Death Valley

Bitterroot had had four drinks in her attempts to drown her thoughts. It worked… except for the thoughts she actually wanted to drown. Those thoughts kept swimming around her head in circles. Crossed circles. Not even as gracefully as dancers, but like a hyperactive dog stuck on a too-short leash, unpredictably and straining every step of the way. Absent anything else to keep her mind occupied, they seemed stronger than before.

She soon found herself traipsing aimlessly around Tratonmane, up streets, down streets, across streets, wherever. Anything to keep her head silent. She spotted simple shops that had slipped her by before. She saw foals playing indoors and outdoors. She noticed that some of the oil lamps were old and needed to be replaced. She heard the way ponies’ voices shifted in tone as she walked past, even though they didn’t move away.

None of that kept her thoughts at bay.

She realized she was slouching up the ramp to the mine shelf. Where was she even going? To the sign, to see the circle again? Was she hoping to see the cross or not? Which would confirm that she was going crazy?

…Was she going crazy?

Bitterroot immediately walked over to the rock wall next to the ramp and sat down against it, ignoring the chill that seeped through her furs. This was how it was going to be, then: stuck with the same thoughts, going over them over and over and over until she wore a rut down in her mind and they turned into a permanent fixation. She had no way of distracting herself, not up here. She didn’t know what there was in Tratonmane and there probably wasn’t that much anyway. Snow and dark and maybe a few establishments that she didn’t know. You could only have so much in a place this isolated. Assuming there were diversions she could go to, they might not be all diverting. Thoughts of the circle had punched their way through alcohol, they could probably do the same for something like dancing or reading.

And at the moment, she didn’t even have anyone she trusted to talk to about the circles. Plenty of ponies in Canterlot, even a few non-ponies, but up here, there were only three people, and they were all occupied. Ostensibly, they’d be back tonight. It felt like it’d be ages. And that assumed nothing would go wrong.

Bitterroot inhaled as deeply as she could to let Tratonmane’s air jab at her lungs as much as possible.

But she couldn’t be going crazy, could she? Arrastra had seen and recognized her brand. That meant something. She knew about the path up. She knew where the spear had been. And- And she’d already trodden this path of thought, over and over. She still knew nothing about it and yet she still insisted on going back to it. Because it was all she had. Either focus on the puzzle piece she knew she was missing, or wait as she watched her mind fray. With her luck, focusing on the missing piece was what was making her mind fray.

It was like picking at scabs. You knew you shouldn’t, but once you started, you couldn’t stop. She’d just be losing her sanity instead of a little bit of blood. Yay.

“Well. You seem down.”

Bitterroot raised her head. Carnelian was standing above her, looking down with mild interest. Bitterroot grunted, “Yep.”

“How bad?”

“Why do you care?” Bitterroot heard herself say.

“Because I don’t like seeing you looking like that.”

Uh-huh. Sure. Or was that just paranoia talking? Bitterroot ran a hoof through her mane and decided to give Carnelian the benefit of the doubt. “Right. Sorry.” She let out a sigh. “I’ve just been having… a really, really bad day.”

“Really?” Carnelian asked, her eyes wide. “Why? What’s going on?”

The question almost felt performative, coming from someone Bitterroot barely knew. She latched onto it anyway. “I’ve… I’ve been seeing things.”

Immediately, Carnelian’s brow furrowed, and suddenly she did look worried. “What… manner of things are you seeing?”

“It’s a circle,” Bitterroot said. “A- A crossed circle.” She reached out a hoof and sketched it in the dirt; Carnelian stared at it intently. “I’ve been- seeing it everywhere. I-” She almost talked about the brand, but she stopped herself. Too much at one time. “I feel like it- means something. How, how long have you- lived here?”

Carnelian’s head snapped up like a whip and she gazed intently at Bitterroot. “Why?”

“Because I want to know if, if you’ve seen it anywhere,” said Bitterroot, “and if you’ve only been living here a year, then- then maybe you not seeing it doesn’t mean much.”

