Equestrian Ranger

by TheGunslinger12

Rating: mature
Tags: My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Other, Braeburn, Profanity, Adventure, Violence, Slice of Life, Death, Alternate Universe, Human, Narcotics, Drama, Gore, Original Character
Length: 23544

A Texas Ranger and his partner find themselves in Equestria after a bounty went south. Escaping their pursuers and arriving in Appleoosa, how'll Equestrian life change them and the ponies around them?

1823 Mexican Texas, America. Seven hundred settlers roamed the uncharted, soon-to-be, lone star state, searching for permanent refuge. Ten men employed by Stephen F. Austin, tasked with protecting Texas’s first foreign residents, set a foundation for what would later establish America’s most renowned investigative law enforcement agency: The Texas Rangers. From infamous train robbers like Sam Bass, to love-sick partners in crime Bonnie and Clyde, The Texas Rangers tackled numerous cases and high-profile law-breaking rouges. Despite most, if not all, past Rangers equipped themselves using their own weapons and clothing, people knew The Texas lawmen were a force to be reckoned with. 

However, regardless of their modern achievements, The Wild West painted early rangers of all origins under a light of mystery, rough-around-the-edge men who retained some semblance of morality and served the people.

This is the story of one such lawman, and how his presence affected the lives of Appleoosian folk and, including theirs, the lives of every Equestrian.

Content warning: This story includes the following:

Narcotics- Alcohol, smoking, and mentions of illegal drugs/booze

Violence/Gore- hand-to-hand, hand-to-hoof, pistol-whipping, bullet wounds, Etc.

Death- Mentions of past killing, current killing, and graphic depictions of brawling.

Profanity- Southern, outback lingo

(Other warning tags may be included in future chapters.)

Cover art: https://www.icanvas.com/canvas-print/cowboy-silhouette-dur1237#1PC6-40x26

And, as always, feel free to leave a comment and tell me if mistakes were made or if I need to improve. Hope you all enjoy it!

Published 2024-04-27 22:50:00 UTC
Last updated 2024-09-30 03:37:41 UTC

Chp 1: Chased and Displaced

Kneeling behind an obscuring bundle of wilted bushes, a man grumbled, binoculars masking his furrowed hazel eyes. Rapid whirling frostbite relentlessly tugged his face’s exposed, sun-kissed flesh, colorless December chalk highlighting the man’s medium-length, dark-brown beard, haunted howling winds brushing past his ears. Peeking through the man’s worn binoculars, snow-caked woods stretch onward for unknown miles, claustrophobic foliage and shedding tree husks obscuring anything further than fifty yards on all sides.

“Come on out, you oil-slick snakes.” The irritated man clicked his tongue, keeping his hardened gaze unmoved, storing the worn binoculars inside his shoulder-draped satchel.

Three months, or has it surpassed four? Time’s getting harder to read nowadays when watches cost more than second-hand bullets; at least the setting sun’s position gave him a rough estimate through the waning days. Ten til noon, he passively reckoned. Still, the man’s target and his source of ire's elusiveness persisted.

Cole H. Dawkins, infamous outlaw, mountebank, and a rat bastard who’d earned himself hefty coinage and rap sheets longer than Mexico’s border. Con artist, murderer, gang leader, rapist, flat foot, and silver-tongued viper were many, many titles he’d collected from terrorizing small outback settlements and towns throughout the Midwest and northside. His go-to, selling Dawlkin’s Miracle Ambrosia, rarely failed- folk housing shoulder-to-shoulder with the coyotes and lonely valleys weren’t too knowledgeable of big-city trotters and their yellow-belly methods. Every other terrible deed resulted if one unlucky bastard saw through his lousy ploy or was unfortunate enough to cross his path. Lawmen spanning six states chased this slippery verman for years, gaining no headway. The last anyone saw Cole Dawlkins, he and his merry inbred band of rejects and drunks scampered south, likely hiding somewhere in the Texan wilderness. Too bad small parts of the man's mind started doubting those claims, naught but snow, ice, and non-swindling, murdering animals surrounding him day in and day out.

Safe to say, the man began growing annoyed, his ass frozen black and blue sitting all day, doing nothing. Coincidently, muffled, ravenous growling loudly sounded underneath the man’s bison fur coat, beige vest, and long-sleeve, navy blue shirt. “Ah. It ain’t like they're coming anytime soon.” The man dismissed, groaning as he stood, reaching a standard 5”10 stature. Heaving a Winchester model 1866 over his stiff shoulders, the man began retracing his imprinted steps, their once six-inch deep outline turned shallow.

Camp, if you could call it that, sat not too far, two tents and an unlit fire pit hunkered down, protected within an unoccupied cave. Attending the previously mentioned fire pit, a flint rod and a hunting knife in hand, the man regarded another younger a similarly dressed man ten years his junior, James Adrian, nodding slightly. “Nothing?” The younger man questioned dejectedly, his New York accent strongly dissimilar to the older man's southern, vaguely Irish, cadence.

“Hell, what do you think, boy?” snapped the older man, removing his bone-white cattleman hat. “May the saints above show Cole’s sorry-ass grace if I get my hands on him. It's been goin' on what, four months now? We'll either freeze to the bone or end up as vulture's dinner 'fore we bring him in..” The younger man sighed, shrugging.

“Perhaps they moved on by now, sir?” He suggested. “It’s been mighty quiet lately.”

In response, his mature companion shook his head, glancing at the expansive white wasteland beyond the cave’s jagged maw. “Naw, it ain’t likely. Snow's piled up so high, movin' 'round ain't no easy task, and there ain't near enough greenery for a buncha driving cattle or horses. They'd wear out their beasts quicker than a hare in a dog race; might as well feed them to any meat-eating critters if they tried. And I saw smoke driftin' up eastward, 'bout three or five miles out last night. But these damn trees are makin’ it hard tellin’ how far, exactly.” He explained, sitting beside James, who gave him a mixed expression.

“Why don’t we go ahead and bring him in? Surely we can handle someone like Colm and a few drunkards.” He scoffed.

In hindsight, his suggestion would’ve warranted consideration had he said it a month prior. The older man suspected Colm’s rag-tag group wasn’t feeling so happy lately, members flaking off left and right and returning later than usual, including shouting and screaming matches at night. Hell, some idiot fired their side-iron one time. Yet, recent raging blizzard after raging blizzard, Mother Nature forced the several disheveled, bent feathers to stay as their reluctant, dysfunctional flock. Five starved, cold, and ill-tempered men were difficult to handle, confronting twenty is downright suicide.

Three hundred and fifty sounded like an underwhelming reward. “Unless you fancy havin’ your throat slit and your belongings to go wanderin' off, be my guest. Otherwise, sit still and simmer down. You’ve busted my hide at every turn, greenhorn, particularly back at that river wash three days past, so do me the favor of keepin' thoughts of how you'll kill us next time to yourself.” He rebuked, earning an exasperated glare.

Remembering last week’s unexpected venture made his gloved trigger figures itch, paranoia whispering warnings to turn around into his ears.

“Look, sir, I didn’t see that bear cub's mother- how was I supposed to know it was around!” Argued James.

“Now, ain't that the truth! You shouldn't go moseyin' up to one regardless!” Pointing toward the younger lawman, scowling, the older man huffed. “Did your old man ever teach you common sense, boy? It lost its mother, and Mama Bear caught wind of your crazy self tryin' to spook its cub, butt naked as the day you were born. You oughta have hoofed it and given me a holler for a heads-up.” He scolded.

Eying the older man’s finger, the younger man’s scowl deepened. “I know, sir. There’s no reason to keep bringing it up.” He hissed through gritted teeth.

“Oh? Ain't you just a peach? Because ever since you’ve become a Ranger, you’ve done nothing but cause trouble and pitch hissy fits afterward. I don’t know what in God’s name life’s like for y'all city folk, but I’ve seen rotting cattle more sensible than you!”

Shooting up, flint and sharpened steel clattering against the uneven ground, he watched his youthful colleague throw his open hands high, his upper lip curled with anger. “Goddamnit, I get it! I’m an idiot city boy, dull as raw iron and dumber than a rock- you wanna hear that?!” He shouted, “Will you EVER shut up and consider the fact that not everybody is a horse-fucking, mountain climbing, bootlegging red-neck?! I'm trying my best!” Enraged, James flicked his head, grunting. “I swear to god, I’ve never met a thicker-headed, inconsiderate, ass-!”

Suddenly, James staggered, anger replaced by fear and shock as the older man quickly stood and threw a restrained right hook, striking his jaw. Collapsing to the chilled stone floor, blood trickling down his busted lip and a bruise decorating the impact sight, the younger man looked upward, his senior deeply sneering, cracking his knuckles. “Mind your tongue, boy. And don’t use the Lord's name in vain.”- He warned evenly, stepping back while the younger lawman raised drunkenly- “You’re not an idiot- well, not too much of one. But the trouble with you is you got ears just for show. This isn’t New York, prancin' 'round like a dime-store jester and crying how life isn't far ain't how we do things, considering our profession. Ain’t no one around here 'cept me to lend a hand if somethin' decides to take a swipe or aim a shot your way. So quit playin' the fool, city slicker, and pull your head outta your ass.”

Silence coldly greeted the older man’s heeding, James launching a crimson glob before marching off, breathlessly fuming. Sighing, the older man withdrew, retaking his spot and retrieving one of two Schofield revolvers held against his hips, idly scanning its black and dark wood finish.

The older man groaned, stress and tension pulling his joints and muscles taut. “Here I thought they taught discipline in the army.” He spat.

Truly, he stood by what he said. James, hot-headed and skittish, wasn’t a bad man. A thorn trying to disembowel his side, most definitely, but the older man met no greater crack shot than his partner, and he’s a fellow Ranger. Sadly, when his ten-year-old son possessed finer manners and patience than his partner, frequent departments and brooding sessions became frequent. It didn’t help that the current shit-storm they found themselves braving added fuel to the flames.

Speaking of which.

Collecting the discarded flint and knife, the older man positioned both items above piled kindling, the knife’s edge kissing the charcoal-grey stick.

SHINK! SHINK!

Gliding the cutting instrument across the flint rod surface, sparks exploded outward, washing the kindling with dancing orange embers. Eventually, following several strokes, warmth bounced off the cave’s unfeeling walls, eliminating the older man’s onset frostbite, electing a soft sigh. At least James knew how to build a proper fire. The lasting cold combined with the soothing heat weighed heavily on his eyelids, a yawn threatening to escape his parched maw. Images, warm and inviting, floated through his memory, a young woman holding his bright-eyed son and standing outside their modest home. “Ida. Joseph. Lord knows I'd do just about anything to savor her cookin' again and listen to them silly tales that boy of ours spins.” The older man mumbled, smiling, eyes slowly dropping. Her soft, delicate lips pecking his cheek every morning, his kid's laughter.

Summer heat bathed the older man’s face, cracking flames accompanied by rolling gusts singing their soothing lullaby.

May the lord protect them.

BANG! BANG!

Panic shot through his spine like fierce lighting, eyes snapping open as he hurriedly pushed himself to his feet. Gunfire, twenty- no, ten feet away. Utilizing the cave’s uneven entrance, the older man sought refuge behind a sizable boulder, swiftly snatching and chambering his Winchester. “Come on out, Cowpoke! Let’s talk!” Shouted a deep, English man’s voice, slobbery snickers and ratty chortles backdropping his posh tone.

‘Cole.’ The older man thought, confusion and worry running rampant through his system. “Well, look who's decided to stop tuckin' their tail, Dawkins? Color me surprised.” He snarked.

