Death Valley

Amanita ached absolutely everywhere. Even in the leg that wasn’t there anymore. Phantom limb pain sucked.

After securing Midwinter, the rest of the day had ensured that she’d sleep like a log. Against Bitterroot’s and Code’s objections, she hadn’t just stopped at the resurrections; she’d banished and helped reinter the zombies, helped rebury the Ash’s roots as best she could, helped clean up the worst of the train wreckage and look for bodies, explained herself over and over and over and over and over… No wonder Code had reacted violently to the threat of repeated explanations. And that was without aches slowly building in her body. She’d only meant to take a nap when she went to her bed, but now she was waking up and something in her told her it was the next day.

Her dressings probably needed changing. Amanita rolled out of bed and tumbled onto her side when she missed her leg, even though she’d just thought about changing dressings that she wouldn’t have if it were still there. Grunting, Amanita managed to push herself up. She’d put a pile of medical supplies next to her bed before going to sleep and pawed through it to find what she needed. Even with magic, having one less limb to manipulate with was awkward.

But she soon had her wound cleaned and tied off again. The effort involved meant she was… not wide awake, but awake. Not that her aches would’ve let her fall asleep again, anyway. She limped to the window and peered up. She could just barely make out the transition from black to dark dark blue above, where the cliffs stopped and the sky began. The sun was going to rise somewhere out there, even if not for a while. With the weight of the ley line lifted from her withers, she wanted to see the sunrise, see some brightness in a dark world, but she was sore all over, and with her missing leg, she doubted she could-

No. Screw that. Amanita bundled up. She was going to see the sunrise.

Easier said than done. This was the first time Amanita had walked any significant distance without being hopped up on adrenaline and her three-legged gait felt awkward. She had to put more focus into staying upright, and that was less focus into her hornlight or sense of direction. The light was dimmer than usual and she kept losing track of where in Tratonmane she was. Her head spun and half the time she didn’t know which direction she was heading in.

By the time she reached the coal breaker, her front leg was throbbing worse than ever and her heart was pounding and she was practically sweating. But she was going to see the sunrise. There was a lot of debris around the breaker; Amanita rooted through it and found an adequately-shaped branch. Long enough to reach up to her chest, a crook at the right spot to rest in the join between her barrel and her shortened leg. It even extended up past her head, like a staff, but she didn’t bother shortening it.

She glanced up. The blue was a little bit brighter, but not sunrise bright.

She found the path Bitterroot had led them up… two days ago? It felt like forever. It was smooth enough that she could walk it without too much difficulty, and with her makeshift staff, Amanita made good time. Arguably better time than in Tratonmane, even, since she had only one clear way to go. Up and up and up. Even with the slope, the staff helped immensely.

Orange flecks were creeping into the sky once she finally reached the top. She crested the final ridge, panting. The mountains were spread out all around her, dim ridges poking through mist and reflecting the last of the starlight. The horizon, strange and jagged, was in a hazy relief against the increasing orange of the sky. Amanita locked her knees and stood there, enjoying the solitude.

It was funny. She had a knack for unwittingly blundering into long-laid plans and just utterly wrecking them, didn’t she? Circe and her soul jar, High Gloss, and now Midwinter… It was weird. Maybe she was drawn to conspiracies for some reason or another. Destiny. Harmony. Whatever. There were worse ways to be an instrument of fate, if that was what she was. At least she could ensure more people were walking away.

And for something that wasn’t supposed to involve necromancy… she’d done an awful lot of it the past few days. Felt good doing it, too — when it worked, anyway. She’d done things that had impressed even other necromancers in technical skill. And a week ago, she’d been worried about being replaced by regular ponies. With some perspective… she was still worried, because she was a little worrywart who’d started adulthood supremely messed up and now had some actual growing up to do.

At least the sunrise was nice.

“I can hear ye.”

Amanita flinched at the voice. Leaning on her staff, she pushed some more magic into her horn and looked down. Two ponies were further down the slope, sitting close to each other. A chiropterus and an earth pony. Arrastra and Fuligin. “Sorry,” Amanita said. “I just wanted to see the sunrise. I didn’t know you were up here.”

“You’d best find another spot.”

Amanita almost moved on reflex, but something in Fuligin’s voice made her pause. It was flat. Expressionless. Resigned.

And he was a vampire outside before the sunrise.

