only to shrug it off. “Suit yourself.” He screwed the cap closed and stashed the canteen away. He brought his rifle back up and watched the road.

A minute or so passed by uneventfully. Then out of the blue, Selenite asked, “Where have I heard ‘come with me if you want to live’ before?”

Sol’s ears perked up, but he didn’t lose focus. “It was a- uhm, a reference to a movie, Warmaster.” Okay, yes, it was a little corny. But it did feel cool at that moment. If anything, Sol was surprised she remembered that. “That’s fine, right?”

“Nothing wrong with it, don’t worry.” Selenite shook her head. “It’s Sol, right? Sol Nightshade?”

That definitely threw his focus off. “Yeah, how’d you know?” He looked back at her.

“I thought I recognised you,” she said, smiling. “I remember you from the hospital in Whinny. You left an impression on me.”

“Really now? What kind of impression?” He’d remembered meeting her, that was for certain. Who could forget a one-on-one visit from the Warmaster?

Though he was certainly surprised at how she’d remembered him. Surely, the Warmaster herself would meet dozens if not hundreds of enlisted troops every night.

“You were wounded and given a ticket home. Your CO wanted you to go on leave until you’d recovered, but you refused. You wanted to stay and fight. Demanded to stay and fight.” She paused and let out a short chuckle, though it became a cough. “Gosh, I think I had to order you to go to therapy, right? That sort of dedication is rare.”

Dismissively, Sol shrugged. “Thought that was just being a good soldier. I couldn’t abandon my siblings in arms at the front.” He couldn’t hold back the smirk growing on his lips, however.

“Most conscripts jump at the chance to go back home, but you’re still here,” Selenite added. “It’s impressive.”

“Thank you, Ma’am.” Sol felt a grateful smile meet his lips. “Glad to have made that impression.”

“Guessing the therapy helped?” Selenite asked.

Sol paused, mulling it over for a moment. “Yeah, I’d say it did,” he answered, with a confident nod. “I’m as effective as ever.”

Selenite smiled and exhaled. “Either way, thank Nightmare you were here Sergeant.” She tried to straighten up her uniform, high collar and everything. “Now give me the situation. You clearly know it better than I do.”

Sol cleared his throat. “I haven’t been anywhere else the last two nights. The enemy has advanced and laid mines. No sign of an enemy retreat or withdrawal. Your crew were the first friendlies I’d seen in a long time.”

Selenite put her hoof to her chin. “What kind of units did you see advancing?”

“Heavy infantry and combat engineers, I’d say,” Sol answered. “No vehicles, artillery, or aircraft.”

Selenite was quiet for a moment. “Okay. They’re probably setting up concealed positions far forward of the front lines, looking to ambush advancing units. Which means they could be concealed anywhere, ahead of us or behind us.”

Sol nodded. “Exactly.”

“Do you have any idea where we are?” Selenite continued. “Coordinates? Grid position? Noticeable landmarks?”

Sol felt a droop in his ears. “There’s this hole, and the sand, sand, oh and even more sand. Also the minefield, but you already knew that.”

“Understood,” Selenite said, though it came out like a groan.

One thing Sol had been trying to figure out the entire time was his exact location, but he just couldn’t do it. He didn’t have a map, he didn’t know any of the landforms, he could barely retrace his steps. It was desolate desert for miles in every direction and that’s all he knew. “Not exactly helpful to us in this position anyways, is it?”

“If I sleep and any oneriomancers, or the Empress herself, comes to my dreams, I can relay information back to them.”

Oh yeah, oneiromancy! Dream walking! It was one of those tricks that the Imperial Lunar Military had to communicate long distance, as distance didn’t matter in the dream realm. Sol had spoken with oneriomancers in his dreams before, but hadn’t had the chance this time. When he slept, he hadn’t recalled meeting any oneiromancers or having any lucid dreams. And even if he did, the only information he had to relay is ‘I’m alive, but behind enemy lines’.

“Sorry, but I don’t know our exact location,” he said.

“Well, if you don’t know, you don’t know. I definitely can’t sleep now, so we may as well do something.” Grunting, Selenite shifted her body to face uphill, opposite to where Sol looked. She prepared her SMG, bringing it up and awkwardly checking the magazine, as she tried to make her injured shoulder work. “You watch the road, I’ll watch the back.”

“You should rest,” Sol commented, looking over the Warmaster, making sure none of the bandages were coming loose.

“I’ve still got my eyes, Sergeant,” she replied. “If all I can do is keep watch, then keep watch I shall.”