Haughty, sarcastic laughter disturbed the natural, still air. “I do apologize, my good man. Exchanging witty banter and drab remarks sounds delightful, but I think your friend thinks overwise.” Another sharp explosion rocked his ears, and this time, familiar screaming and cursing followed suit. Biting his tongue, the older man inched upward and hesitantly left his protection, each sluggish step revealing his unwelcome visitors. Ten fully armed men dressed worse than ditched corpses and twice as hideous, rusty, abused boom sticks pointed right at his head, likely more camping in the woods. Standing tall, proud, and center, Cole Dawkins grinned smugly, his bank teller getup stained by dirt and dried muck.

Bound, sitting on his knees, James groaned and grunted, pain twisting his battered, and bloodied features, blood pooling on his left thigh, staining the pure snow. “Ah, so you’re my second tail-coat rider? Impressed, I am not.” He said, clicking his tongue with mock disappointment. “I’ll admit, my pursuer's identities piqued my interest for a while. A rowdy, spry lad, and a senior?” Cole barked, throwing his head high.

“Let’em go, Dawkins!” The older man snapped, causing Cole’s men to raise their rifles. “Or by God, I’ll make you wish your whoring mother never popped you out.” He snarled.

Hearing this, gone was Cole’s smug, superior expression, overtaken by a cold, darkened glare. A two-bit, corner street tramp-of-the-night and a no-name hooligan father, it’s no mystery where Colm got his charming personality. “Now, sir, It’d be best for your friend here if you’d kept quiet.” The younger, bleeding man froze solid, Cole’s Webley mark 1 pressing against his skull’s rear. Options grew limited, rapidly. Creating a new hole between Cole’s eagle eyes guaranteed death for him and his partner. He couldn’t grab his horse and lead Cole’s men astray so his partner could sneak off. And fighting them all by himself, low on ammo and energy, also sounded reckless.

“You’re testing my patience. Let him go- I won’t ask again!” The older man said. A distraction is exactly what he needed. Easier said than done.

Another barking laugh, “Likewise.” Cole sneered, “Luckily for you, I’m feeling merciful today. Remove your garments and abandon your supplies, then I’ll let your God’s goodwill and Nature decide your fates.” As if on cue, earth-quaking thunder erupted and rumbled close by, dimming clouds increasing the afternoon sky’s blinding darkness.

Wait.

Briefly glancing skyward, the older looked back and over his shoulder, crackling flames still rolling at his heels. Hell, even with the illuminating fire, he struggled to discern Cole’s outline, much less his scattered gang.

The older man grinned, “Aren’t I grateful, Cole? You do have a soul.” he mocked, backpedaling. “Too bad nobody will miss it.”

Warranting no opportunity for response, the older man’s boot heel kicked loose stone toward the fire pit. Instantly, smoldering timber, ash, and embers dispersed, erasing his already poor vision, various degrees of frightened yelps and startled cries igniting mass panic amongst Cole’s disorganized ranks. Poising his rifle, he waited patiently, muzzle flashes pinning his target's whereabouts. BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! Firing three shots, two men dropped like bagged bricks- one missing an eye, the other losing half his brain -the last holding his mangled, torn side. Hopefully one of them was Cole. “Run, boy! Get the horses!” He hollered, aimlessly picking off frantic bodies. Soon, the opposing hailing lead met the older man’s offensive fire, laying low, he vacated his compromised encampment, nearby trees separating him and swift death.

Countless prayers repeated endless loops within the older man’s rushing thoughts, hampering his effort to make his snow-crunching steps quieter. How’d they get him? James never ran far during his pouting sessions– and last he checked –Cole’s gang and them were miles apart. He knew the answer to his second question. A rookie mistake made out of exhaustion and ignorance.

‘I led 'em here like a hound on a leash. Reckoned the cave's roof would hide the smoke from our fire, but I was dead wrong.’ He lamented. Ah hell, Cole’s men brought lanterns; glowing dots trailed the older man’s path. Just a little further.

“There he is!”

Shit.

Spinning in place, increasing his hurried pace, the older man’s weapon placed the pursuing lantern lights inside its iron sights. He huffed and coughed, sweat drenching his stone-like features, his sore trigger finger tirelessly hurling round after round, hitting trees, bushes, and the occasional buck-toothed man. The older man wasn’t immune, however, sustaining narrow misses grazing his legs, arms, and cheek, adding to the burning sensation his grizzled frame suffered.

“Sir, over here!”

Switching north, two horses whined and cried, weakly fighting the grip of their fellow rider and beaten owner, the latter waving at the older man. Wasting no time, he forwent his cover fire and spent his final reserves of energy charging forth, reaching and mounting his purebred appaloosa alongside James, cracking the reins. Hooves pounded the white-blanketed forest floor, randomly weaving in and out of tree lines, winds slicing through the older man’s hat-less, short-length hair, his unspoken grievances interrupted by air-splitting rifle fire. “Where are we heading?!” He heard.

Stowing his Winchester, the older man’s right hand flawlessly fell and recovered his Schofield in one practiced motion. Long rifles, especially riding horseback, inhibited a rider's accuracy and took too long when reloading if you’re actively steering your steed.

Pistols and revolvers?

Throwing his armed appendage, he fired two consecutive rounds, successfully erasing a horse’s front knees. The older man didn’t see his split-second draw reward, settling on hearing equine and human forms crumble and pained bellowing. ‘I still got it.’ He praised himself. Handling modern weaponry wasn’t his main forte, juxtaposed with tracking and survival, not that he wasn’t skilled at all. Yet, put a pistol or revolver in his hands– mostly back in his youth –he’d hit a horse fly forty feet over yonder, blindfolded, and half-asleep.

Call it skill or pure talent, the older man knew it’d been god-given luck, seeing as his aging hands typically shook more than autumn leaves awaiting their fate.

“I ain't never set foot in these woods, son. Run, and we might just shake 'em off our tail!” He blurted, yanking his horse’s reins sharply as James snapped left. More thunder boomed overhead, swirling flakes descending upon the bloody, chaotic chase. “Huh? ‘The hell’s goin’ on?” The older man said to himself.

The trees were… different. Frigid husks, still. However, lifeless wooden bark looked more livelier somehow, as if winter hadn’t ravaged Texas’s countryside by then.

Hold on, were those…leaves following them too?

Beneath the shining embrace of Princess Luna’s overwatching moon, two ponies– a young earth mare and unicorn stallion – casually trotted side-by-side, sharing each other’s loving embrace, the White Tailed Forest’s alabaster pillars reflecting moonlight. “Thank you for taking me out tonight, I needed it.” The mare sighed, nuzzling her lover.

“Don’t mention it, babe.” The stallion cooly huffed, smiling. “It’s, like, my top priority to make my marefriend happy, right?” He added, earning a soft giggle.

Enduring Tirek’s rampage, Ponyville almost getting blown to smithereens, her mother and father separating, and entering college? The stallion’s last-minute date was the least he could’ve done. Five years, six months, and 2 weeks came and went since they made their secret love life official, and the stallion couldn’t be happier! A total knock-out, straight-A student like her dating a nopony who failed in everything except hoofball boggled his past self, but it didn’t matter. Now, he gathered whatever wavering courage he had, hyping himself, mouth packed with cotton balls and anxiety. Keep it simple. Stop beside the trail, stand in front of her, get on one knee, and blow her metaphorical socks off!

Hushing his inner hype-stallion, the now nervous stallion copied his internal plan. “Hey,” He muttered, gaining the mare’s attention. “There’s somethin’ I wanted to ask you for a while now.” Leaving the trail and setting his hooves onto the dewy grass, he breathed deeply and kneeled.

Hurry, she’s suspecting something.

Ignoring the mare’s slowly widening eyes, he suppressed a cough, pursing and licking his chapped lips. “I-I…Uh, oh horseapples, Misty Flow. You’re the love of my boring life. The only thing I look forward to seeing on those dull days after practice- the reason I work so hard. Ever since you entered my life, every organ feels like a weightless cloud when I’m near you. And refuse to think of a life without you.”

Igniting his horn and opening his saddlebags, the stallion levitated a felt box, presenting it to his stunned marefriend, her hooves blocking her mouth.

“So, if I can ask, will you marry me?”

Tears erupting from her Dazzling eyes, Misty Flow's falling forehooves uncovered a shaky, yet ecstatic, smile. “Oh, Carver, I…Yes, you silly colt!” She squealed, laughing. “You can’t imagine how long I-”

BANG! BANG! “Fuck me! Damnit! Damnit!” BANG! BANG!

Releasing a startled shriek each, Carver immediately grabbed his marefriends shoulders and tossed themselves out of an unknown stampede, circling leaves forming a semi-cylindrical tunnel encompassing it. Dust flew everywhere, the sound of hooves, yelling, and frightening explosions making Misty Flow scream in terror as Carver held her close, shielding his squinting eyes from the airborne dirt. Thankfully, as abrupt as it appeared, Carver carefully relinquished his deadlock embrace, the sounds disappearing into the far-off woods.

“W-What was that?!” Misty questioned, bewildered and hysteric.

“Beats me.” Craver shrugged absentmindedly. “I think it was… clothed monkeys riding tall ponies?”

Despite their unexpected fright, Misty snorted.

Chp 2: Unconventional first sighting

Author's Note

Word of warning, I got, like, three hours of sleep last night, and my impatientness is making me post this so you guys don't have to keep waiting. If there are any glaring mistakes, revisions, or general problems I need to attend to, let me know and I'll revise this chapter if I have to.

Otherwise, enjoy!

Chp 2: Unconventional first sighting

Life for the buffalo, admittedly, improved since their tribe and the pony settlers fought.

Regaining sizable portions of their native land and creating a mutual peace pact where the settlers gifted them their irresistible apple deserts in exchange for some land usage, Chief Thunderhoof’s tribe flourished unlike before. Still, regardless of how well-off and prosperous most buffalo believed themselves to be, the thankless task of gathering resources remained all the same. Scouring the sandy purgatory, collecting rare fruits, bones for medicine, and kindling, four mighty buffalo found no such prize, the sun far surpassing its middle position.

Nevertheless, their complaints and gripes were yielded. Providing and sustaining the tribe was more important. Their backs ache, their knees scream in pain, fur matted with glistening sweat, vision swimming, but protest they do not.

If little, any contribution made toward the tribe's well-being and future was highly respected, living in the harsh plains of Appleloosa.

Spirits mustn’t waver, a buffalo’s courage unmovable.

BANG!

It doesn't mean they’re devoid of fear.

Blood, scattered fur, tainted sand.

Screaming.

Demonic whips snapped through the air, its origin untraceable. A second rings out. BANG! And the injured buffalo topples, motionless. Pride and anger flashed through the three still-standing forms, desiring to retrieve and aid their befallen breatharian, quickly overshadowed by primal terror, the latter ultimately emerging victorious. Regret and guilt anchoring their hearts, they flee, refusing to look back on their mistake.

Undisturbed silence. Low winds. Lonely death.

Eventually, two staggering steps approached the downed buffalo, pointed leather boots stopping inches from static, bleeding muscle. Bending his legs, a sunburnt hand snatches its prey’s tribal feathered headwear, then tosses it aside.

“Weird hat. I didn’t know those redskins played dress-up with their food.”

January 13, 1912

-Day 2

Something’s wrong, I can feel it- in the air, my bones, and how poor James’s acting lately. I can’t say I blame him; the heat’s overwhelming.