Scree bounced out from beneath her hooves as Amanita slid down the mountain. The staff wasn’t much of a help. She managed to skid to a stop next to Fuligin, where she dropped onto her haunches. “Why?” she asked.

Fuligin was silent. Arrastra was silent. They didn’t say anything for a long while. When Fuligin finally spoke, his words came out with the blankness of obligation. “I recomember losin’ my wife. I recomember gettin’ mighty suspicious o’ the newcomers. I recomember dyin’ tae them. An’… I recomember everythin’ I did afterward.”

His tail twitched. “They wiped parts o’ my brain clean an’… told me they wished tae keep others frae dyin’. Like my dona. And I believed ’em. Went along with ’em. Let ’em dae things tae me. ’Til what we were daein’ got worser an’ worser. ’Twas ages afore I mustered up the nerve tae be honest wi’ meself. I got some of ’em. They got me. We started over. And we did it all again.”

Fuligin shuddered and closed his eyes. His voice had gotten quieter when he spoke again. “I was where they tested e’erythin’. I helped ’em build their cusséd immortality spells up. An’ I… did things wi’… b-bodies an’ s-souls…”

Arrastra wordlessly reached out and laid a leg over his withers. Fuligin hung his head. “I helped ’em,” he almost whimpered. “I let ’em rip me apart. I cut up me neighbors an’ countrymares. I missed decades ’cause of ’em. An’ they kept bringin’ me back. Varnish thought ’twas funny. Like watchin’ a rat daein’ its best tae climb frae a bucket.”

“I’m sorry,” Amanita said.

“An’ I cannae feel nothin’,” said Fuligin. “I cannae tell cold frae hot. I cannae feel the ground ’neath my hooves. I cannae even eat nothin’. This ain’t livin’. An’ I wish tae see the sun again. Jes’ once.”

“We talked about this yesterday,” Arrastra said. “His own home’s a strange place tae him. I’m all the ponies he kens. He’s got a plumb awful past. An’ I dinnae wish him tae have the cursed life he’s been livin’.”

“Death’s comin’ fer all of us, in time,” Fuligin said. “Leastaways now, we’re-”

“I can help you,” Amanita said, almost reflexively. “I can bring you back to life. Proper life. Here, now.”

Fuligin and Arrastra both turned to look at Amanita, Fuligin vaguely surprised, Arrastra in shock. Amanita swallowed nervously, but her path was set. There were still some deaths she couldn’t fix. If she couldn’t help him… “Didn’t, didn’t you hear that I brought Midwinter back? I can do the same for you. I’m a necromancer.”

Arrastra sucked in a quiet breath, but Fuligin just looked back to the horizon. “Mighty thoughtful o’ ye,” he said halfheartedly. “But I’ve made up me mind. I ain’t the sort o’ pony ye’d wish tae save.”

“Forget about me,” Amanita said. “Do you want to live?”

Fuligin nickered in disgust. “Workin’ fer Midwinter long as I did… Like I deserve it,” he muttered.

“Deserve’s got nothing to do with it,” Amanita replied. “If everypony who deserved to die did, I wouldn’t be here.”

She watched as the sky notched another shade towards orange. “I’ve done terrible things in my life. Killed ponies without thinking about it, just because I thought they’d be useful to me. I wasn’t tricked into doing it. I wasn’t lied to. I wasn’t forced. I did it consensually and fully aware. By the time I came to my senses, I didn’t deserve to live. But I wanted to change and I was given a chance to. And now, here I am, as turned-around as I can be, Equestria’s first licensed necromancer, one of the saviors of Tratonmane. So what sort of pony would I be if I didn’t give that chance to other ponies?”

The wind whistled. Arrastra opened her mouth to say something, closed it again. Fuligin didn’t move. The sky brightened.

“And for the record,” said Amanita, “you saying you don’t deserve to live tells me you do. Because what sort of pony would you be if you were comfortable with what you did? Like Midwinter and her family. But you hate it. You’re remorseful. You won’t do it again.”

Brighter.

“You realized what you were doing was wrong faster than me, at any rate.”

Fuligin started blinking rapidly and his legs trembled. He looked at Arrastra. “W-what’re ye thinkin’?” he asked quietly.

“I-” Arrastra looked back and forth between Fuligin and the sky. “I’m behind everwhat choice ye make, Pa.” Her voice technically wasn’t shaky.

Fuligin returned his gaze to the dawn, but he wasn’t looking at it. His lips twitched as he thought.