At first Sol thought to protest, but he acceded. “Understood, Ma’am,” he said, then setting his focus on the road below. If he were speaking to a subordinate he may have insisted they just rest while he took up the burden. But, y’know, Warmaster and all. Besides that look in her eyes told him this wasn’t an argument he could win.

Silence fell gently, like a bedsheet. There were a few other bursts of small talk interrupting the quiet of the next few hours. Not much else to do.

That was how they remained. Minute upon minute. Hour upon hour.

Occasional signs of enemy activity. No sign of help.

Nothing to keep them company but themselves and the blazing heat of the invisible sun.

21:53 - 20/09/1005

Hence, the temperature drop hit them like an avalanche.

Already the temperature had fallen below freezing, and they could both feel it. Earlier on they ate an MRE each, which seemed to just make them feel colder. Still, better to be cold than to be cold and hungry.

Sol’s ears flicked against the biting icy wind, his rifle held against his body. He glanced at Selenite, who’d wrapped herself up in her wings as her teeth chattered. “You’ve been remarkably calm this whole time, Warmaster, all thing considered”

“Thanks,” Selenite breathed, her breath coming out in wisps of fog. “Really, I’ve got no choice but to stay calm.”

Sol blew out a breath, feeling the cold scratching at his skin and biting at his nostrils. It was clawing its way down his damn throat. “You cold?” His voice was jittered from his chattering teeth.

“I’m freezing,” she admitted. “How about you?”

“I’m fine,” Sol said, swatting away the question. He tried to stop his jaw from chattering, but the tension only made his face ache. His eyes darted around the foxhole until he spotted his blanket. “Ah, here. Use this.” He scooped it up and tossed it to Selenite.

Selenite caught the blanket and blinked, her eyes darting between the blanket and Sol. Her brow furrowed. “You look like you could use this as well.”

“I said I’m fine, I’ve been soldiering out here for a few days now, I’m used to it.” Sol forced casualness into his tone. “Get some rest.”

For a moment, Selenite hesitated, studying him with her gaze. But eventually, she wrapped herself up in the blanket.

Time passed, and the cold deepened. It crept into every crevice of the Foxhole, every crevice of Sol. He stayed focused, his rifle cradled in his forelegs as though its weight might shield him from the chill. His breath came in short, visible puffs, the air around him growing colder with each exhale.

Sol absently started fiddling with his night-vision goggles. The road ahead was empty, save for the occasional swirl of wind that kicked up loose sand. He glanced over at Selenite. “You’re good under there, right?”

Quite clearly, she was. She’d stopped shivering entirely, cocooned by the warmth of the blanket. “Are you?”

“Yeah.” His breath hitching as he tried to keep the tremor out of his words. He adjusted his grip on the rifle, almost cradling it. “Yeah, of course.” He tried to smile but his clattering teeth ruined the effect.

After a while Sol noticed Selenite’s stare pressing against him. For his part, Sol didn’t return the gaze. He kept looking all around them.

Her eyes scanned his trembling frame and the way he seemed to shrink into himself, his shoulders hunched against the cold. Her lips pressed into a tight line, and her brow creased.

Sol groaned. “Y’know, I don’t see what the point of this whole ‘eternal night’ thing is if we’ve still got a day and night cycle behind it all.”

Selenite quickly perked up. “Oh, there’s good reasons for it, though…” Her ears drooped forwards a little, eyebrows pressing together again. “I’m sorry, are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yes! It’s just-” Sol’s eyes darted around the foxhole. He spoke quickly, tightly pressing his lips shut between words hiding his chattering teeth. And then, he spotted it. “That a Marechester?”

Selenite blinked. Her eyes darted to and from Sol to her Marechester SMG. “My gun?”

“Yeah, that!” Sol nodded rapidly. “Ever used it in combat?”

“No?” Selenite tilted her head.

“Oh, it feels great to fire these things.” Sol sat up and grabbed the SMG, spinning it around in his hooves as his eyes traced up and down the barrel. “High-quality, reliable, and at an affordable manufacturing cost. Receiver a bitch to clean but it’s perfect when you need a lot of guns and don’t have a lot of time. Used all throughout the air force and navy, for good reason. I tell ya, if a bunch of hippogriffs tried boarding a warship I was crewing, I’d feel pretty damn confident with this in my hooves.”

Sol’s attention was solely on the Marechester. Not the cold. He needed Selenite to know, he was not shivering to the bone.