Describing what went down is impossible for me to put into words. None of it makes a lick of sense. One moment, we’re running for our lives, barely awake on our horses, the next, James is screaming and sand and desert rock surround us on every side. Weren’t we running in a forest that night? Why a desert? I would have boiled if he hadn’t taken off my coat. Bloodied, tired, and beaten, we wondered without direction, everything looking the same, buzzards hungrily circling above. James fell a lot– blood loss and dehydration. Luckily, I stashed some bandages and whiskey in my satchel and fixed him up as well as I could, much to his chagrin. I wasn’t the one who got shot in the leg. Also, Cole’s gone, or we’ve given him the slip. Honesty, my memory’s a muddled mess.

What happened? I have no idea.

The question gnaws my thoughts during our aimless exploring. Here we were, getting cooked alive under the suspicious larger-than-normal sun when- less than two days ago -James and I worried over the fire pit not lighting. Sand replaced snow, bleached bones stood in for ice, and James’s paper-white skin turned three shades darker, redder. No food other than the curated meat I carry. No water besides James’s canteen.

Is this hell? Retribution for my crimes?

Why is poor James here then?

Lord, help us.

Softly closing his hand-sized journal, the older man sluggishly wiped his sweat-drenched forehead, unforgiving heat effortlessly bypassing the charred tree corpse’s wire-thin branches. “James? You're alive, boy?” Each strenuous word felt like sandpaper rubbing past his lips, razor wire slicing his parched throat.

An equally defeated tone returned a lazy groan; James, leading both horses, stopped nearby.

“I wish I wasn’t.” He moaned, his voice wistful and empty. “Water’s ran low while I was out, and I don’t suppose you’ve seen a cactus recently.” Unseen buzzard calls mocked James’s inquiry.

Facing James, the older man’s twisting waist halted, spotting a hefty mass of fur resting at the horses’ rear hooves- fur he recognized. “I’ll be damned! Where’d you find a buffalo, boy? This sandy shit-hole certainly isn’t fit for grazing.” Mirroring James’s proud smile, ditching his sorry shade oasis, the older man circled the horses, stopping next to the unmoving buffalo carcass. “You might have the reasoning skills of a bent nail, but scoring a big sonnava gun like this using my rifle is the reason why I keep you around.” He lightheartedly laughed. Judging its size, James had caught enough food to last them two days or more- no surprise he needed two horses.

The younger lawman sheepishly scratched the back of his head, grinning. “I wasn’t nothing, sir. My Granddad’s dead-set on hunting big game and taught me how to fling lead. My first kill was a bison that’d destroyed some of my cousin’s farm on a rampage.” Patting his horse’s barrel, an American Saddlebred, and dropping each set of reigns, James stood across the buffalo, joining the older man.

“How's that?” He asked.

James raised a brow, “Huh?” He said.

The older man whipped his forehead again, “The rampaging. Why would it bother wreckin’ your cousin’s farm?”

“Ah, okay. Well, I guess that a predator spooked it and it happened to be near the farm.”- James squatted, unsheathing the hunting knife his older peer donated to him after losing it in the cave- “My granddad turned one of its horns into a powder horn. But, let’s stop talking about me and get this big guy undressed.” He said.

Forming no objections, both men went to work, repeatedly flipping, carving, and preparing their eventual meal, crimson painting their lower arms and clothes. The older man steered clear of telling lies, and most definitely would be if he said the buffalo’s spoiled insides prepared by the sun’s radiating fury reeked to high heaven. However, it’d be worth the unpleasant scent and mess when he got a ghost of a meal in his ravenous stomach. And, during this draining and grimy process, the older man reminisces on how he and Joseph hunted in their free time, his little grin brightening whenever catching a squirrel or bird.

While remembering happier days soured his mood slightly, he wasn’t the type to lose his nerves or panic if things turned pear-shaped. They’d find out where they were and get home, the older man inwardly repeated.

He needed to stay strong- for James, the hapless bastard.

Soon, the searing heat began cooling, the sun slowly crawling to the horizon. “James,” The older man called, flicking his forearms free of blood as the younger lawman glanced up, storing the recently cleaned knife. “Ya know my name, right?” He asked.

James hummed thoughtfully, then shook his head. “Sorry, sir. You say yours so rarely, I can’t recall. No offense.”

“Finn Cullen.” Chuckling, the older man smirked, holding out his hand. “You can call me Finn. ‘Seems like we're in for the long haul with this job, don't it? Getting acquainted is just good manners, after all.” James examined Finn’s offering hand with minor surprise, taking it seconds later and shaking.

“Nice to meet you, si- Mr. Cullen.” James greeted.

Later that night, eating their hard-earned feast and sleeping the dehydration off, pathless trails and identical views traveled onward. Due to its cumbering size, the buffalo’s leftovers were left for any hungry critter passing by, a shame too. If given the proper tools, patience, and time, Finn would have made a water bag out of its bladder, jerky from its meat, and tendons into bow strings. Alas, such tales fall upon men of sorrow.

So, finding ways to ignore how the sun barely moved, Finn and James exchanged personal stories and history to distract themselves. James, age 23, born April 24, 1889, grew up in upstate New York to a suited chicken scratcher who spent more time exchanging stocks than raising his motherless kid, placing the responsibility onto his grandfather. One Fletcher Ardian, semi-famed voyager, big-game hunter, and civil war veteran raised little James and convinced him to join the army, a factor the young lawman loosely recounted, including his reasons for joining the Texas Rangers. Finn didn’t push further on the matter, everybody kept secrets from others- he should know. As for Finn himself, a born, bred, and baptized Catholic nurtured by El Paso ranchers, Molly and Conor Cullen, and going on eight years of Ranger service.

It’d been two years since he first met James, and, regardless of clashing personalities, five high-value bounties were hunted, six low-profile criminals faced justice, and one prolific murderer was currently taking a dirt nap.

Finn and James’s conversation lasted well after turning in for tonight and resumed come Dawn.

“So, having my side iron pressed right against his pocket snake, Mc’ Downes’s shivering like a dog shittin’ in the rain, begging me-” Throwing his hands high, Finn assumed a mock expression of fright, “-Oh, dear God, no! I’m innocent! I did no wrong!” James’s shoulders bounced at the feigned terror, covering his mouth to stifle his laughter.

“You’re cruel, Mr. Cullen,” He remarked, “But, you sure he did anything?” The angle his older partner put Mc’ Downes in, it’s challenging imagining someone so…pathetic committing murder.

Scoffing and dropping his act, Finn rolled his eyes. “Please! Them coppers nabbed that filthy varmint red-handed, pawin' at the poor girl's corpse and all. And he had the gall to bawl for his mama while I kept watch for the state troops to haul him off. Listen here, I ain't in the habit of takin' lives unless I’m forced to, boy, but the lord tests me when I come across these vermin, actin' like they're entitled to forgiveness. It’s one part I never entirely understood in the bible- how Christ found it to forgive sinners like Mc’ Downes.” He grumbled.

James sighed, slumping his shoulders, “Maybe everybody had goodness inside them, sir, no matter how small.” He sarcastically replied,

Blood, scattered fur, tainted sand.

Undisturbed silence. Low winds. Lonely death.

And a devil’s scarred smile.

A look of bitter impassiveness crossed Finn's sunburnt features. “Whatever you say, boy.” He muttered, falling silent as he and James rode their steeds.

The summer sun shined bright, bathing Appleoosa with life-giving warmth the humble town’s folk basked, wadding the dirt-traced streets and wood-shack food markets. Mirthful remarks such as ‘Howdy!’ and ‘How’re you?’ fly through the humid air, and creatures of all kinds- (largely) earth ponies, pegasi, unicorns, and other species -couldn’t resist the town's infectious joy.

“Dag nab it!”

All except one very vexed stallion.

Sherif Silver loved his job. It’s good, honorable work any self-loving earth pony strived for, and paid handsomely despite Appleoosa’s rather low crime rate- excluding the occasional scrap or petty theft. He prided his work and the town it protected. Heck, even if one of his resident’s cousins prevented a buffalo-pony war he partially instigated, ponies still respected him, and he returned their generous sympathies in kind. Like his pa, pa’s pa, and Grandpa’s pa, Sheriff Silverstar performed his task diligently and without fail, maintaining peace and order.

However…

Gingerly blocking the air space between him and enraged Sherif’s warpath with guarding forelegs, Silverstar’s deputies cringed anxiously. “Alright, calm down sir,” Jittered the lanky, black-hatted Golden Spur, “Let’s settle down!”

“E-Eeyup!” High Ace, an unassuming earth stallion, echoed, hiding behind his co-worker.

Unceremoniously unhoofing a half-shattered chair, crashing with a startling bang, Sheriff Silverstar’s wild eyes locked onto his deputies. “Tell me something useful instead of twiddling your hooves like foals!” He roared, kicking parts of an obliterated table littering the ground. “How is it that nopony can catch this- this- AGH!” His legs buckling, Silverstar hit the floor, groaning in frustration.

Never had Appleoosa’s revered sheriff struggled this much apprehending a criminal since Trouble Shoes. Towns spanning Dodge Junction to the Bad Lands suffered devastating attacks that left homes and ponies alike destroyed, turned to ash and embers. Nopony giving the Royal Guard reports knew who organized these widespread pillages, as dissimilar species partake in the merciless slaughtering- dragons, griffions, yaks, minotaurs, ponies, and zebras. No name, no distinctive allegiance, and no clear motive. Cataclysmic ghosts who leave no trace behind, and no face known. All ponies knew was that the mysterious attackers’ ages fell somewhere close into the young adult or teenage category, adding an extra layer of revulsion to this grim cake of death and destruction.

How does this relate to Silverstar, you ask? Four nights ago, accounts and eyewitnesses related sightings of a strange and unsettling figure lurking past midnight, wearing tattered rags and sporting a mean glare. ‘Locking up a creep, easy.’ he believed. Unfortunately, Silverstar’s laidback connotations swiftly ended when he and his accompanying deputy happened to spot their purp lighting a Molotov in front of their jailhouse.

And, chasing him off, nopony later reported sightings of the cloaked arsonist. Gone like ashes in the wind.

Weeks and weeks slipped by, and Silverstars efforts were proven useless. He could’ve sent a thousand patrollers, installed Equestria’s brightest searchlights, recruited the WonderBolts themselves, and come out empty-hoofed.

Exchanging weary looks, Golden Spur inched closer to his Sherif.

“Um, obviously we’re thinking too deep into this, sir. The guy’s probably a fire-happy lunatic who skipped town or a dumb colt doing something stupid.”

His copping suggestions went unused as Silverstar shot up and shoved a torn cloth scrap in his face. Stitched to the scratched and tattered fragment proudly displayed an equine skull, its unhinged, sword-like teeth crushing a crudely remade cutie mark akin to Princess Celestia’s.

“Does this look like something a pony, or any creature in their right mind, willing owns, deputy?!” Silverstar berated, acting as if Golden Spur were his elusive arsonist. “This’s their war-bands mark, I’m sure of it! I’ve turned this town upside down for evidence and this piece of junk is all I have to show for it!” Metaphorically, and potentially literally, burning holes into the cloth, his glare soon deflated alongside his rage. “Golden Spur, High Ace, those monsters might have Appleoosa next on their list, and I can’t do a darn thing about it.”

The two downcast deputies shared Silverstar’s sour demeanor as Golden Spur removed and held his hat to his chest. “Sir, I- uh, writing Celestia a letter and getting the Royal Guard here is our best bet. We’re running out of rope, and I’m the one with a glass eye and poor depth perception.” Tapping his false left eye, Golden Spur helped Silverstar to his hooves.