Brighter.

Amanita wanted to say more, but she’d run out of things to say that weren’t platitudes. Everything she could pick out was just condescending truisms, the sort of thing that-

“I want tae live.”

Brighter.

“I’m- so plumb tired o’ bein’ numb,” Fuligin said. “I- want it tae end. One way or another.”

“You’re sure?”

Fuligin opened his mouth. No sound came out. He nodded.

“Alright. This won’t hurt.”

Brighter.

In a way, it wasn’t a full resurrection, not really. Most of the work had already been done for her. But as she pulled her magic in, Amanita could only think of it in terms of a resurrection. Metaphorical or physical, it didn’t matter. She was giving Fuligin his life back.

The metaphysical framework around Fuligin’s soul was different from the one that had been around Midwinter’s. It was awkward, hodgepodge, haphazard, ideas being thrown at the wall to see what stuck. Symptoms of being a prototype. It was probably causing him problems without him even realizing it. As Amanita’s spell went buzzing along those threads, they unraveled easily, discarded energy falling back into reality. Amanita grabbed that energy and pushed it away from Fuligin in a brief shower of sparks around him. As the magic dispersed, the sky grew brighter still. And finally, the first rays of the sun hit Fuligin in the face.

He flinched back, instinctively squinting and putting up a leg to block the worst of the glare. But as he adjusted, he blinked and stared at his hoof. He looked down, at the shadow it cast across his chest. He looked over his shoulder, at the shadow he was throwing across the coruscating mountaintop snow. The mists from his mouth showed that he was breathing slowly. That he was breathing at all.

He looked at the sun again. A minute chuckle escaped him and he barely grinned, as if embracing life too hard would snuff it out like a stiff breeze would a flickering match. But as the sun continued upward, the fire of his happiness caught; tentative hope blossomed into elation and tiny giggles grew into laughter as he stood up. Rearing, tears streaming down his face, he howled with joy as he watched the sun rise for the first time in over half a century.

He dropped back onto his haunches, wrapping his legs around himself. “I’m cold,” he said, smiling. “Been sae long since I’ve been cold… Aye, this… This is livin’.”

Fuligin practically collapsed on Arrastra, almost weeping. “I’m sorry,” he said as he squeezed his daughter. “I- I never shoulda left ye- Afteren yer ma- I- I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I-I’m s-sorry-”

“I love ye, Pa,” said Arrastra, squeezing back. “I ken what losin’ family’s like. I dinnae blame ye.”

“Ye’re… Ye ought tae be so young… I’ve… missed all yer life…”

“We’ve a few years left together. ’Tis more’n we had last week.”

“Aye.” Fuligin pulled out of the hug, although he nuzzled Arrastra on the neck. “I saw what… ye’ve been daein’ fer the town. Even that little bit gives me a pride. I- I wish yer ma were here tae see ye.”

“…Tell me about ’er.”

“What?”

“Ye knew ’er better’n me. Tell me about ’er an’ I can tell you’un about Pyrita. It…” Arrastra wiped at her muzzle. “It ain’t goin’ tae make up fer what we lost, but… ’tis somethin’.”

“Aye. I-I can dae that. Yer ma-”

Quiet as she could, Amanita stood up and slunk away. She’d seen the sunrise.

Amanita’s aches had subsided to dull throbs by the time she reached the Watering Cave again. Her heart was pounding with exertion and her mouth was dry. Ponies were filtering in, in that strange state of “What do I do?” that always happens after something major. Code was sitting at a table, hmming and hahing to herself as she scribbled something down on a scroll. The runes she’d etched into her skin yesterday had fully scabbed over (with the exception of the sigil beneath her eye, which was gone completely), so now she just looked beat-up rather than intimidatingly occult. She looked up as Amanita collapsed across from her. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” wheezed Amanita in between breaths.

“Please don’t put me through the same malarkey that Bitterroot did.”

“I’m fine. I just went up to the canyon rim to see the sunrise.” Amanita managed to push herself up. Her throat was burning and she wanted water.

Code’s eyebrow went up like a drawbridge. “After yesterday, you were able to go that far up?”

“I once spent an hour in a freezing river, then had to dig a bullet out of my shoulder with a knife and cauterize the wound. I can handle a little climb.”

“…Huh.” One of Code’s ears twitched. “Do you need anything?”

“Water.”

Code retrieved a jug and mug from the bar, and several full drinks later, Amanita’s throat felt normal again. She wiped her mouth and asked, “So what’re you working on?”