“…I’ve been in Tratonmane for… a while,” said Carnelian, “and I’ve never seen anything like what you’re speaking of.”

“Alright,” said Bitterroot. “S-so it’s just me.” She forced out a laugh.

“Mmhh.”

Bitterroot sat there. Carnelian looked down at her. Bitterroot wasn’t sure what she’d expected. She knew Carnelian even less than she knew somepony like Arrastra. What was she going to do, spill her guts to a random stranger and expect results?

“I wish there was something I could do to help you,” Carnelian said, “but this is… something I have no experience with. Sorry.” She shrugged and walked off.

“Thanks!” Bitterroot hollered after her. No response. So much for any hope of friendship.

She groaned and massaged her temples, trying to think about something, anything else besides those circles. (Including the circles she was rubbing into her head…) Trains. She liked trains. The locomotive looked interesting, using stored magical energy in some way. That’d simplify its operation immensely. She should’ve talked about it with Tallbush back when she could find-

Tallbush. Town hall. Library. Maybe it wouldn’t work. Maybe it would. It’d be something.

Amanita could never, ever, ever make it as a hunter of any sort.

Everyone in the search party could still focus. Everyone except her. It was stupid of her to think they’d find Whippletree on the first day, she knew, yet that was what she expected, in the back of her mind. Strolling into Midwich Forest, rescuing Whippletree immediately, stroll back into Midwich, be hailed as the rescuing hero. She struggled forcing herself out of that mindset and always fell back into it once she stepped away.

Which made this practice, she supposed, but it was still annoying.

They were still on the west side of the river as they zigzagged across the valley. It wasn’t a large river, but still one you wouldn’t want to ford in this climate. They were heading south, technically, moving closer to Tratonmane bit by bit. Amanita could only register another swath of dark forest, but everyone else seemed fine with what they saw. Wolves continued to prowl around outside the light, although they didn’t attack again. Moments blurred together for Amanita as her legs grew sore. She followed the group as they walked.

But the group also seemed to have sore legs, because at some point they stopped in a small clearing for a quick rest. No supplies were passed out except for some water. Charcoal gazed out east, where the light was creeping up the cliff face. She flicked her ears, flicked her tail. Then she said, “I think we should follow the river.”

Some of the other ponies looked up. Arrastra wiped her mouth down and asked, “Why?”

Charcoal bit her lip. “W-well, it’s- Who, who was out here with us that first day? Or- second day, I guess.” Several ponies raised their hooves, and Charcoal continued, “You all remember how we got to that one durn- turn in the stream and it made us all feel weird?”

There was a general murmur of assent and Amanita was nodding. Once Charcoal had pointed out that the river didn’t follow the ley line, she’d just somehow known it was wrong.

“It’s, okay,” said Charcoal. “See, the wolves attacking every moon isn’t because of the ley line because that happened before the line changed, but they usually don’t go as far in as that one wolf did, so maybe that wolf was affected by the ley line, so maybe the river is related to that, so wait a minute the river changed course before the ley line did so that has nothing to do with it dangit.”

“It might,” said Code. “We still haven’t a clue as to what’s up with the ley line.”

“Aye,” said Arrastra. “An’ if’n we dinnae find Whippletree taeday, we-” She flinched and glanced down at the ground, rustling beneath her haunches. Without a word, she unslung her chainsaw, gave the cord a yank to get the crystal dynamo going, and smashed it into the nearest tree. The ground stopped rustling. Arrastra flipped the chainsaw off and nonchalantly continued, “It’s somethin’ tae try. I dinnae have ary qualms at tryin’ it now.”

“Hmm.” Charcoal looked up at the sky. “It’s getting kinda late… We might not get far on the river before-”

“Hey!”

The wolves scattered at the voice echoing through the forest and Amanita’s ears pricked up. The voice wasn’t nervous or panicked, just calling out for someone. She thought she recognized it… Varnish?

“Helloooooo! Arrastra?”

“Varnish?” Arrastra yelled out. “We’re o’er here! One o’ y’all horn ponies toss a light up, will ye?”