“Y-You’re right,” Defeated, Appleoosa’s sheriff sighed, messaging his temple. “We ain’t got time to run around like headless chickens. I’ll write a letter and send it out. Hopefully, her majesty receives it before-.”

BOOM!

“SILVERSTAR!!”

Caught off guard, the two deputies and sheriff instantly focused on the jail house’s entrance, muffled shouts and screams awaiting their attendance, steel clashing steel, and trampling hooves shaking the earth. “COME OUT, NOW!” Boomed the faceless speaker.

Hesitantly, Golden Spur and High Ace stuck close by, Silverstar approached and cracked open the front door, peeking his head through before fully exiting, fearful eyes wider than saucers.

The first thing securing Silverstar’s alarm; smoke, burning wood, and rotten copper assaulted his senses, afar black pillars peppered with glowing orange specks towered above Appleoosa’s tallest buildings. Dropping his dumbfounded sight-seeing, gathered semi-circled, presented inches from his jailhouse’s front deck, dozens of ponies, bruised and cut, quietly cried and begged on their flanks, chins touching dirt underneath the feet/paws/hooves of poorly-dressed creatures brandishing outlandish objects and ramshack blades. Their bizarre contraptions, tubes attached to wooden, blocky frames, grazed and shoved ponies, reeking of black powder and cleaning oil. Sadistic grins, stoic frowns, and cold, heartless stares all saw past Silverstars body, relentlessly berating him with irresistible apprehension. ‘Appaloosa was under attack!’ his mind finally processed.

Anywho, it wasn’t what unnerved Silverstar the most.

Stitched upon their ratty outfits and crud armor padding, matching insignia struck him harder than a full-power buck to the head.

A sharp-toothed equine skull devouring Celestia’s sun.

“Slow to start, like always.” Snided the previously shouting voice. “You can’t imagine how long I’ve yearned to see your face twisted with pure terror and hopelessness, Sheriff.” They added, spitting his title. Amidst this gaggle of unsavory characters, Silverstar’s eyes settled on an unfamiliar earth pony wearing identical clothes, pointing one of the odd contraptions directly at him.

Silverstar barely swallowed a restrictive lump, “Who’re you?” He inattentively said, unintentionally neglecting the pony’s venom-coated words.

He scoffed, “Why bother? None of you knew I was then, and, when I’m done paying my lord’s kindness, nopony shall.” Scoffing, the snarky earth stallion went silent momentarily, grinning callously as he decreased his object's angle.

BANG!

Sheriff Silverstar's limbs froze solid for what had felt longer than innumerable, slow decades, holding his breath.

Then came the searing pain.

Face muscles pulling back, painfully stretching their expressive limits to reflect Silverstars indescribable, unbearable suffering, the ground rose to meet his stomach, lurching as he released an agonizing wail. Gaining a golf-ball-sized hole where half his right hoof used to be, Silverstar futility compressed his profusely bleeding limb, rolling side-to-side, running his screaming throat raw. He’d never experienced this level of hurt. Appleoosa’s sheriff endured punches, bucks, headbutts, cuts, broken bones, and any imaginable injury any reckless pony could encounter. While not THE toughest pony, he wasn’t a pushover either. But, dear Celestia, it stung! Like pouring flaming sea water onto an open wound infested by Equestria's most temperamental and venomous insects. Glass repeatedly poked exposed nerve ends; unadulterated magma smoldering his bone. No, it’s impossible to explain, mainly because Silverstar couldn’t comprehend a single thought.

Opposing Silverstars agony, the deputies’ abject horror, and his hostage’s gasps, the earth stallion cackled gleefully, slapping his knee. “Oh, keep doing that, sheriff, it feels soooo~ good hearing you blubbering like a foal!” Propping the explosive stick onto his shoulder, he craned his neck downward, curiously watching Silverstar writhe uncontrollably. “How’s it feel- the pain? Tell me. I’d love to know~.” He snickered.

All Silverstar replied with was a guttural scream.

“Uh? Si- MR. CULLEN! You might wanna come look at this!”

Lord have mercy, why can’t he do his business peacefully? Zipping his britches fly, Finn grumbled lowly as he emerged from a covering boulder, scratching his chin’s lengthy whiskers. “Now what, boy? If it's people trying to rescue us, it ain't- you’re hallucinating…again.” Wrestling the scarcely cactus-water-filled canteen off his person, the older lawman offered it, giving a subtle shake. With buffalo-stuffed bellies, tolerating cactus water didn’t force up whatever little muck their stomachs held- sadly, it didn’t take away the awful taste.

Peering over his shoulder, narrowing his perturbed gaze, James snorted, motioning toward the horizon beyond the cliff they rested on. “Wha-? No! This’s something else entirely.” Relinquishing Finn’s binoculars, its owner lazily regained possession and placed them closer to his squinting orbs.

Scanning far-off desert fields, Finn found nothing worth causing a fuss over. Sand, sand, more sand, vultures, sand, a windmill, fire, houses…horses? Sand.

Wait.

Clothes, colorful horses?

A…blazing town of scared, colorful, clothed horses.

“…Now I’ve seen everything.” Finn flatly stated. Yep, there’s no denying. The older lawman’s thoughts suggested unexpected head trauma, bad cactus water, or clinical insanity, but his logical side quickly took control.

Firstly, ponies, not horses- too small and chubby. Where are their equestrians, or rangers? Funny, bad well water, maybe? A town full of crazies havin’ fun with their mounts? Although, dolling, painting, and letting unsupervised ponies run ramped seemed too far-fetched for a quick laugh, plus, Finn hadn’t spotted a single saddle nor bridle anywhere. These aberrant equines lacked riders. If so, who ran this circus? Did the town’s folk abandon this place and their ponies escaped? No, excluding the fires, the buildings appeared pristine enough and regularly maintained- unless it’d happened recently, a notion Finn weakly believed. ‘Costumes? Ah, don’t be ridiculous. I’m not hallucinating (hopefully). Undiscovered animals?’ Finn persistently formulated speculation after speculation, each one more silly and outlandish than the last, biting his bottom lip.

Then, an unexpected sight demanded his attention.

Streaking upward like a speeding cannonball, Finn’s surprise heightened once he refocused and discovered…a winged pony.

Before he started forging any further inquiries, two other winged creatures gave chase, effortlessly erasing the minuscule distance the first winged pony achieved and- “Dear God.” -Wordlessly, breathless abhorrence escaped his slack-jawed mouth. Brandishing blades, the dual chasers speared the winged pony from behind, their target immediately falling limp. As they hauled the unmoving pony away, the binoculars left Finn’s stunned eyes, which settled on James.

“Can you make sense of this?” James asked.

“Boy, I can’t make heads or tails of this.” Sitting on his knees, Finn’s observations carried onward, vigorously collecting every minute detail he discovered. “But, if there's a town, you can bet your boots there's food and water aplenty. We're headed down that way.” He exclaimed.

Confounded by Finn’s sudden and brash course of action, James stammered but found his bewildered voice. “H-Huh?! No way, sir, we can’t!” Hurting his ears with his shouting, Finn threw James an annoyed glare. “Sorry. B-B- But you can’t be serious. You see…whatever those beasts are? I’m sure as hell that they aren’t normal, non-colorful horses like what we ride.” He added.

“Ponies-?”

Finn's reply shriveled and died when James’s fist hit the ground. “Aliens!” He swiftly interjected.

“...Aliens? Really?” Finn openly deadpanned.

Partially lifting his upper torso, James pointed at the burning town. “Yes! Obviously! I read this book about ‘em waging war on us, and those freaks–.” Making a finger gun, the eccentric young man imitated getting his brains blown out, imitating a ‘bleh’ noise. “I also heard aliens come in all shapes and sizes. So, for all we know, these things may look cute, but we’re ants in comparison, our guns worse than flicking matches! Do you see the horned ones? They’ll skewer you.” He explained.

“I gotta say…have you gone psychotic, boy?” Finn exasperated, tearing the binoculars away. “You’re basing this entire shit show and pudgy ponies, which you’ve just now seen, on some crappy space-man storybook? We haven’t eaten a proper meal in days, and those pony folk are clearly in a bind.” He retorted.

James scoffed, “Who cares? Of course: they’re warring factions, fighting for dominance.”

Reaching outward, taking the rear collars of James’s blue and white-stripped shirt, Finn scowled deeply. “Can’t you see? There’s a black-and-white narrative going on, and innocent folk are being harmed. As much as I hate taking advantage of people's misfortune, we’re starved of options. Both sides seem intelligent- We help the scared ones, and then ask for food. At minimum, we Rangers serve to uphold peace and justice above all else, and it doesn’t matter who or what those terrified folk are.” Finn shook his head, ending his lecture by unhanding James’s clothing and summoning his Winchester. “This isn’t a game. Now shoot.”

“Me? Why?” James outwardly pondered, rubbing his neck.

Finn nodded, allowing his younger partner ownership of his trusty boomstick, stomach laying flat on the sandy floor. “These old eyes of mine ain't worth a lick for spotting nothin', let alone pinpointin' it. But when it comes to takin' aim, you're a better shot than me any day. I'll keep my peepers peeled, and you let them bullets fly.” Putting the burning town within his binoculars' watchful vision, James adopted a one-legged kneel.

Touching stock to shoulder, James rolled his eyes. “Aye aye, captain.” Inhaling a deep breath, the younger lawman lined his sights.

The sadistic earth stallion’s glutinous grin disappeared into boredom, Silverstar’s sweat-drenched body resting like road kill as his hoof bled freely, screams replaced by labored heaving.

“Darn, the show’s over, my brother and sisters!” Disappointed, his sentiments were shared amongst the crudely dressed crowd, who mockingly groaned or spat curses. “Let’s wrap this up. The Lord will suspect our plan and take notice of our absence. Steal, destroy, and indulge whatever valuables stand inside this town’s border, then we move out!” Releasing a triumphant war cry, the sadistic stallion’s entourage joined in, raising their explosive sticks. Bound and pinned ponies began crying and yelling louder, some thrashing against their captures.

“Hold on there!”

Interrupting their blaring call, every pair of bloodthirsty eyes settled on Golden Spur and High Ace, the former directing his metal-melting glare toward the stallion who hurt his sheriff, the latter scared stiff. “Don’t think we’ll sit by and let you destroy our fair town, partner! We Appleoosians won’t go without a fig-!”

Unfortunately, Golden Spur’s fight vanished when the sadistic stallion pressed his explosive stick to his muzzle, the wire-thin stallion’s pin-prick eyes crossing.

Black powder overwhelmed his nostrils.

Retracting the complex mechanism adorning the wooden frame's left side, the sadistic stallion's scornful gaze sapped any courage Golden Spur had. “Please, save me the bravo.” He rasped, “Ponies like you? They’re all the same.” Hovering his hoof above the oversized trigger, Golden Spur feebly craned his head back, closing his eyes in dreaded anticipation.

BANG!

Hot, wheezing puffs moved Golden Spur’s chest like an out-of-control steam engine, mouth drier than the desert surrounding Appleoosa.

And yet, oblivion never met him. Humid air encompassed his body, screams and the distant crackling flames packed his folded ears, and the smell of black powder vanished.

Tentatively parting his eyelids, the panting deputy took note of how the crudely dressed invaders completely dismissed him, including the stallion threatening his life moments prior. The source bringing about their shocked silence became highly apparent when- tracing the direction they were looking at -Golden Spur’s equally disturbed disgust materialized. Sprawled out feet from the sadistic stallion, crimson ichor soaked the abutting ground below a befallen griffon’s head, their limbs motionless and explosive stick discarded.