“The letter to Princess Twilight. I’m still… sorting things out.”

“You didn’t send it yet?”

“Trying to pare it down to a reasonable size for an official report while still having it make sense is proving… tricky. I have to filter it through about a dozen different sources, including a tutelary-”

Amanita raised her head. “The Deormont? Why?”

“It told me what happened to Pyrita when no one else knew,” said Code. “Short version: she went to Midwinter’s to talk about the water pressure. She did so late, when Midwinter had asked to not be bothered. Midwinter had asked to not be bothered because that’s when they have homunculi cleaning up the place. Pyrita saw them, made some assumptions about Midwinter being a secret dark mage, and panicked. She ran to the Deormont, begging for help, but she’d pushed herself so hard that she collapsed, perhaps because of a heart attack. In her panic, Pyrita didn’t ask the Deormont the right thing, and because it was a tutelary, it couldn’t act directly. But the ley line had drawn ponies here in the first place-”

“So the Deormont changed the ley line in the hopes of drawing attention?”

“Precisely. It’s probably already shifting it back to normal.”

Amanita blinked twice. “So… we didn’t need to do anything.”

“No. We needed to help with the vampires. Which we did.” Code inked out a few more words, then said, “If we’d been told of it on the first day, we could’ve talked to it and called in the cavalry on the second day.” Her voice was a touch too level to be casual.

“Hmm.” Amanita’s leg throbbed.

Her ears started pivoting about, picking up snatches of all the other ponies’ conversations. Yesterday, at least the part she’d been awake for, had been full of enough work that nobody really had time to think of the implications. Now, a night had passed, possibly a sleepless one, and everything was really sinking in.

“-dinnae feel safe drinkin’ water nae more-”

“-thought me an’ Carnelian were friends-”

“-out in the forest? If’n that one pony was responsible-”

“-still dinnae feel right-”

“-if’n they didnae find everypony helpin’ ’em-”

“-dinnae need tae support the bunkers-”

“-shower still ain’t hot-”

Whoever Princess Twilight was sending to Tratonmane really had their work cut out for them. Amanita considered herself lucky in comparison, even with her missing leg.

Charcoal came bouncing down the stairs and over to their table. “Hey, Code?”

“Yes?”

“I’m gonna go see if I can bully Tallbush into letting me talk to God.”

“Okay. Have fun.”

Charcoal saluted and made for the door.

“And if you can’t, come find me and we can bully him together!” Code called out. “I’d like to talk to God as well!”

“Will do!” And Charcoal was gone.

Amanita groaned and stretched. She wanted to lie down, but she didn’t feel like going upstairs. “I’m gonna sit outside,” she grunted as she pushed herself up. “Come find me if you need any help.”

“Feel free to take some painkillers,” said Code. “You look like you need them.”

“Probably, yeah.” Amanita left without looking for any painkillers.

The Great Ash was in its proper position, and aside from some oddly positioned dirt, it was hard to tell it’d even been moved. At least, for Amanita. The Tratonmanians had said it was okay, but they’d been awfully quick to get away from Amanita once they’d said so. Maybe they’d just been too freaked out to argue. She couldn’t blame them. She could ask again in a few hours.

Amanita limped over to the Ash and lay against it, closing her eyes. She let her soul drift, feeling the magic in the ground. She could feel the ley line, already different from what it’d been before. Different how, she couldn’t say, but it… felt right. Just… absolutely right, set perfectly back into place. And yet, Amanita didn’t have the slightest whiff of the Deormont. Whatever a whiff was. Was it even magic? Something like that, beyond the bounds of this world… It probably couldn’t be directly felt by magic. More things in Elysium and Equus. Code was going to have a field day.

Bitterroot came sidling out of the Watering Cave and dropped down next to Amanita. “You doing alright? Code said you went and saw the sunrise.”

“I’m fine,” said Amanita. “Achy, but fine.” Most of her aches didn’t have anything to do with her trek, anyway. She’d fallen off a roof; she’d probably ache for a week.

“Good.”

“Met Arrastra and Fuligin up there.”

One of Bitterroot’s ears twitched. “Huh. Yeah, I guess after yesterday, you’d want to-” Her voice suddenly came to a halt. She blinked and her wings tightened as she sat up straight.

“He’s alive,” said Amanita. “Alive alive. He was… feeling overwhelmed. I talked him through it. He’s good now.”