It wasn’t long before Varnish galloped his way into camp, although he wasn’t moving urgently or breathing heavily. “Everything’s fine at Tratonmane, I merely had a flash of inspiration,” he said casually, preempting any questions. “I cast some spells on the wood the timberwolf left behind, then compared it to the ley line-”

“What spells?” Charcoal asked. She got to her hooves, frowning. “I didn’t know you could do that.”

“I’ve lived here a while,” Varnish said airily. “Unlike you, I know what to look for.”

“That doesn’t explain-”

“If you work it all out,” Varnish said, “I believe the signature matches the way the ley line spreads out to the west.” He pointed at the western wall, where the darkness in Midwich was the deepest. “It appears the timberwolves might have a grove or something of the sort over there.”

Arrastra seemed skeptical as she looked. “Ye’re certain? We didnae hear nor see ary-”

“Trust me, they’re out there,” said Varnish. “They simply have spent so much time around night trees-” He knocked one of them. “-that they have become nocturnal.”

“Eh…” Charcoal was making little shakes of her head. “I… I’m not sure-”

“We’ve nothing to lose but time,” said Varnish. “Come on. I thought you wanted to save Whippletree.”

Arrastra’s wings twitched, and for a moment, Amanita thought Varnish had struck a nerve. Instead, Arrastra stood up and nodded. “Aye. Might as well. We dinnae have much of a plan, aryway.”

As the group headed westward, Charcoal trotted to catch up with Varnish. “So, uh, nobody could find you this morning. What was up with that?”

“Ah, well.” Varnish waved a hoof dismissively. “I’m old, you know how old ponies get.”

“I resent that,” Code said immediately.

“Aye,” said Arrastra, narrowing her eye.

“And what sort of magic did you use?” continued Charcoal. “I’ve never heard of anything like that for timberwolves, especially not with leftover branches.”

Varnish snorted. “It’s complicated.”

“We’ve got time.”

“I’m also interested,” said Code. “This could change quite a bit of what we know about timberwolves.”

“Well…”

Given something to do, even something as stupid as looking through a small-town library, Bitterroot’s spirits were raised slightly. Or maybe that was just the alcoholic buzz dwindling. It felt good, at any rate. It wouldn’t be long before Amanita and the others were back, right? Right.

A hunch began wiggling its way into her mind: she’d find Tallbush at the town hall. Ha, imagine. Well, if her luck was good, maybe it’d be good enough to needle him into letting them into the mine. Then she could feel like she’d accomplished something today. Yeah, worth a shot.

When Bitterroot reached the town hall, she squinted through the window to see- Huh. There were lamps burning inside. Maybe he was there. Out of habit, Bitterroot knocked at the door. She didn’t yell, just in case. Didn’t want to seem rude, after all. Her consideration was swiftly rewarded with approaching hoofsteps. Maybe they were a bit louder than usual, but Bitterroot paid that no mind. It could’ve been the echoes.

Then the door opened and Bitterroot’s stomach jumped into her throat.

Tallbush was angelic.

Old-school, “fear not” angelic.

His body blazed like a washed-out photo negative, so dark it hurt to look at, yet shining that blackness all the same. Angular patterns wreathed his body, never moving, always changing whenever Bitterroot so much as blinked. Lightning crackled from his mane, his tail, his fetlocks, trailing off into writhing runes in the air and emitting tangible heat that didn’t touch the snow. Intricate magic circles rotated in place of his irises and his polycored pupils were unfathomably deep voids, so deep that the tiny specks of light glistening in them could only be stars — that is, if they weren’t galaxies. Three gleaming horns adorned his brow, six restless wings girded his flanks, and eight legs supported him. Above his head burned a crossed halo that seemed less an object and more an iridescent warping of space.

Bitterroot felt rooted to the spot, like moving would be committing a heinous sin. She tried to speak. Her mouth, her tongue, her lungs all locked up.