His jittering hoof traced the magazine. “Hm, you only got a thirty-two round magazine here. They’ve got fifty round mags too, though I might be biased for the fifty, being a unicorn and all. It's a bit harder to load such a heavy mag when all you’ve got are hooves.” He chuckled. No matter how much he spoke, his chattering teeth still stabbed through the air. “I mean, you know all that, don’t you?” He looked up at Selenite.

Silence hung for a moment. “Yes,” Selenite answered plainly.

“Yeah, of course you would,” Sol laughed with a shiver, eyes returning to the weapon. “I mean…”

Selenite rustled under her blanket. “Sol, that's all really cool, but, uh… you're not fooling anyone.”

Sol blinked at her, his ears swiveling forward. “Eh?”

Selenite’s lips curled into a soft smirk, and she tilted her head. “Your teeth are chattering louder than the innate chatter at a war council meeting.” She gave an exaggerated shiver for effect. “You’re freezing.”

“Oh,” Sol glanced down, a sheepish chuckle slipping out. His ears pinned back as he scratched at his neck with a forehoof. “Well... You’re my CO and you’ve got the only blanket. Not like I can deprive you of it.”

Selenite blew out a breath. “That's not what I'm suggesting,” she said plainly. “Would it help if I ordered you?"

Sol could’ve sworn she saw Selenite crack a smile there.

"Um…” Sol rubbed the back of his head. “Maybe?"

“Alright, Sergeant.” Selenite shifted slightly, lifting the blanket with one wing, presenting a space just wide enough to fit another pony. Her voice turned firm, as she looked at him with authority. “I order you to get under this blanket before your extremities start freezing off.”

“Oh!” Sol stuttered, a blush flashing on his cheeks.

This was far from the first time he’d had to huddle for warmth with a comrade. He’d done it with those who outranked him, and those who he outranked. Rank didn’t matter much when you equally risked freezing your hooves off.

This time instinctively felt different. And it wasn’t entirely down to the rank disparity.

“Eheh, I mean…” Regardless, he gave an awkward, bashful grin. “Yes Ma’am.”

His movements were slow and awkward, he pushed his goggles up onto his forehead and slipped under the blanket. At first, he kept himself rigid, a deliberate inch of space between their bodies. During any kind of contact, like when his side accidentally brushed against hers, he jerked back, muttering an incoherent apology under his breath.

Selenite must have noticed his nervous dance because, after a moment, she unfolded one delicate wing and draped it across his back. The wing rested against him like a leathery shield, and she gave him a gentle tug closer.

Sol released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Relaxed by her warmth and encouragement, he settled, pressing closer until their sides were flush. Her body radiated a steady and comforting heat, evaporating the chill that had sunk into his bones and muscles.

The blanket trapped their combined warmth, forming a cocoon of comfort. Sol could feel Selenite’s chest rising and falling, each breath a soothing cadence that matched his own. He’d tucked his hooves awkwardly beneath him, like a loafing cat. Selenite, however, dared to stretch hers out a little, their legs brushing together. Sol shifted at the touch, but settled quickly as warmth followed.

A content sigh escaped Selenite as she nuzzled into his shoulder, her muzzle burying itself in the thick fur. Sol felt his cheeks flush, but he couldn’t stop himself from dipping his head to nuzzle into her mane.

The world around them fell silent save for the distant desert breeze and the steady beat of their shared breaths. One could almost forget they were in an active warzone.

Soon, Sol pushed against the gentle silence. “I don’t think you told me why this whole eternal night thing exists.”

Selenite stirred, her ears twitching as she shifted her gaze upward. “Look up,” she said, her voice soft and inviting.

Following her lead, Sol rolled onto his back, his eyes lifting to the infinite expanse above. Stars as far as the eye could see, unspoiled by light pollution or water vapor. Even after all his time in the field, it never ceased to surprise him. They were such a rare sight in Manehattan. Selenite cleared her voice to speak.

“The eternal night is dark and omnipresent, but full of wonders,” she said, tone clear and steady, but reverent. “It is our message to all creatures of this world, unmissable to all who walk this earth, clear and comprehensible regardless of language and culture.”

Sol cocked an eyebrow. “And that message being?”

“Whether you’re in Vesalipolis, the Storm Lands, Rijekograd, anywhere, you see it. Every moment of every night. You look up and see proof of our power, our mastery over the sky itself, a reminder that they follow the rules of nature that we alone have the power to write and rewrite as we please. Much like the sight itself, the choice it presents is unavoidable and inevitable.