Bitterroot’s ears were stiff, but she nodded. “Good. I’d hate for… yeah.”

“He and Arrastra are making up for lost time. Talking about the family they each missed. The… ones who died. Pyrita for Fuligin, his wife for Arrastra.”

“You gonna remind them about calling their family’s spirits back?”

“Not yet. I don’t want to overwhelm them.”

“…Celestia, that’d be a lot to take in.”

“Yeah. Soon, though. Maybe after lunch.”

Code came trotting out of the Cave with a bag stuffed with stuff. With an impossible ease, she swiped out a circle, set a scroll down inside it, and went about performing a ritual. Amanita didn’t recognize it and tried to piece it together from the ingredients; translocative, but also something to do with dragons? Weird.

“Code told me about the Deormont and Pyrita,” Bitterroot said. “How it called us here. Crazy, isn’t it? This all started because somepony’s water pressure was too high.”

“That’s not even the craziest thing.” Amanita pushed herself up into a sitting position. “I was sent out here to learn something. Applied ritualism beyond necromancy. Ley sanitation.”

“Yeah? So?”

“I didn’t learn a sunblasted thing. The corruption of the ley line was caused by a god who’s already fixed it. I didn’t do a single ritual related to it. All I did was run into some mearhwolves and vampires.”

“You cured some vampires, though. How many ponies can say that?”

“And I’m sure that’s going to be a huge help when I run into one of the many, many vampires in Equestria.”

“If Midwinter could figure it out, somepony else could, too.”

“…Yeah.”

“You also threw together a ritual on the fly to cure a mearhwolf.”

“Heh. Yeah.”

As Code’s voice wavered with the last voice of the ritual, magic twisted within her circle and a sudden plume of green fire consumed the scroll. The smoke, oddly glowing and sparkling in the dark, rushed up and out of Midwich in an eyeblink in defiance of the wind. Code nodded to herself and trotted back inside the Cave. Must’ve been the message to Princess Twilight.

Bitterroot spoke up. “So… everything we did over the past week…” She made a vague, general gesture. “Does that make us divine intervention?”

“Hmm?”

“Divine intervention. Tratonmane had a problem, we came here by the actions of the Deormont, we fixed the problem. We intervened thanks to the divine. Hay, I just tagged along on a whim and I wound up talking to the Deormont.”

“The Deormont didn’t call us, specifically. It was more a message in a bottle than a calling.”

“We still came, didn’t we?”

“Eh. I guess, but it’s not that satisfying.”

Bitterroot snorted. “Oh, come on. Not even Twilight’s been divine intervention.”

“Celestia sent her to Ponyville to reform Nightmare Moon.”

“Celestia’s not divine.”

“…An immortal alicorn who moved the sun and moon for a millennium isn’t divine?”

“No. She’s not… transcendental enough. She’s just… big. Look, I was touched by the Deormont, I’ve felt the divine, I know what it’s like. And Celestia? Powerful and extraordinary, but not divine.”

“Ehh.” Amanita shrugged. “I dunno.”

“C’mon. You’re turning down the chance to be divine intervention?”

“I’m a moral necromancer. I’m already one in a billion. Probably rarer. You can be divine intervention if that makes you feel better.”

“I will be divine intervention. I was the one marked by the Deormont. So there.”

“You do that.”

They sat there for a while, not doing much of anything. Amanita definitely didn’t feel like doing much, even getting up to get out of the cold. Her aches were deep and the cold kept them down. The sky ticked towards brighter and bluer. This wasn’t too bad. If she didn’t ache so much- Screw it, who was she trying to impress. She needed painkillers. She wobbled to her hooves-

“Colonel!” Tallbush yelled from the town hall, making Bitterroot flinch. He didn’t quite stomp over to the Cave, followed by Charcoal. “I wish tae speak wi’ ye!”

“C’mon!” protested Charcoal. “Is really that bard- hard to let me-”

“The Deormont ain’t the sort o’- thing that ye can gob with!” Tallbush snapped at her.

Amanita and Bitterroot exchanged a look and a grin.

“Is it, though?” Charcoal asked, one ear down. “Bitterroot was able to talk to it real easy, and she was-”

“Ye’re messin’ wi’ sacred ground an’ I cannae jes’-”

Code strode out of the Cave, unperturbed. “What’s up?”