“Hidy,” he said. “Need arythin’?” More pale darkness shone from his mouth and beneath his voice a thousand others whispered in harmony, a multitude of phrases in a multitude of accents in a multitude of tongues: “Whaddya want?” “¿Necesitas algo?” “Je, unahitaji chochote?” “Este ceva de care ai nevoie?” The thunderous song distorted Bitterroot’s mind, bored into her head and temples like a high-pitched whine, somehow even more piercing. She winced and cringed backward, nearly covering her ears.

“…You’un alright?” Tallbush asked in that unreal voice of his. “Ye see somethin’?” He looked behind himself; Bitterroot flinched back again at the heat of his mane. She glanced down slightly as she averted her gaze from that glare, and when she did, she saw a crossed circle radiating shadows where his cutie mark ought to be.

Tallbush turned back to Bitterroot and she forced herself to look into his eyes. His eyes that were so deep she felt like she could fall into them. “Ye’re lookin’ a touch outta fix- Erm, sick,” he said. “Are ye feelin’ alright? Can I get ye arything?”

“Um, n-no,” said Bitterroot. She took a single step back. It was the only action she could manage that wasn’t flying for the horizon at top speed. “I- just- I just need to- get some rest. Bad night last night. Headache.”

“If’n ye say so,” said Tallbush. He squinted at her. Bitterroot got the feeling his eyes were boring into her soul. “Hmm. Ye look it.”

Bitterroot forced herself to smile. “I’ll- be alright.”

No. No, she absolutely wouldn’t. Her heart was pounding so loud she was sure it could be heard across the valley. This was Tallbush? This… She didn’t even have the words. She was transfixed. She was horrified. She was awed in the original, Classical sense, before it’d been diluted down to “kinda impressed”. And he was the one who drove the train?

Or maybe she was seeing things. Yeah. Yeah. This just- had to be a hallucination. Like the circles she was seeing everywhere. Stress. This wasn’t real. Couldn’t be. Nothing was wrong. She was just seeing things that weren’t there. More and more. As well as feeling them. And hearing them. Yeah. Just that. No problem.

No problem.

No problem, sun blast it.

“Hold up…” Bitterroot’s soul was scrutinized again as Tallbush squinted at her. Her claim that it was a hallucination was feeling flimsier each second. His sigh was momentous. “Werenae you’un a-goin’ out intae the forest? Tae hunt up Whippletree.”

“W-well, I… Like I said, I wasn’t feeling the greatest. I t-tried to help, but-” Bitterroot forced out another smile like she was pushing her head through a thimble. “A-Amanita and Code and Charcoal are s-still out there, though,” I want to leave, I want to leave, I want to leave- “I was- I was just- I got turned around in the dark. W-wrong building.”

“Heh. Made that mistake meself, a few time. Get yerself indoors.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll- get there. B-be seeing you.” And she was away, all thoughts of the mine forgotten.

She was barely able to fly, she was shaking so much. That- That was- Bitterroot felt sick to her stomach, like she’d just seen something primal while unprepared. The lamps swam in her vision as she blinked. When she touched a hoof to her eyes, she came away with tears. She didn’t even know what she’d seen and it’d shot through her, all the way down to her basest instincts.

She staggered over and slouched against the Great Ash. Something that big and that solid meant the world was able to stop spinning. She breathed long and deep. In, out, in, out…

Eventually, her veins stopped buzzing and with one last breath, she was able to stand up straight. Her legs required force to bend, but she bent them. Step by step, she walked back to the Watering Cave. By the time she reached it, she was almost moving like normal again.

Her thoughts, though…

She collapsed into the nearest chair, cradling her head in her hooves. A few hours. She could at least hold out for that long. The group would be back in a few hours, and then she’d tell them everything. Just a few hours, right?

The search party stayed out into the night. The actual night, stars and all, not that it made that much difference on the valley floor. All the while, they roamed up and down the valley, picked apart the foothills, scoured the bottom of the cliffs, even had some of the pegasi and chiropteri investigate the cliff face. Nothing.

“You’re positive that they should be around here?” Charcoal said.

“Reasonably sure, yes,” said Varnish.