There…wasn’t even a sound.

No pony or creature dared make a peep or move an inch, awaiting someone else to break the looming quietness.

“A-A traitor?!”

Once the sadistic stallion uttered this half-hearted exclamation, all Tarturas broke loose.

The invaders tripped over their feet, scrambling, aiming weapons at one another, hurling baseless accusations of betrayal and sabotage, mainly directed at those closest to the unmoving griffon. As luck would have it, a few pony hostages managed to escape, Golden Spur and High Ace taking the opportunity to follow their example and escort them to safety.

Leveling his explosive stick with the cloudless heavens, and firing three shots, the mini-riot calmed, switching to its origin point. “Stand down! Somepony here is foolish enough to attack us. Find them, and bring me their head!” He commanded atop the jailhouse boardwalk.

Like ants, they scattered.

James clicked his tongue, hissing profanities as he cycled the Winchesters lever handle, loading another round. “Was that the leader? Shit, I missed, didn’t I?” Despite his expert marksmanship, James’s eyes strained harder than ever, tears slightly clouding his vision. Damn sun, why is it so bright during mid-day?!

“Silver fur, light-brown head of hair, ratty clothes, and making clown-worthy theatrics?” Finn hissed on his left, frowning heavily. “Fucking animals.” The older lawman witnessed what’d occurred and their little silver horsie’s barbarous act. Only if barely, Finn knew the injured mustached pony (he refused to apply sensibility by now) was also law enforcement, judging by its outfit alone. People who injured his fellow men- or stallions -of the law were undeserving of being called scum, especially if they did it for sick enjoyment. “Adjust three degrees west, two degrees south, and maintain your steady arm.” He instructed.

“See, ya little shit? Know that these men live false lives, bound by society's chains,” Smiled a scarred-mouthed devil, holding an abused man by his hair. “This’s what happens if you let those chains comfort you, boy. Look real close now.”

Pressing a blade to the man’s throat, the scarred devil painted his vision red.

Finn’s grip tightened ever so slightly.

‘Fucking animals.’

Chp 3: Eventful first encounter and the lonely colt

Nopony knew his name, why would they? An unimportant street rat with an unassuming visage lost within a sea of hundreds. Before meeting his lord, he’d been no different from every half-witted country bumpkin in Appleoosa, playing their songs and dances. Sure, unlike most, his past life hadn’t exactly lived up to any overachieving standard. But, nopony wanted to hear some faceless pony’s sob story.

Nevertheless, bubbling deep inside the sadistic stallion’s chest, regret fueled his rising fear.

Regret for abandoning his family.

Regret for ruining his life.

Regret for his sins.

BANG! BANG!

Going against his lord’s imperishable command bit his flank, hard. Somepony, or something, was targeting him. Utilizing stacked barrels for cover, he shakingly reloaded his rifle, the sadistic stallion’s vision swam, labored breaths and chattering teeth letting loose rounds fall to his unsteady hooves. An utter fucking joke. His crackpot plan all but shitted the bed, and he alone stood to bear its fallout. Their fires were extinguished by now, Appleossians long since taking shelter and fleeing or arresting their (still living) disorganized detainers, and law enforcement sought retribution for their injured sheriff. Worst yet, his brother and sisters, no- these dirty pack rats were dropping like the useless flies they were. Worthless pieces of dragon dung; how did his lord see worth in those fodder bodies?

“Sir! Please, give us an orde-!” BANG! Yelping, blood, gray meaty matter, and bone fragments erupted in a gorey spray, the minotaur rushing toward his position crumbled instantly, legs buckling and his mangled head crashing. Sub-zero chills rocked the sadistic stallion's body, the minotaur’s eyes twitching in his direction before ultimately glossing over.

BANG!

Another projectile disintegrating the side of a barrel inches beside his head, the sadistic stallion hauled flank, keeping his skull down.

An utter fucking joke.

‘Shit! Shit! I-I gotta get out of here!’ Narrowly avoiding another shot, he snapped left, hoping the rows of buildings protected him. ‘The lord will never forgive me, but I’m cooked if I stay here and fight! Hear me, Your Majesty, I want to repent!’

Mentally praying for redemption, he failed to duck a banana-yellow hoof leveled with his eyes, resulting in the sadistic stallion falling backward and skidding across the ground. Shaking off his daze and stinging pain, a lean-muscular stallion wearing a brown vest and stetson rounded his hiding corner, standing over his prone him.“Where do you think you’re going, partner?” Retrieving bundled rope from under his hat, the stetson-wearing stallion unfurled what turned out to be a lasso. “You with those hooligans mucking my town?” He added, sounding nearly wavered.

Leaving his query unanswered, the sadistic stallion quickly stood, hoisting his rifle without pause, already compressing its trigger.

However, no bullets were fired.

Faster than he could react, the lasso, seemingly alive, snatched his rifle barrel and forcefully yanked, ripping his weapon aside. “Wha-” Next thing he knew, two yellow hooves contacted his muzzle, staggering the sadistic stallion’s senses, and breaking his nose. Luckily, dodging the secondary buck and jumping back, he recovered a gambler’s dagger strapped to his left foreleg, conjuring an empty void of safety separating him and his attacker.

“Braeburn. Nice seeing you.” He sarcastically greeted, snarling. “You still look as air-headed as you did years ago.”

The prime applebucker jeered, wrinkling his muzzle. “I can’t say the same, Shimmering Comet.” Braeburn, twirling his lasso, snarked at Comet’s foalish jab, brows furrowed. However, a subtle surprise infected Comet’s scorn.

He…remembered his name?

He remembered.

Bitterly chuckling, Shimmering Comet leisurely waved the knife between his teeth. “You were one of the good ones, Brae. It almost makes me feel bad for what I’m going to do.” Kicking off, Comet charged the prepared Braeburn, reeling his neck and thrusting forward.

Braeburn easily sidestepped Comet’s clumsy spearing, one hoof gripping a rope end, his mouth securing the other as he trapped Comet's unprotected neck, tying a sturdy- but not suffocating -knot while tackling the knife-wielding steed. Of course, Comet fought his weight, but Braeburn had practiced wrestling plenty of unruly hogs beforehoof, making it effortless to affix Comet’s tied neck and right forehoof together. Comet eventually pushed the cow stallion off, but, standing, he struggled to balance on his three free hooves with his head and hoof angled strangely.

Oh, and Bareburn’s rope was still attached.

Giving a single hearty tug, Braeburn’s free hoof nearly dislocated the hurling Comet’s jaw, causing him to tumble, which Braeburn fixed by repeating his paddle ball borage three or four times. Teeth and spittle flying in this and that direction, Comet’s disconnected mind didn’t fully register Braeburn relieving his grip sometime later and giving a finish buck, whipping his head back.

>~~~~~<

“Howdy, partner, you’re looking down. You want to talk?” He despised Braeburns smile, his can-do attitude, and his ever-present radiance. Comet hated every centimeter of Appleoosa’s prime apple farmer and his face. “I just ordered a fresh pie, you want some too?” Why? One, ponies like Comet had a snowball’s chance in July gaining such a positive disposition when their stomachs ate themselves constantly.

Second?

“Yeah? Well, alrighty then, come along, friend!”

He couldn’t resist it.

>~~~~~<

“Where’re you going, Comet?!” Trying to drown his begging father's words out with the drizzling rain, he gritted his teeth, refusing to stop. “Come back, I’m sorry for what I said- I didn’t mean it. You need help!”

Nopony would miss him, Braeburn too. “They’re all the same.” He hissed.

>~~~~~<

“Rise, and be reborn.” His lord soothingly ordered, and he happily obliged. “Reveal the cruelties of this world to its burdened children, and herald the coming of a new age of peace and unity. Burn past ties, forget binding faces, abandon your weaknesses- they have no place in our utopia, my brother.” Bowing beneath his lord’s piercing, yet benevolent, eyes, warm liquid traced tribal patterns from his forehead to his chest, ending above his heart.

And despite his gospel, Braeburn’s repulsing face ruined Comet's pleasant thoughts, dampening his content smile.

>~~~~~<

D-Did…his life flash before his eyes?

“It’s a crying shame, partner,” Anchoring his awareness of the current situation, he heard Braeburn solemnly sigh, shaking his head sadly. “You were the nicest colt I knew, Comet. What happened?” He frowned.

Bound, his hooves and head touching each other with Braeburn sitting atop his midsection, Comet’s bottom lip quivered. Frustration. Frustration seeped into every crease and fold his body had. Because he lost? No, he realized he never stood a chance. Because he failed his lord? Somewhat. In reality, Comet’s heart burned hotter than any sun, tears soiling his eyes, because an immense- borderline foal-like -loneliness dominated his thoughts.

He remembered. Braeburn, nopony else.

Starving, lying amongst alley possums and rats, balancing the thin line of life and death, Braenurn shined like his sole ray of hope. His Mom and Dad too. Comet hadn’t thought about his worried parents since he fled; where were they?

Hopefully, they aren’t hurt.

Withholding tears, Comet hid his face as best as he could.

“I-I…don’t know.”

He threw everything away for nothing.

“Show’s done, boy. The pony folk have it from here.” Storing the binoculars and rising, Finn dusted himself off and began walking to the horses waiting at the cliff-sides base. “Hold onto my rifle in case somebody gets funny and jumps us. Other than that, let’s go say hi.” James mumbled an affirmative response.

Messaging his burning eyes, James slung the rifle over his shoulder and shadowed the older lawman, mounting his horse. “I hear you loud and clear.”

January 14, 1912

-Day 3

I’ll keep this brief.

Regardless of James’s ridiculous ramblings, we might’ve encountered aliens- I’m reigning in my expectation, mostly to avoid feeling like an idiot later. I ain’t an expert on space men science and whatever junk James’s interested in, but colorful ponies with wings, horns, and, generally, off-putting proportions for ponies aren’t anything I’ve seen. Are there more? Their town looks human, but James and I are alone here, so I’ll assume it’s theirs.

‘Reminds me of home.

Anyways, these ponies appeared friendly- at least the ones getting attacked. We’re dropping by, to see if they’ll give us food and water, but I’m also making sure James doesn't miss any attackers. I hope we don’t frighten ‘em, the innocent folk, James and I have more than plenty of misfortune lately.

“Heads up!”

Stowing his journal and facing forth, the quaint-sized town’s welcoming sign greeted the stranded Texas Rangers, faded depictions of smiling ponies and apples border cursive lettering spelling out ‘Welcome to Appleoosa.’ James snorted, the obvious pun making his eyes tumble. “Huh. Look, you’re famous, boy!” Finn chortled, gently patting his appaloosa’s thick barrel, earning a satisfied nicker. “I’ll say, James, I’m shaking in my boots over here- what with this uninviting sign and all.”

Snorting at Finn's playful jab, James flicked his horse’s reins, sauntering onward, passing the evident, unassuming lure. “Let’s get this over with, old man.” Finn chuckled, maintaining an even pace beside his partner.

Suffocating suspense swayed their nerves with each hoof fall their mounts took, finding themselves trending unfamiliar, and potentially, hostile territory. Finn knew how humans were, meeting people who looked different- who’s to say the ponies were different? Forget skin color or cultural background, this’s an utterly separate species! He’d witnessed countless people who’ve clung to their vitriolic prenotions and caused harm because of it, fools caring about pointless things and making everybody else’s day worse. If most of these ponies acted no different, pleading for nourishment would be harder than he thought.