“Charcoal here-” Tallbush waved a hoof at the kirin in question. “-wishes tae speak wi’ the Deormont. About nothin’.”

“The nature of its being, actually,” Charcoal stage-whispered.

“Yes,” Code said. “And?”

“And- And ye dinnae have wee chats wi’ gods!” said Tallbush.

“Why not?”

“-Because-! Well, I-” Tallbush pawed at the ground, his ears back. “Listen, ye cannae-”

The air cracked and, for a quarter of an instant, lavender light brighter than the sun illuminated the entire valley. When the spots had cleared from Amanita’s vision, she saw Princess Twilight herself hovering over the scene with a dozen armed and armored guards arranged beneath her. Code and Charcoal were already bowing, while Bitterroot was blinking and scrambling to her hooves. Amanita didn’t feel like being decorous at the moment, so she just waved. “Hey, Princess,” she called out.

Princess Twilight waved back. “Hi, Amanita.” She lowered herself to the ground. “I received your message, Colonel.”

“So you did,” said Code. “And before you go any further, this is Tallbush, the Duke of Tratonmane.”

Tallbush was utterly stone faced as Code pushed him forward. “Princess,” he enunciated flatly, stiffly doing the smallest possible motion that could be remotely called a bow.

In return, Princess Twilight bowed back deeply, so deeply even Tallbush looked embarrassed. “Your Grace Duke Tratonmane,” she said. “I would like to formally apologize to you, your duchy, and all its inhabitants for the ways the Fuel Vassalage Commission has neglected you. With your help, I’d like to figure out how we can make any sort of amends.”

Tallbush coughed as he shuffled his weight around. “W-well, ah…” He glanced around at the crowd of Tratonmanians gathering. (No one was really bowing, Amanita noticed.) “Ye’re- Y’ain’t the- princess who- didnae supply us.”

“You’re right, I’m not,” Princess Twilight said. “But although it’s not my fault, it is my responsibility. Whatever caused you to slip off the map doesn’t matter. Tratonmane is still part of the Fuel Vassalage Commission and is owed a great deal of supplies while only receiving a tiny amount of them. You’ll need a new plumber and some help rebuilding houses, at the very least. Even if you think the Deormont provides things stay the way they are, it’ll be because you want it that way, not because I say so.”

Tallbush’s ears twitched and he raised his head slightly. “Well… I appreciate the offer, Princess, but ’less ye love financial tables-”

Princess Twilight’s ears went straight up and her pupils grew large.

“…Alrighty then, let’s get started. Me office is right yonder.” He turned to the assembled townsponies and yelled, “Clear out, you’uns! I’ll tell y’all ’bout it once we got it sorted!”

Bitterroot’s ears twitched and she glanced at Amanita. Then she yelled, “They need good headlamps! The ones they have now are real heavy!” A few tentative affirmations came from the crowd.

Princess Twilight looked at Tallbush, and he nodded half-reluctantly. “Aye. Some lighter ones’d be nice. But I’d rather discuss it in me office…”

Once Tallbush and Princess Twilight vanished into the town hall (should they call it “chapel”? It still felt weird to call it “chapel”), the Tratonmanians began filtering away. The guard contingent slipped from attention to at ease and idle chats started up. One of them, a unicorn with a broken horn, a quite pretty orchid coat, and a rather intimidating air in spite of those, stepped up to Code. “Vampires, huh?” she said. “Lucky.”

“You already know?” Code asked, although she didn’t sound surprised.

“Eh. You know Her Purpleness.” The unicorn pointed at the town hall. “She reads fast, and when she wants you to learn something, you’re learning it.”

“Heh. Very much.”

“And you got two of them. Right on, Colonel.”

“Indeed, Commander.” The two shared a hoofbump. “Bitterroot here got another, Amanita resurrected one-”

Charcoal coughed. “I. Uh. Kiiiiiiinda died early on.”

“Yes, but you single-hoofedly killed a king timberwolf before then.”

Charcoal’s ears went up. “I did, yeah.” She grinned.

“But where’s the necromancer Amanita resurrected?” the unicorn asked. “I really don’t want her getting away.”

“Tied up downstairs. Yes, still, I checked less than five minutes ago. If you’ll follow me…”

More than half the guards disappeared into the Watering Cave, following Code. Charcoal raised a hoof as if to follow them, then looked southward. Her ears twitched. “I shouldn’t go to the Deormont while Tallbush is indeposed,” she half-stated, half-asked. “Indisposed.”