“How?”

“It’s complicated, you wouldn’t understand it.”

“I don’t think you understand it, because there’s nothing here.” Frustration like that sounded strange coming from Charcoal.

“She has a point,” Code said. “Which is more than you have.”

Varnish opened his mouth, paused, pointed. “I shall look over there,” he said. Soon, all that could be seen of him was his hornlight bobbing through the trees.

“Coward,” snorted Code.

Amanita and Charcoal exchanged glances. With a heat haze rippling from her body, Charcoal rolled her eyes and mumbled, “We should’ve followed the stream.”

Eventually, Arrastra declared that day a wash and they headed south to Tratonmane. Code quickly cornered Varnish and Amanita found herself drawn to the conversation, walking right behind the two of them. “Tell me,” said Code. “What did bring you out here? Depending on how it works-”

“Like I said, it’s complicated.” Varnish’s voice was strange; Amanita suspected he was trying to sound casual and airy but Code was poking at his nerves.

“If you can’t explain it simply, you don’t understand it well enough.”

“It would take quite a while.

“We’ve got time.”

“You’re an earth pony. You think you know more about magic than me?”

“Pretty sure, yeah.”

Varnish whirled on her. “Listen here, you arrogant-”

“You listen.” Code didn’t raise her voice, yet her words held more weight than his. “We’re looking for a pony, here. Someone who is, by all accounts, an important member of the community. Something you seem to have forgotten. And when you point us in a direction that goes nowhere, keeps us out this late-”

“It was a spark of inspiration that didn’t pan out, don’t you-”

“And that’s fine. That happens. But when we’re asking how you got that spark and you just wave off our inquiries, I have questions. Maybe it was a good idea and just needed a fresh pair of eyes to spot some small mistake you made.”

“I made no mistakes.”

“Prove it. Show me.”

“You wouldn’t-”

“My friend.” Code’s voice had gained a layer of ice. “I am the High Ritualist of Equestria. I have touched the foundations of the world and cavorted amongst the pillars of reality. Demons have cursed my name in rage when I bound them. I have laws of metaphysics named after me. Plural. Whatever spell you’re working, I think I can understand it.”

Varnish said nothing. He wrenched his head forward and glared at nothing. His hoofsteps fell a little harder.

“What? You’re not gonna tell me?”

He was not.

“If you’re going to waste our time and not tell us why, don’t come back tomorrow.”

Varnish set his jaw and still said nothing.

It was late by the time they reached the town again, late enough that the moon was just beginning to nudge its way over the eastern ridge. As they broke free of the treeline and trotted up the road, Arrastra worked her ways towards Amanita and the group. “Thankee fer yer help today,” she said.

“But we didn’t find Whippletree,” Amanita said. That was the important part, right?

But Arrastra waved her down. “Ach, we ken he’s alive. There ain’t no way we coulda kenned that without ye. We’ve still a chance at findin’ him. And if’n we dinnae…” Her pause lingered a bit too long. “Ye did yer best.”

When they finally reached the buildings, Arrastra flapped to the head of the group and waved for their attention. “I’ll be headin’ back out on the morrow,” she announced. “I’d mighty appreciate it if’n you’uns came wi’ me, but I get it if’n ye dinnae. Dinnae feel obligated.”

There were a few murmurs that of course they’d be there, and Amanita suspected the main reason there weren’t any more was because ponies were filing into the Watering Cave for a late dinner. Within moments, Arrastra and the Canterlotians were the only ones on the street. Arrastra didn’t seem too concerned, chuckling as she watched them leave.

Code stepped forward. “For what it’s worth, we’ll be there as well.” (Amanita wondered if Code was being presumptuous by making decisions for them, or wise in knowing that Amanita would still be there even if the choice was hers.)

“Thankee,” said Arrastra. She made a small bow to them.