“You may reject it, shirk away from it. Those who choose to do that will always find themselves enveloped by its vastness, standing beneath its impossible strength.

“Yet to those who are receptive, those who embrace it, they are welcomed into a concert of unimaginable beauty. For as dark as it is, the night is a window to wonders beyond our mortal comprehension. Stars, comets, nebulas, other planets perhaps just like ours, entire galaxies. It is mezmerizing in its endless possibilities.”

Sol nodded along. “Hm.”

“That is the choice presented to all creatures of this world.” Selenite breathed. “Cower beneath the eternal night, or bask within it.”

“You sound like a moonspeaker,” Sol quipped.

“Thanks!” Selenite smiled. “Though I doubt you meant that as a sincere compliment.”

“Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t,” said Sol. “Also, bit of a flaw in your ‘universal message’ thing: You had to explain it for me to get it.”

“You may not have noticed-” Selenite tapped Sol on the forehead. “-but your brain did.”

Sol chuckled. “If you insist.”

As the moment passed, Selenite wrapped a leg around Sol’s shoulder. Encouraged by the gesture, he brought his own hooves out, hesitantly intertwining them with hers careful not to disturb her wounds or bandages. Soon there was nothing hesitant about it. Only the warmth, comfort, and reassurance they shared.

They settled down. Settled into each other. Soon, sleep would take them both, as they were embraced by the night.

02:51 - 21/09/1005

Sol’s eyes fluttered open. Selenite’s wings were wrapped around him.

That wasn’t that which awoke him, though. No, he felt an itch in his crotch. Damn, he needed to take a piss. Definitely the sort he couldn’t just hold in.

Carefully, he wriggled out of Selenite’s grasp. Selenite’s wings and limbs released him without resistance, still sleeping soundly. He brought his head back, only to stop upon realising Selenite’s fringe had tangled into his own hair. Pulling on her hair too hard would wake her up, this required him to be delicate.

A little annoyed, but not the least bit deterred, he held still and kept his breath steady. Magic flowed into his horn, deftly untangling and releasing the rough strands of hair without disturbing Selenite. He still knew a thing or two from foalhood, when he and the other fillies did each other’s manes during recess. Could probably braid Selenite’s mane up if she asked for it. Of course, that was all before he figured it was way more fun to play hoofball with the colts.

With their manes untangled, he carefully wriggled out of Selenite’s grasp and stood up. He made sure that Selenite was comfortably wrapped up in the blanket before proceeding.

He dragged his shovel across the bottom of the foxhole, creating a thin scrape in the ground. He did his business in the scrape and buried it. Hopefully, it’d provide the foxhole with a little moisture without being too unhygienic.

Honestly, being able to aim his piss after lacking the biology to do so for the first twenty-three years of his life? Huge improvement, unspeakable improvement, well beyond the affirming factor. It was like he’d been short sighted his entire life and he’d only just discovered glasses. Oh and the speed at which he could just go? Not needing to fuss about positions or anything like that? Wonderful.

Zipping his pants back up, he turned to Selenite. Still soundly asleep. Her long mane seemed massive and fluffy enough to serve as a pillow. He’d become quite familiar with that mane, having had a face full of it for the last few hours. Rather coarse and rough, more massive than her head, and becoming increasingly caked in dirt and sand. Shame for such a magnificent mane to be sullied with so much filth, but such was a soldier’s life.

He felt his hoof rise up to run through his own mane. Still mil-spec for a stallion, but with enough length for it to be smooth and flowing. Very fortunate he wouldn’t have to worry about pattern-baldness. At least once a week another stallion would throw a flirtatious comment at him based on his mane. Which, while sometimes annoying, was better than every other way he’d had his hair. He’d been through the phase of going clean shaven before, and all that resulted in was regret and a lot spent on ineffective mane growth potions. The less said about the time he grew the shittiest moustache of all time, the better.

Though even with the blanket in the way, Sol could see Selenite’s legs wiggling around restlessly. Like she was grasping at where she thought something should be.

With the blanket covering her up, he couldn’t see her rank badge or uniform. But at this point, neither of those mattered. Just a mare who needed help.

Ah, screw it. Sol was already awake. He’d dive under the blanket if he needed to, but as long as danger lurked out there, he couldn’t be passive. Besides, they were still behind enemy lines. Both of them resting was probably a luxury they couldn’t afford right now.

He prepared his rifle, checked it was loaded, and aimed it towards the road. Deep, focused breathes, in and out.

Eyes open, ears up, mind sharp, the cold night passed along.