“Not if you don’t want to get lost in the mines,” Bitterroot said.

“Aw.”

“I’ll help you bug Tallbush when he’s done. Maybe I can get this- awareness- thing-” Bitterroot gestured in front of her face. “-transferred to you.”

“And until then,” Amanita asked, “do you have any painkillers?”

Charcoal didn’t, unfortunately, but she knew how to make some with what she had. They worked… not great, but better than fine. Amanita’s screaming aches subsided down to grumbling throbs. She still relaxed under the Great Ash again, even though Bitterroot and Charcoal stayed indoors. The chill still helped with her aches, even as they grew quieter.

At some point, she realized the sun was shining into her eyes and the world around her was bright. Noon, then, and the ache she was feeling in her stomach was different from the aches she was feeling everywhere else. She still didn’t feel like getting up just yet.

Ponies began filtering up the main road and dispersing throughout Tratonmane. Lumberjacks. Lunch break. How busy was the Watering Cave? Amanita didn’t care at the moment. She heard flickers of conversation among them, mostly talk of trees in a surprised tone.

Whippletree and Crosscut hung around after the rest of the crowd was gone. They were standing over Amanita, looking curiously down at her. After several long moments, Amanita waved at them. “Hey. Need me for something?”

Whippletree and Crosscut looked at each other before Crosscut stepped forward and swallowed. She opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again, started speaking. “The forest feels safe.” A long pause. “Ain’t nair felt like that afore.”

“Like we said, Lixivia-”

Crosscut snorted. “I ken what ye said. Dae you’un? Midwich Forest’s been the most dangerful part o’ my life, and now… it ain’t. Jes’ like that.”

She sat down next to Amanita, staring off down the road. “All my life, I’ve been wary o’ the forest. It’s killed friends, family. Me an’ my woodhicks, we kept riskin’ our lives every week tae get Tratonmane some plain ol’ wood. ’Tis one o’ the firs’ things me an’ Whipple taught Wythe: keep out o’ the forest. An’ now, o’ernight, it ain’t sae bad.”

“Most o’ the militia didnae believe ye,” said Whippletree. “Even the ones that helped save me. We’ve seen what Midwich was like. But Whetstone, he took a risk an’ tried talkin’ tae a wolf. And it let him pet it. Last week, that same wolf woulda ripped his face clean off.” He chuckled. “That changed the minds o’ the rest smartly.”

“ ’Tis a lot tae think about,” said Crosscut, “and…” Words failed her; she sighed and shook her head. “I dinnae ken.”

Amanita knew she could tunnel-vision at times, but was it really this bad, to miss all this? It was the sort of thing she should’ve seen yesterday. Apparently, she’d been just too focused on her work. Or just trying to fight through the pain of losing a leg. But now that she thought about it… yeah, how were you supposed to react to that? “Well, as far as dramatic changes go, at least this one’s a positive,” she said tentatively.

Crosscut snorted and stood back up. “Ye’re a mighty strange pony, Amanita. But ye’re a good ’un. Thankee.”

“Also, uh… sorry about Varnish. Part of the militia and all.”

“Ach, ain’t nae great loss,” said Whippletree, waving a hoof dismissively.

“Whipple!” gasped Crosscut.

“Ye didnae need tae spend time wi’ him!” Whippletree said, his wings flaring. “He was fine at defendin’ against wolves, but he were the meanest lowlife in Tratonmane. And now I’m a-guessin’ he was good wi’ wolves ’cause he was in cahoots with ’em. I ain’t goin’ tae miss him. Feh.” He didn’t spit on the ground, but Amanita suspected it was close.

Crosscut laid a hoof on Whippletree’s shoulder. “Ye’re sure ye’re doin’ alright, jusem?”

“Aye. Varnish willnae be missed.”

“What about Midwinter?”

Almost unconsciously, Whippletree pulled his hooves closer together and his wings tighter. His ears twitched as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Eh… She’s… harder tae… ignore.” He shivered. “I thought I kenned her, an’ she…” He flexed his wings. “I’m- a-workin’ on it.”

“Sorry,” Amanita said quickly, sitting up. “I- Sorry.”

“I’ll be right as rain in time, though,” Whippletree said with a cheer that didn’t sound forced. “I got my family.” He rubbed his head against Crosscut’s neck; she nickered and pushed back.