Turning a corner, Finn and James halted their horses, laser-focused on a rotting roadblock.

“This’ll be fun to explain.” James soberly commented, nose wrinkled in revolution.

The fly-ridden, bipedal bull’s corpse wasn’t friendless; multiple bodies littered the streets, red staining walls, wagons, barrels, and food stands as they rode on. Reaching what resembled a town square, Finn grimly tallied ten and counting, frozen faces of fear and panic etched into his thoughts.

How is it possible for somebody to fumble this bad on a raid? Finn encountered his fair share of two-cent bandit gangs and looney highway robbers during his service, but this was the sorriest incursion attempt he’d seen yet. Once his bullets began flying, they disbanded like startled roaches hiding in a basement corner. He could’ve boiled tea and taken a thirty-minute nap and it would’ve lasted longer than this.

Still, not all bodies belong to the aggressors.

Rare, but not uncommon, Finn spotted at least three regular, everyday ponies and counting. Missing signs of defense wounds- damaged forelegs, cut hooves, etc. -so it’d likely result from the deliberate, mindless killing or an accident during the panic. A baby wielding a revolver might not be as dangerous as a man with one, but it’s still a gun-toting baby.

Even the most brain-dead moron can kill, given the opportunity, no matter how experienced.

Either way, it left a bad taste in his mouth.

James exhaled shakingly, his gaze rotating on a frantic swivel, insightful eyes scanning the bloodied killing floor. “I don’t feel right- it’s too quiet. Where are they?” Searching the barren town square, Finn’s eyes settled on muted-colored wood walls, stone pillars, and an elegant sign reading Town Hall. Nearing the two-story structure, he climbed off his horse and ascended shallow steps leading to dual mahogany doors.

KNOCK! KNOCK!

“Anybody there? It’s safe, come on out!” adding a third knock, Finn stepped aside.

Seconds later, muffled locks clattered and shifted, unoiled hinges groaned as the left side door cracked open, revealing sun-washed darkness and the outlines of interior furniture.”W-Who’s there? I don’t recognize your voice- you ain’t from here, are you?” Unprepared for the timid lady’s cutting inquiry, Finn stammered quietly.

‘She’s avoiding looking outside.’ He thought, noting a light-steel hoof, thicker than his calf, tightly clutching the inner brass knob.

Finn corrected himself, coughing into his closed fist. “I’m, uh, Finn Cullen, senior ranger of the Texas Rangers. Are you hurt, Mrs…”

“...Big Iron. And no, I’m fine.” The faceless woman reluctantly said. “And I never heard hair nor hide of any ‘Texas Rangers.’ Are you one of them thugs who attacked us? Leave, you’re outnumbered!” Trimming the fat of her intimidating, warning tone, Finn detected traces of fear and uneven breathing driven by adrenaline. He’s lurking through a sensitive minefield with hairpin triggers.

Combing his beard, Finn switched to James waiting at the stair’s bottom. “Well, luckily for you, Missy, we’re not. In fact, I may be so bold as to say we, my partner and I, helped you lot.” The woman (mare?) gasped quietly, hoof flinching, “If we met face to face right now, I’ll explain ourselves.” He said. Removing the homespun star badge pinned to his shirt’s breast, Finn slotted the rustic disc between the gaping doors and pulled it back moments later.

The faceless mare, Finn self-corrected, either considered ignoring his invitation or contemplated hollering for backup. Surprisingly, Big Iron’s mighty hoof completed the door's sluggish outward swing, clip-clop, and fully emerged.

Wide ruby-red eyes started at his plain belt buckle, gradually rising and rising, her perplexion and mild wonder swelling until landing on his grizzled, warmly smiling features. A polished steel-colored, freckled pony three-quarters his size wordlessly stared, thick, braided orange hair coiling around her sturdy barrel like a sleeping viper, tipped with a crimson ribbon bow. Adorning her bulky frame was a simple white neck scarf and saddlebags, suffering past and recent damage. Weirdest of all, although he considered himself mistaken, Big Iron wore a picture of a mining pickaxe shattering rocks on her…flank. His eyes lingering examination swiftly ended after that- Finn Cullen wasn’t some no-good degenerate.

Big Iron, on her part, had the same idea- more or less. “You…sounded younger than I imagined.” Taken aback by her droning conclusion, Finn stifled a snort, snapping the gun-metal gray mare out of her stunned trance. “I- ah, my apologies. I-I say stupid things sometimes.” She grinned awkwardly.

“You’re alright, I know how it is,” Finn dismissively waved, “Honestly, I’d imagined you’d be more frantic than this. My partner, James Adrian, was.” He chuckled, pointing a thumb behind him, James and his mount standing just out of sight.

The massive mare matched his joking comment with a passive giggle. “Ah, don’t get me lying- I’m freaking out. This whole debacle just has me drained.”

Big Iron’s shoulders slumped, bags lining her glistening reds exaggerating her drowsiness. Momentarily looking past her, Finn vaguely discerned ten hunched, tightly bundled ponies cowering in the Town Hall’s darkest shadows, inaudible whispers and mumbling overcoming them, seeing Finn’s face. Outnumbered? Hell, nobody there came close to looking battle-ready. “Not to be patronizing, Ma’am, but you shouldn’t have opened the door. What if it wasn’t a kind gentleman such as myself?” He said.

The massive mare’s ears perked, “You showed me your badge? It looked like our town’s badges, so you must be cowcolts, right?” She answered, tilting her head in confusion. “And…you didn’t immediately stab me or blow my face off. Agh, I don’t know. My head’s stuck in the mud, sir.” Shaking her head, tired exasperation slurring her words.

“Well, I ain’t sure about cowcolt, but I’m a cowboy, or lawman, or whichever you wanna call me, Mrs.” Finn received a pleasant huff, “Okay, then let's move on. I’ll help you with your friends back there and-.”

“Mr. Cullen, we got company!”

Snatching his attention, Finn swiftly turned around and saw James’s frantic warning foreshadowed the arrival of two dozen or more furious, pitch-fork and lasso-wielding ponies dressed in cowpoke attire. His partner’s steed whined with confusion and panic, rearing on its hind legs as three ponies surrounded it, murmuring sweet nothings and glaring at James.

As for Finn’s mount?

“Claws or paws or…whatever they are in the air, now! Let these poor ponies go!”

Lost, washed adrift within their sea of large-brimmed hats and twirling ropes, lacking its riding gear, scattered across the ground. Some pony amidst their ranks spat, “Monsters! Purading ponies in provocative rags like uncivilized whorses!” They shouted in abject repugnance.

Big Iron and Finn exchanged looks, the latter grimacing.

Stars decorated the cloudless midnight sky hours later, peaceful rolling winds howling outside Finn and James' barred cell window, aged cider and salt poisoning the air. Beyond their relatively non-human-sized, six-by-seven, iron bar cells, the jail house’s somewhat bland interior radiated a chilling sense of stillness, devoid of any living being other than Finn, James, and their stoic friend across the wooden sea.

Funny, whoever thought of this arrangement must’ve been playing a joke. Silver fur, and brown hair, but missing his ratty garments, revealing elegant patterns snaking and slithering throughout his body, tribal marks. Hazelnut eyes endured an ongoing staring contest with the floor; Comet’s, as he learned from the yellow stallion who dropped him off an hour or two prior, bandaged visage nestled deep between his legs. Finn heard all but silence coming from Appleoosa’s terrorists since his arrival and after a quick snooze, his mind waged war upon itself. Righteous fury was an instant runner-up in that regard. This bastard caused numerous deaths, unrest, vandalized several properties, and showed zero remorse underneath his unflinching features.

A death sentence befitted his crimes, but Finn’s uncivilized and unholy self yearned for something crueler, to make this sinner pay and cry for mercy.

And, expectedly, his cooled, level mind contested with his primal feelings.

In reality, Finn isn’t one for beating kids to death.

Even if visible age varied from subtle to comically exaggerated between these ponies, he could tell Comet was no older than sixteen, maybe seventeen. “At his age, I’d be helping drive cattle like my Grandpa did and earning jack or fishing.”

Finn reminisced somberly, splayed out along his cell’s fold-out bench, the ceiling peering back. “I didn’t overhear much, but that rambling Braeburn fellow seemed close to the little shit, so they know each other. So, is Comet from here? Why’d he attack his home?” Appleoosa, from his first impressions (appearance-wise), felt inviting and cozy, not the kind of city slums or desolate boonies that produce sociopathic killers. Insistent thoughts kept his mind wide awake, eliminating any chance for sleep, not that James’s periodic snores helped, the younger lawman sat slumped on the back wall.

Minutes, hours? Time has no meaning when you’re caged and alone- what’s worth brooding about? Still, Finn counted each ticking second an unseen clock made, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, then mentally traced every faded stain along the cell floor and walls. When he eventually ran out, his hand mindlessly went for his side piece, only grabbing empty air, his and James’s supplies and weapons stored somewhere within the jail house’s guts. Fiddling with his belt buckle latch, humming half-remembered tunes, and snapping his fingers, Finn struggled greatly sitting still, let alone sleeping. And every time his activities switch, his eyes land on Comet’s unmoving form, unchanged or altered all this time. Who was he kidding here? If not now, he’ll wish James had knocked him out for a minute of rest later.

“So, why’d ya do it?”

The given question wasn’t spoken out of hate, confusion, or plain curiosity- just a mild indifference. Comet didn’t budge, but his left ear flicked in Finn’s direction. “You’re from this little ol’ place, right? I’d take it- attackin’ -your hometown isn’t some early manhood antic’s?” Breaking their drawn-out silence by half-heartedly chuckling, Finn sat, throwing legs over the ‘bed’s’ edge.

Comet’s shoulder shook with a snort, “What do you care, thing?” He spat, “Shut the hay up and sleep. I don’t have to answer shit.”

“Never said you have to. But it'd be nice.”

“Then why can I still hear you blabbering on?” Finally craning his neck, Comet shot Finn an annoyed glare, his eyes red and puffy. “I’ve been through enough shit today. My brother and sister are dead thanks to your freaky flank, I’m stuck here, and my lord’s…” Mentioning this lord person, Comet fell silent, regret filling his visage. “Yeah, I’m from here. Happy?”

Maintaining his reserved mask, Finn stood and walked to his cell’s bars, taking hold of their icy-cool surface. “See? That wasn’t hard. But you haven’t answered my second question. The hell you thinkin’, causing this mess? You might as well tell me, the way things’re heading.” He reasoned.

“Yeah, it’s also the reason I ain’t telling you anything. You’re a prisoner like me, thing; just because you got a fancy deputy’s get-up doesn’t mean I’ll play nice.” Showing the older lawman his back, Shimmering Comet laid down, hugging himself. “I’ve already ruined my life, and nopony’s taking away whatever dignity I have left.”

Uninterrupted seconds ticked by, James’s soft snores filling the void of silence. Gritting his teeth, a sudden bang caused the prone Comet to flick and roll around, seeing Finn and his fist smashed against the bars. “You little fucker! You have the audacity to make this about you?! Your 'brothers and sisters' killed those folk out there! Some families won’t be seeing their fathers, mothers, sons, or daughters because of you, their lives are destroyed, gone! And the goddamn gall you have to say ‘Oh, woes me’ makes me sick! If these bars weren’t here, I’d kick your ass until it’s black and blue!” Snarling, Finn pulled the bars, producing a loud rattle that’d startled Comet. “A joke. You are a sad, pathetic, joke with no punchline in sight, boy. You, and your operation. I’d feel pity if you weren’t so disgusting.” Adopting a similar, angered expression, Shimmer Comet left his bed and stomped his hoof.