Amanita wanted to leave right then, but an idea she’d tried suppressing for the whole day came rolling into her head in such a way she knew she couldn’t ignore. She tried swallowing to wet her throat. “So, uh… about Pyrita…”

The tension came on so quickly Amanita was sure she could feel the universe ratcheting it up. She definitely saw Arrastra’s wings tighten. Already, she was regretting asking, but oh, well. Too late now. “You’re sure there’s nothing in the mine that could’ve… affected her?” Amanita asked. “It’s- You saw I can, I can resurrect ponies, and- she-” She made a vague gesture at nothing.

“Amanita,” said Code softly.

“She- went in at the same time the ley line changed,” Amanita babbled. Somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to say that Pyrita had died in front of Arrastra. “That, that’s very… coincidental and, if it- turns out it’s not, then- then maybe we can get this sorted out sooner.”

Arrastra stared at Amanita, and for a moment, Amanita wondered if she was about to get punched in the nose again. But then Arrastra just shook her head. “Aye, I’m certain,” she said. “There ain’t a thing in the mine that’d hurt her.”

“You’re sure?” Amanita failed to not make her voice sound strained. That couldn’t be right. It just couldn’t.

“Aye. Nothin’.”

“Amanita,” Code whispered in her ear.

Amanita waved her off, but she got the hint. “Alright. Thanks, anyway.”

“Mmhmm.” A small nod. “Night.”

“Good night,” Code replied.

Amanita started walking towards the inn almost before Code was done speaking. Now that she was done walking, all of her aches and pains were coming on in full force. It’d been literal years since she’d walked that much, and back then, she’d had adrenaline and the threat of death pushing her onwards, keeping her from-

“W-wait.”

Amanita turned around. Arrastra was staring intently at her. Her wings were rustling and one of her hooves kept scraping at the snow. She opened her mouth, closed it again.

“Did you want to say something?” Amanita asked.

Arrastra flexed her wings, then shook her head. “…Nay. Nothin’.” She gave them one last look, then winged off into the night.

“She’s lying, isn’t she?” Charcoal asked.

“Probably,” said Code. “But I’m too hungry to figure out why. Let’s get dinner.”

But before they could take a step, two dark shapes descended into the light: Midwinter and Carnelian. They landed between the trio and the inn and they were both looking at Amanita with borderline hunger in their eyes. “We heard you resurrected a pony,” Midwinter said unprompted before she’d even folded her wings back up.

“Yes. Crosscut.” Weariness was wiggling its way into Amanita’s muscles. “If you’re interested, talk to her.” She tried to step around.

Midwinter moved to block her. “Respectfully, she is not the one who performed the resurrection. That would be you.”

“You must be incredibly talented,” said Carnelian. She was gazing at Amanita with something uncomfortably close to awe. “And you’ve been under our noses, all this time… We should’ve known from the spell you cast on the bear…”

“How did you do it?” Midwinter asked, taking a step forward, seemingly unconsciously. “This could change everything…”

“Circle phoenix down toadstone runes,” Amanita said. “Look, can I talk to you tomorrow? I’ve been walking around Midwich Forest all day.”

“And Varnish won’t even admit he screwed up after sending us on a wild spruce chase,” said Charcoal. “…No, wait, goose. Goose chase.”

“If he does that again, I’m going to kill that incompetent fool,” said Code, pawing at the ground with her ears back. “He won’t even tell us how he came up with that route.”

“Did we chase gooses often?” muttered Charcoal. “Why is that a phrase?”

Amanita rubbed her forehead. “It’s been a long day for me. I’m tired and hungry. Don’t make me need to resurrect you. Seriously.”

Midwinter twitched. “Apologies,” she said, inclining her head. “Tomorrow, then?”

“Tomorrow,” said Amanita. Why did people always feel the need to confirm everything?

Midwinter nodded again and soon she was gone. Carnelian stayed right where she was. “How are you so… restrained?” she asked. “If I knew necromancy that well-”

“I’m not in Canterlot, so the word ‘necromancer’ isn’t exactly a welcoming one,” Amanita said. “Tomorrow. Please.”

“…Very well,” Carnelian said, her voice clipped. “I’ll hold you to it. You are a very interesting pony, Amanita.” She turned around and marched into the darkness, flicking her tail.

