I'm Bold and There're Wolves After Me
Silence was a rather strange concept when it came to the Everfree Forest.
Not that the forest couldn’t be silent, of course. Most of the time it wasn’t; the wooded realm was host to any number of living things living their lively lives, and they had a tendency to generate a sizable amount of noise in the process of doing so. If some form of unicorn sorcery could manage to capture an undisturbed sample of Everfree ambience, the caster would find themselves with a collection of rustling leaves, scurrying animals, crunching in the underbrush, and snarls, roars, and moans from the region’s larger creatures.
Yet whenever a pony, or any other sentient being, entered the depths of the forbidding woods, they would inevitably find themselves in eerie, distressing silence as their eyes darted about, seeking any signs of movement as the entire ecosystem seemed to go entirely still around them. At best, they could maybe hope to hear the occasional mocking hoot of an owl, maybe the softest of rustlings that could have come from any direction; maybe, just maybe, a distant howl.
But even if such a fortunate warning of imminent danger came, it wouldn’t be from the timberwolf that had actually snuck up on said sentient. That timberwolf would have been dead silent, and even the reeking odor of its breath carried by a breeze or the sound of twigs snapping and shifting as it lunged forward was rarely registered quickly enough for its prey to escape in time, even if they had wings.
And so it went; the forest would become very loud for a few short moments, and then silent.
There were a few precautions any being hoping to avoid such an encounter could take. Traveling in groups, especially three or more, could be enough to make a wolf think twice about going in for an attack, though it was far from a certainty. There were also some areas the wolves tended to steer clear of; the woods near the abandoned castle, for example, or the general vicinity of the animal caretaker’s cottage (the latter due in part to a heavy concentration of cockatrices). But the best hope of avoiding an encounter, especially for an ill-advised solo traveler, was to enforce the silence of the forest upon themselves. It wouldn’t always save them—in addition to impeccable hearing ability, timberwolves boasted a strong sense of smell that, by some fluke of maginature, wasn’t impaired by their own stench—but it would certainly help.
Most who dared to venture into the Everfree were well aware of this. Most also knew to get in and out as quickly as possible without attracting attention.
Most.
Ever since a certain night that had gone on far longer than usual—one that had proven quite fruitful for the timberwolves, and, had it stretched out any further, could have seen them cross beyond the bounds of the forest into Ponyville—the Everfree, ever so frequently, had found itself host to a number of surprise entrances from a new kind of sentient. Well, somepony might have argued they were sentient, though none had reached any other beings who might be capable of judging; one nearly made it as far as the resident zebra’s hut (which had its own protections in place against dendrolupine intrusion) before a set of splintery jaws had clamped down around its head.
For it seemed this new sort of being, a mostly hairless, two-legged type which seemed to exclusively make its entrances into the forest via a strangely controlled plummet from the sky, was apparently entirely lacking in any sort of common sense about the Everfree’s code of conduct.
It made noise. Lots of noise.
The trouble, of course, was the fact that other timberwolves existed, with virtually identical sensory capabilities, and would inevitably be drawn to the noises of this being. And it was almost always other timberwolves. On rare occasions, a manticore might happen to be close enough to witness a landing, and thus get the jump on silencing the bizarre biped, or a nearby cockatrice might catch them in its stare. Otherwise, however, the wolves’ senses were simply too keen to be beaten.
As such, any timberwolf desiring to be the one to make the kill would have to act quickly. Though some of these bipeds would attempt to fight back, generally in a desperate, uncoordinated fashion, it meant little. One wolf could bring them down easily.
Thankfully, the excess of noise made it possible reach a landing site quickly without being detected, even with such a sizable physical frame to account for.
Such was the case with the timberwolf that had arrived on the outskirts of a forest clearing. Its large wooden body was crouched behind a barricade of foliage, but its green eyes were able to pierce through and analyze the being that had just stumbled to its feet.
This latest biped was on the lankier side, wearing loose-fitting garb that swayed as its wearer looked around at its environment; not keenly enough, clearly, given it looked right past where the wolf was hidden. It seemed to have distinct facial features—a small mercy, for the green-skinned variants that were lacking in such had a vile taste to them. Predictably, it was making noise.
“Seriously, where am I? One minute I’m stepping out into the middle of the crosswalk after leaving Comic-Con, and there’s a big loud truck horn? I had right of way, don’t know what that asshole was complaining about. But how did I end up falling from the sky? And where the hell is this forest? This sure is a weird forest!”
As the odd creature continued to ramble, the wolf’s gaze penetrated further through the bushes that concealed it. The biped may not have been aware of anything around it, but the wolf was scanning for anything that could potentially get in its way—another predator making its own approach, an irregularity in the landscape that could cause it to stumble as it went in for the attack, or a possible setup for a trap. (Every now and then, one or more ponies would make the brave effort to capture a wolf for study—very foolish ponies, though ones that still had at least a modicum more sense in their heads than the thing in the creature’s sights.) But there was nothing; not even a bird fluttering around to investigate the commotion.
The birds knew better.
“Wait a minute! I do know this place!” the yowling continued. “It’s the Everfree! The Everfree Forest from My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, my absolute favorite show! But how can I be here, that’s all fiction! Unless… unless that truck really did hit me? Am I dead? Is this the afterlife? But My Little Pony is fiction! How is this possible?”
Satisfied that the pathway was clear, the wolf crept along the edge of the clearing, hidden in the inky darkness inside the treeline. The soft ground muffled the thud of its steps, and the creature measured every movement, careful not to place its feet on anything that would send its prey running. As it reached the optimal position, it crouched all the way down to the ground, tensing itself.
“Unless… no, this can’t be the afterlife.” The biped stepped forward triumphantly, though not enough to disrupt the wolf’s angle of attack. “It’s a new life! I’ve been reincarnated! I won’t be a worthless shut-in loser anymore, no no! I’m a human in Equestria! The ponies will love me! I wonder where in the timeline I am… I could tell them about the future! I’d be a prophet! Yes, yes, I’ll be revered, celebrated, so special that ponies will want to date me, maybe I’ll even dethrone Celestia herself and become their ruler, their god!”
The being threw its arms to the sky, and the timberwolf sprung into the air.
“Look out, world, here comes—”
And then there was screaming. And then there was silence.