“W-Watch your mouth, mister! Don’t go talking when you can’t understand what I went through!” Comet shouted, stomping again, “It isn’t my fault they died. Th-They probably got caught in the chaos! Besides, they might have deserved it!” His righteous fury began kicking and chanting again, tightening Finn’s hold on the bars until his knuckles turned white.

He snorted loudly, “You filthy animal. Why I outta…” Finn canceled his threat, releasing his choke hold and stepping back. “Again, why? Why in God’s name would you do this, boy? Don’t you have a family? Friends? Is anybody here you somewhat liked? What if they were hurt, huh?” Incredulous stating his bewilderment, Finn watches his cell neighbor’s short-fused anger diminish into smoldering bitterness, hanging his head.

Comet stumbled backward, narrowly falling if not for his rump catching the bed’s edge. “I-I…A father, mother, and…my sister. I haven't seen them for a long time, two years now. Heck, they’re maybe long gone now. My mother, she’d caught something bad before I left- I never knew what it was. Sister, she’s a machine with no off button,” He huffed, smiling sadly, “Spent more time breaking rocks and breathing coal dust than talking with us, but she cared. And my Pa…used to work for Sheriff Silverhoof.” Hearing the spiteful venom coating the sheriff's name, Finn lifted a brow but kept quiet. “Before we and the buffalo made peace, he’d helped protect railroad workers and patrol the town’s border. Man, he’d work from sunrise to sunset, and come home covered in shit, sweat, and dust; Ma yelled at him to clean up, tracking muck indoors. But…after Appleoosa’s and the Buffalo’s peace treaty came along and took a good portion of our land and Equestria was attacked, our town’s funds were running dry with us repairing destroyed homes and farmland. Economic depression leads to bit-pinching, bit-pinching leads to budget cuts, and budget cuts mean laying off honest working stallions who were loyal from the beginning.”

“Your daddy got laid off?” Finn knew where Comet was heading. As a kid, he’d seen Civil War veterans thrown aside like street trash, missing limbs and their minds, drinking or begging on street corners. Not to mention the whole financial fiasco in New York back in 1907.

“Yeah,” Comet nodded, sniffling, “Afterward, the watering hole became his second home. He’d…never get violent or anything, but it didn’t hurt any less, seeing his sorry state. We tried helping, but then Mom got sick, and my sister worked even harder than before. And there I was, sitting on my flank doing not a darn thing like a scared foal. Nopony knew our names- Dad’s name wasn’t even known despite his good deeds. They didn’t care, watching my father drink himself into an early grave, my sister working herself down to the bone, or my mother being bedridden! I couldn’t get a job to pay for medicine, and I knew very little ponies. I thought everything for us was over…until…”

“Until what?” Crossing his arms, Finn urged his cell neighbor to continue, which the stallion chuckled. “Until you left? Is it related to this lord feller you’ve mentioned?” Comet nodded, grinning.

The stallion’s head lifted once more, “I don’t know how it happened- it just did. I came across one of his members and they were the one pony who saw my plight and offered a solution.” He hissed, punching his knee. “If I joined the lord’s unifying crusade, I’ll be paid, and then my family could live better. My mother would be healthy again, my sister wouldn’t have to work anymore, and my Father wouldn't need to worry!”

Finn scoffed, shaking his head disappointingly. “So you abandoned them without saying a word?” He said.

“I didn’t abandon them!” Comet retorted loudly, “I told them I’d be leaving and that’s it!”

“Doesn’t make it less painful, does it?” The stallion recoiled as if shot, Finn directing his scolding scowl. “Your mother was sick and your family’s falling apart and you decided to run from this problem because of money? I give a damn if you think it’d benefit this entire town and the next over, money isn’t worth leaving your family, no matter how much.” The stallion stuttered for a reply, ultimately unresponding. Finn pursed his lips, painful memories threatening to arise as he took a calming breath.

May God strike him down if he ever thought about doing such an abhorrent thing. ‘Although, for that bastard, I’d slit his throat and cut off his dick before doing so.’ Recalling the scarred devil's face only fanned his enraged flames, Comet’s ragged groan thankfully distracting the older lawman.

Pressing both hooves over his eyes, Comet sighed, leaning back. “Dear Celestia, I-I just wanted t-to help!” He muttered. “Screw him, screw his idiotic cause. I wanna see my family again.”

“Pray to whatever god you worship, boy.” Returning to his bed, Finn reclined, placing his hand behind his head. “You’re right, I don’t have any authority here, but your fellow ponies do, and I’m betting they’re not as…forgiving as I am.” Sighing, he angled his gaze, seeing James fast asleep, regardless of the prior screaming match. “Quit your sobbing and sleep, I’m exhausted.” Comet’s sniffling marked his end, accentuated by squeaking chains and a shifting body.

Closing his eyes, Finn began drifting off, smelling the outside burning wood and blood.

Chp 4: Freedom at a cost

Author's Note

Hey, my beloved readers!

Sorry about not posting for a loooooong while. Writer's block, graduation, summer vacation, and a buncha other junk took me and my passion for writing away, but I'm hoping to return to posting more often. Thanks to vectorVII for reminding me and reigniting my interest in continuing this story. Again, sorry if this chapter isn't as good as the last three. I had an idea for this months ago that I somewhat forgot about, and this chapter was a quarter way down when this story went on a hiatus. I'll try better next time.

I hope you all enjoy it!

Chp 4: Freedom at a cost

January 17, 1912

-Day 6

I owned another horse when I was no taller than Daddy’s shin.

Its name eludes my withering memory, but I’d never forget its sterling white coat and blonde mane; Pretty and prissy weren’t my thing then, but denying its beauty would be a crime. That horse wasn’t some show pony, mind you. Pa bought the poor thing from a neighboring farmer’s grieving family two days after he died- left the horse and other livestock starving before his family returned from a trip to Canada. A plowing horse, I think. It’s not like it matters now. Damn coyotes.

I’m gettin’ ahead of myself. It’s been a hot minute since James and I were locked up; three days almost. Room service might require a touch of improvement and the mattresses replaced, but sitting, trapped, inside these cells isn’t the worst outcome I dreaded. Thank the lord these furry bunch aren’t killers. Albeit reluctantly, we’re given three square meals a day and the occasional look so they remind us that we weren’t forgotten. Also, Miss Iron passes by, even visits. She’s how I know the town we’re in is called Appleoosa. Two ‘alicorns,’ winged AND horned ponies, rule over as a diarch’s- whatever that means, but their citizens treat them no different than gods; However, if proven factual, moving the sun and moon qualified for said title. And aside from pegasi, unicorns, and ‘earth ponies,’ griffins, yaks, and hippogriffs, among numerous other storybook creatures, exist and reside in their little slices of society.

James didn’t look happier knowing such. And I’m right there with him. This cell is too small for us grown men- I think these folks didn’t build human-sized cells in advance for us.

I can’t say I’m experienced regarding these sorts of interests. My boy cared far more about fantasy than real life. He’d kill to switch places with me, perhaps.

Basics aside, Appaloosa’s damn near done rebuilding after Comet’s raid, which means sooner or later all that pent-up emotion, fear, and wonder’s gonna fall unto James, me, and our reluctant roomie. Big Iron says rumors of ‘grotesque monkey monsters’ are flyin’ around, and the Equestrian military may get involved. I’m hoping it ain’t so.

God knows we’re-

An interjecting click halts Finn’s cataloging to mark the arrival of Appleoosa’s deputies, High Ace holding their cell door open. “Alright…who-mane’s- is that what Big Iron called them?” Whispering his question while craning his head sideways, his lanky partner nodded unsurely. Finn held his tongue, correcting his jailers wouldn’t do him any favors in obtaining freedom, a warning glare swiftly closing James's mouth. “Oh, okay. Alright, who-mane’s, we’re taking a field trip. Our sheriff wants a little chit-chat.” Besides the shorter deputy's silly attempt at sounding intimidating, Finn nodded politely, beckoning James to join him as he stood, storing his notebook in his pocket. Bless Big Iron’s heart for grabbing and returning it.

Shimmering Comet’s input wasn’t added, his still form laid out like a dried log on his cell’s bed, breathing soundly, sleeping. “Come now, I hope those lanky legs of yours aren't for show, Who-manes!” Golden Spur beckoned impatiently, waving his hoof toward himself and the open cell-house’s entrance.

“Yeah, yeah.” Finn heard James grumble.

Soon, blinding light floods his and his partner’s sensitive vision. Being trapped inside for three days dulled more than their danger senses. Since their bandoliers, hats, weapons, and supplies were confiscated alongside their mounts, both men shield their squinted eyes using their hands, sweat already caking healing skin. The deputies stuck close by as they escorted the Rangers to an unknown destination, traveling the somewhat busy dirt road.

Several other ponies either working on repairs or simply passing by shot bewildered and cautious looks, whispers flying through the air.

“Golly, they’re stranger than Molly described!”

“Agh, beady little eyes, furless hides, and…tiny noses. Poor, ugly lookin’ things!”

“Disgusting perverts, parading their work whorse’s when foals are around!”

Aaaalright, it may be best not to eavesdrop right now. Speaking of, where did their mounts run off to?

“Y’know, ma’am, you’ve got some pretty eyes there. I’m Rye Catcher, yours?”

Finn’s horse gave a bellowing, passive whine, bumping into furniture as she clumsily tucked her legs, sitting on the bare living room floor of Rye Cather’s home. James’s steed sat nearby, chewing peacefully on a potted plant.

Rye chuckled, waving a playful hoof. “You’re funny.”

Never mind, maybe it’s best if he and James discussed releasing themselves from imprisonment and finding some well-needed lodgings. Those cell beds were as comfortable as the cave floors back home.

Rounding another corner and reaching the road end, a hospital- indicated by the large red plus sign above its entrance -marked their short journey’s conclusion as Golden Spur and his friend waited impatiently beside its doubled-door entrance. Entering, as expected, all eyes landed on them. Several ponies suffering injuries from the attack sat scattered around a crowded waiting area, a receptionist working overtime filling reports, setting appointments, and whatnot, looking as exhausted and spent as everyone else. Damn, why were pony buildings so short on the inside? Finn’s hatless crown could bash a similar-sized hole in the ceiling if he jumped hard enough, and James nearly grazed it.

“Outta the way, folks, comin’ through!” The spindly gold deputy commanded, sweeping a gentle foreleg as if performing an unspoken spell, creating a clear trail forward. Walking through, Finn noticed ponies intently judging them, flinching and looking away if he tried making eye contact. “Sheriff Silverstar’s up here,” Golden Spur pointed up a set of stairs leading upward. “Keep your voices low, Who-mane’s. He’s still recovering.”

“I-It’s Human.” James spouts, his older peer mentally face-palming.

High Ace, the dark blue, shorter deputy, raised a brow. “Huh? That’s what he said.” James went to argue further, but Finn’s firm grip resting on his shoulder and a stern look dissuaded the young buck. Dismissively shaking his head, High Ace nodded to his partner, and the four-man/stallion convoy continued onward.

Finn hadn’t found himself confined within too many hospitals throughout his life. ‘Too expensive, too far out from his parents and family home, and too frantic. Plus, death’s stench covered every square inch of one. Medicine, to Finn’s limited medical knowledge, improved drastically since his youth, but it didn’t mean he trusted the white-coated reapers anytime soon. His parents never had trouble taking care of him when he fell ill, why pay someone else to do so? The air here reeked terribly of alcohol and chemicals stinging his nostrils, tears flooding his vision’s corners. How can anyone tolerate this shit hole?