Some part of Amanita wondered if they knew about Fuligin yet. It didn't seem like it. Maybe Fuligin and Arrastra had decided to spare them the pain, after Fuligin made his decision. Well, their family was about to get a little bigger.

Across the way, the door to the town hall creaked open. (The building was still missing its bell tower. How cold was it in there?) Princess Twilight and Tallbush walked out, talking about something or other. They gave each other a bow (Princess Twilight’s was deeper, Amanita noted), then Tallbush trotted off towards the mine. Princess Twilight walked over to the Great Ash, staring inquisitively at its branches. What she was looking for, Amanita couldn’t tell, but soon she was standing next to the trio. “How’re you doing, Amanita?” Princess Twilight asked.

“Eh.” Amanita waved her stump. “I’ve been better. Princess, that’s Whippletree and that’s Crosscut.”

Crosscut rolled her eyes, but Whippletree gave a polite, semi-obligatory nod. “What’s tae happen tae Midwinter?” he asked tentatively.

“I’m not sure yet,” Princess Twilight said. “There’s a lot of different ways it could go, depending on the evidence, and I don’t think Equestria’s ever captured someone who used to be a lich but isn’t anymore.”

“Hmm.” Whippletree shuffled his hooves around, then, seemingly for something else to do, glanced towards the mine, where Tallbush had gone. “Sae ye’re finished with… assuagin’ our woes?”

“With the preliminaries, at least,” Princess Twilight said. “We’ve put together a priority list for things Tratonmane needs or is owed — liable to be added to as new information comes up, of course. If His Grace Tallbush doesn’t have anything to add after lunch, I’ll start figuring out the most efficient way to get it all accomplished. And while we’re on the subject, do you have anything you need?”

“Like better blankets?” Crosscut muttered.

“Better blankets, got it.”

“…Wait, ye’re serious?”

“Absolutely! Tallbush means well, but since he’s the duke, he has a lot on his mind. There are just so many things that he might forget about, so if you have something you need, feel free to say so.”

Whippletree flexed his wings for a moment before saying, “We’ll need a plumber. I dinnae wish tae have the heater go.”

“It was one of the first things we talked about,” Princess Twilight said. “And it’d work out nicely if the plumber was a Tratonmane native — we’d provide training, of course — so if you know of anyone who’s interested-”

“I might be.”

Crosscut twitched and looked over at him. “You’un? I didnae ken ye liked a-workin’ wi’ water.”

“ ’Tis more a-helpin’ Tratonmane, an’ if’n we dinnae need the militia nae more, I’d need something tae dae. Aye, I’m sure.”

A clipboard and quill poofed into existence in front of Princess Twilight. “Got it,” she said, jotting his name down. “Also: better blankets.” As the implements poofed away again, she said, “Let me know if there’s anyone else interested. But take your time! This is a work in progress and we don’t want to rush it.”

Whippletree nodded. “Aye. I’ll dae that.” A pause, then he lowered his head and spread his wings slightly. “Yer Highness.”

But Princess Twilight flinched, lowering her ears. “We’re miles away from Canterlot, you don’t need to call me ‘Your Highness’. Just Twilight’s fine.”

“Understood, Yer Highness,” Crosscut said, technically not grinning. (Princess Twilight snorted, but she was technically not grinning, too.)

Whippletree gave her a light shove. “C’mon,” he said. “Let’s get some vittles.”

As Whippletree and Crosscut headed off to home, Amanita pushed herself to her hooves with a groan and began limping towards the Watering Cave. Princess Twilight was at her side immediately. “Do you need any help?” she asked.

“Not really, but I’ll take it if you’re offering,” Amanita replied.

Once she was leaning against Princess Twilight and the two of them were walking towards the Watering Cave, Amanita said, “I’d say ‘make sure Tratonmane doesn’t slip through the cracks again’, but, well, you’re you. He won’t.”

“I’m thinking of ways to patch the cracks as we speak. You know, Code filled me in on what your team did. So did Tallbush. The four of you should be very proud.”

Amanita found herself shrugging. “It was the right thing to do.”

“It was, but I know how hard it can be to do the right thing at times, especially when you doubt yourself. Not many ponies would’ve had it in them to do what you all did. Then there was the Mearhwolf in Canterlot a few moons ago, running from Circe before that… I know you’re already known for being a necromancer, but keep this up, and someday you’ll be a legend in your own right.”

“Heh.” Amanita hung her head and massaged what was left of her leg. “Shit.”