“And don’t murder anyone!” Amanita called after her.

That made Carnelian stumble. She looked over her shoulder and blinked. Her wings twitched.

“Don’t murder someone so I can bring them back!” Amanita said. “We don’t murder ponies for testing!” Anymore.

“But if you keep me from my food for any longer, I’ll murder you!” Code yelled.

“Ah. Well…” Carnelian flexed her wings and smiled. “You should never let a pony get in the way of a good meal. Eat well!” She cheerfully waved at them and walked off.

“Feed me,” Code growled at no one in particular, stomping towards the inn.

Bitterroot stared at the remains of her dinner. Before, she’d been too hungry to wait for the search party to return; now, it wasn’t sitting well in her stomach. Great.

The Watering Cave’s common room was empty except for her, a few late-nighters, and Cabin. Nobody was saying anything to anyone else and the air was very still. Bitterroot sniffed; the scent of vegetables mingled with that of lamp oil.

Had something happened to the group? They had some pegasi to fly back if something went wrong, right? But Tratonmane hadn’t heard anything. Or- she hadn’t heard anything. Maybe she’d just been in the wrong place at the wrong time and missed-

She jumped as the door banged open and ponies began pouring in. There wasn’t any worry or concern among them. Weariness, but not- Then, after the flow seemed to have stopped, Amanita and the others entered. Amanita noticed Bitterroot and beelined over. “Hey,” she said.

“Hey,” said Bitterroot. “Sorry I ate before you.” That was what she said?

“You’re fine, it’s late. How’re you feeling?”

“Awful.” That was how she put it?

“Really? Worse than-”

“You, you’re probably hungry.” Bitterroot gestured vaguely at the bar. “We can talk after you have dinner.” Was she martyring herself to keep them comfortable?

Well, they got food. Even in Tratonmane, calling it “dinner” was giving what was on their plates more extravagance than it possessed. But the Canterlotians, everyone in the room, dug in with gusto. If their days had been as long as Bitterroot’s, she sympathized. Some of the ponies glanced at Amanita every now and again, but never with the vitriol they’d had before.

Bitterroot watched intently as the food vanished. She was tensing up. Why was she tensing up? Was she that eager to talk to them? Probably. She had so much she needed to get out when no one was around to listen. No one noticed and she wouldn’t have cared if she did.

When the plates were almost empty, Bitterroot stood up and mumbled, “I’ll be right back.” Her head was swimming; maybe she’d been in the musty common room for too long and the open air would do her some good.

The air was cold and getting colder, and the snow bounced light around in strange ways. Bitterroot breathed deeply, trying to center herself. Wind played across her muzzle, stealing her heat but making new sensations for her. She looked up, out of Midwich, at the clear sky, at the stars, at the moon peeking over the ridge. Amanita was back. She could do this.

But at the thought, something sizzled through her veins, making her twitch. She forcibly flexed her wings; they felt too stiff for what she’d done that day. Her head buzzed as the scents around her started spiking in intensity. Something shifted in her chest, beneath her skin.

This was new. This wasn’t stress. There was genuinely something wrong with her.

Bitterroot staggered back into the inn, wincing at all the smells. Her breath was raspy, her vision was soupy, and she had trouble staying upright. Something ground against her blood like sandpaper. Her hearing was distorting. Where was her table?

Amanita was the first to notice; she immediately scrambled over to her. “Whoa, hey,” she said soothingly as she gave Bitterroot something to lean on. “Are you feeling okay?”

“N-no,” croaked Bitterroot. She slammed into the table, jarring plates and knocking over a cup, as she slumped over it. Her breath was clammy and her mouth had too much saliva. Was she too cold or too hot?

“Okay, easy.” Code was up and rubbing Bitterroot’s back. “How long have you felt like this?”

“Just- a few- moments.” There was something in her throat. Something was growing in her throat. “B-before I s-stepped outside, I-”

A sudden migraine threatened to split her head open. As she fell back, howling in pain, branches erupted from her eyes.