For his part, James looked no less crabby than this morning. Finn couldn’t blame him, getting imprisoned by cute equines and all. ‘I just hope he checks himself before doing anything foolish. Oh, who am I kiddin’? Knock on wood.’ He lamented.

“Here,” Interjected High Ace, stopping the Rangers before a door numbered twenty-six in worn brass numbers. “We’ll be outside. So don’t get any funny ideas!” He warned, his non-intimidating intimidation coming back full force.

“It’s-”

James was swiftly cut off, Finn’s cuffed hands seizing his bicep and giving the Appleoosa deputies a friendly smile. “We hear y'all loud and clear, Boss Man! You don’t have to worry about anythin’.” He reassured, speeding off with his partner, and closing the door behind him. Inside, bedridden and visibly tired, Appaloosa’s injured sheriff immediately acknowledged their intrusion and wormed himself into a semi-seated position. The recovery room’s decorations were as sparse as Silverstar’s person (pony?)- missing his red neck bandana, hat, and blue vest -sporting bedside tables and medical supply cabinets displaying unknown chemicals.

The exhausted justice overseer nodded an unspoken greeting, motioning for them to sit on two visitor seats alongside his metal-framed bed, which they obliged. “Mighty fine mornin’, sirs.” He coughed, covering his mouth, “Or at least, I hope it’s good for y’all, heh. I apologize, I’m feelin’ a bit sour recently.”

Somehow, Finn couldn’t shake an uneasy feeling, observing Appleoosa’s sickly sheriff. Or was he the one being observed? Something about Silverstar’s movements seemed…off.

No matter, Finn dismissed his incertitude and nodded. “Ah, no need. Thanks for letting us talk with you.” Finn replied, forcibly sagging his stiffened shoulders. “I’m Finn Cullen, and this here’s my partner, James Adrian. We’re law enforcement officers from the state of Texas, but I imagine you also have no clue where that is?” Silverstar’s head slowly shook, vertigo momentarily washing over him.

“‘Can’t say ah have.”

James, more rigid and stiff than an iron bar, leaned forward, hints of desperation and reluctance lining his weary eyes. “Are ya sure? Positive? Can you be mistaken?” Again, another head shake.

A frown bent Finn’s lips downward, sympathy flooding his heart. Big Iron brought some maps one night ago, one of Appleoosa and the second depicting landmarks and natural formations nowhere identical to Texas’s largely desert or forested areas. Hell, ‘Manehatten’s built off the northeast coast, and cities made of clouds and crystal! For all the fantastical and wondrous mysteries await far beyond this town’s borders, Finn felt James’s pessimism. Meeting and getting imprisoned by magical talking ponies was enough strangeness for a lifetime.

“Again, sorry Mr. Adrian, Mr. Cullen. Equestria’s been finely charted for centuries and I haven’t seen nor heard of such a place.” Silverstar added, sensing James’s inner turmoil.

“Likewise, magical pony.” Finn chuckled, keeping his voice light and charismatic. “Let’s just say we’re not from here and leave it at that.”

Unfortunately, Finn’s jest wasn’t received well, as Silverstar’s brow furrowed with suspicion. “Yeah, let’s. By the way, I hope you don’t mind me askin’.” Like getting kicked dead-center by a raging bull buck, Finn’s awareness returned to full force, hands tightly clenching. “It’s funny, ya know. The weapons those vermin used to attack our town with– they looked mighty familiar to your weapons’, Mr. Cullen and Mr. Adrian.” A sudden, thick tension made it harder to breathe, one wrong word, and this unwanted trip takes another turn down shit creek.

Carefully, Finn maintained direct eye contact while straightening his posture. “Do you mind elaborating, sir?” It’s always the same question, but it proved no easier to answer the third time.

Ripping away the sheets covering his hooves, Finn failed to hide his grimace. A thick cast protected his right frontmost appendage, its length shorter compared to its left twin. “Doc says I’ll never walk normally again, especially with a prosthetic.” He explained. Finn saw the same weapons that caused Silverstar’s emproved amputation, pale imitations copying Civil War flintlocks.

He heard a shot ring out minutes before Appleoosa came under siege, thinking James was out hunting.

‘I guess I was wrong.’ Finn mentally commented as Silverstar recovered himself.

Throwing the covers back on, Silverstar began violently coughing, only subsiding his spontaneous fit seconds later. “So, I’ll come out and say it straight like: Are you two connected to the Zebracian Liberation Front?” He repeated, his hardened tone never wavering.

The door behind them cracked open, its quiet groaning deafening to Finn’s ears.

Nothing left anyone’s mouth for what felt like hours, blistering, stuffy air adding sweat to Finn and James’s tight-knit brows. Zebracian Liberation Front? Whatever sick bastard thought what happened three days ago was considered liberation, Lord knows how twisted and sadistic their leader was. This lord person. Finn scoffed. Whoever’s behind this death circus act is, they don’t deserve to share God’s holy title.

Eventually, to his horror, James sharply stood, face contorted by unleashed anger. “No, we aren’t! How can you even say such bullshit?!” He shouted, righteous anger burning in his eyes. The younger Ranger stomped toward Silverstar, stopping mere inches away from a startled sheriff, pointing an offending finger. “If it weren’t for us, your town would’ve been destroyed, and more than your hoof would be splattered across the dirt! How about showing some gratitude, you filthy fucking mule!” Any additional ranting was swiftly ended once Finn regained his senses and roughly pulled back James, flipping around to face him.

“What the hell’s wrong with you, boy!? I had it under control! But, as usual, you’ve gone and fu-”

“You’re right.”

Finn’s voice dropped like sacked bricks, hearing Silverstar’s solemn voice, looking over his shoulder to see the stallion’s head bowed. “I don’t appreciate your foul name-calling, Mr. Adrian. However, Appleoosa’s a welcoming and accepting community. But we’re also isolated and overly cautious. Plus, I had to make sure you were trustworthy first. Please excuse my rash accusations, sirs. I needed to know myself whether you were trustworthy or not.” Silverstar chuckled.

Exchanging glances, Finn giving one saying their short-lived discussion wasn’t over yet, they retook their seats. His first words, showing his injured hoof, both were attempts to entice certain reactions.

James's outburst did worse than hinder things, but Finn would make it right.

He will.

“Don’t apologize. If anything, we're as overly cautious as you are. We’ve been lost and stuck here for nearly six days. Nothin’ other than sand and hungry vultures for most of it. I know I can’t ask much from you, but please trust me when I say that we never heard nor came into contact with these Zebracian Liberation Front fellers.” Finn confirmed.

Sheriff Silverstar hummed, a calculating face judging Finn’s expression before snorting. “Good. That might be the first good nugget of news I’ve heard all week. So, now then, pleasantries aside, let’s discuss business.”

It’s three past noon, the blazing gas sphere overhead bathing Appleoosa with draining heat and blistering light. Big Iron, storing a hammer in a rusted red toolbox, dragged her hoof across her forehead, breathing an exhausted breath. Despite her aching muscles yearning for relaxation, she smiled proudly as if Celestia’s radiant heat didn’t affect her- much. Living amongst open deserts and shadeless dunes practically required any fur-bodied creature to shave their coats short.

Luckily, not unfamiliar with back-breaking labor, Big Iron shook off her discomfort and itching shoulders as she climbed down a rickety wooden ladder and set down Mrs. Cotton Eye’s toolbox. “All done, ma’am! Your roof’s hole-free and repaired. Thanks for lending me your husband's tools- I would’ve fetched mine, but it’s mighty generous of you.”

An elderly unicorn mare returned an equally warm smile, leaning heavily on her cane and avoiding stepping on her injured left hind leg. “Oh, don’t thank me dear. You’ve run yourself ragged helping us. It’s the least I can do. Keep Em if ya want.” She pointed to the toolbox.

“Oh, I can’t, Mrs. Cotton Eye.” Big Iron rejected politely rubbing the back of her head.

Cotton Eye frowned, empty eyes reducing a once motherly gaze, her sights lowered and focused somewhere distant. “Go ahead, it’s not like he’ll be using them anytime soon.” She muttered.

Big Iron paused, flinching. Everypony around town had either the same or similar thing to say. Thirty total, and another twenty-two lucky enough to recover and see their families again. Her Ma and Pa weren’t too badly hurt- receiving cuts and scrapes from running -and their house hadn’t been hit by flames. Still, out of the three-hundred and seventy Appleoosian residences, she determined they were emotionally struck the most. ‘Dad’s eyeing the liquor cabinet again- I hope he doesn’t find the key, and mom’s hunkered down and gone reclusive.’ Big Iron thought as she politely waved off Mrs. Cotton Eye, who barely responded.

Well, that would happen if it turned out your once-thought-dead brother came back and tried burning down and purging his hometown.

“Shimmy, why?” She choked, absentmindedly wandering the busy streets. Had she done something wrong? Did she not do something enough? Big Iron worked her flanks off ever since her father was laid off. Maybe if she’d been there more, her baby brother…

No, she mentally snapped, shaking her head. This isn’t a time to think, it’s a time for rebuilding!

“Okay. I still have to help repair the barley’s windows, install new door frames for Saint Cavalier drug store, and build Rye Catcher a new stable. Huh, if ah’m rememberin’ right, he wanted a fairly large stable. Who knew a librarian wanted to start ranchin’.” She wondered how well his care is toward those ‘whorse’s’ they rescued. Golf-ball-sized eyes of obsidian, huge teeth, dull coats and manes, Big Iron’s sure they couldn’t even talk like regular ponies. Not to mention their monstrous height. Finn and his friend…ride them? The more she ventured this bizarre line of questions, the weirder they steadily became.

Suddenly, ripped from her thoughts, Big Iron fell and landed on her rear with a startled yelp, rubbing her muzzle. “What the?” She exclaimed, bewildered.

“Oh, I remember you, uh, Big Iron, right?”

Hold on, she remembered that voice. Momentarily distracted and forgetting her muzzle’s aching, the workaholic’s head craned up, meeting a familiar, middle-aged human’s smiling face. “F-Finn?!” Various variations of surprise ran through Big Iron’s mind as she stood, “What’re you doin’ here- outside?” She asked.

The older human laughed lightheartedly, outstretching his right hand. “Come now, you almost sound like you didn’t want us to be freed.” He joked. Big Iron sheepishly grinned, reaching out.

Feeling his digits wrapping around her hoof, it felt oddly disorientating how easily Finn lifted the heavy-set (but toned) mare onto her hooves without so much as grunting.

“If I wanted to see hairless monkeys trapped in cages, I’d spend time wanderin’ a Griffin zoo.” She retorted. “Say, where’s your friend? James, right?” Behind Finn, audible groans drew Iron’s and nearby ponies' attention to see the towering, lanky man struggling to haul three stuffed bags down the jailhouse’s steps. ‘Geez, how far did I walk?’ She thought to herself, James carelessly dropping the bags upon reaching solid ground, breathing heavily.

Eventually regaining the ability to inhale properly, James turned to Finn. “Would…It kill…you…to help me…move this shit?” He gasped between each breath.

Finn huffed. “Don’t give me that hogwash! I’m old and frail, youngin’s like you shouldn’t be whining about a bit o’ heavy liftin’!” There are traces of impish snark behind his mock offense, and James apparently knew this, scoffing and rolling his eyes irritably.

“Heavy lifting my-.” Ceasing his spat response, James’s eyes quickly scrutinized Big Iron’s existence before falling back into mild indifference. “Oh, It’s you, the…mare who visited us.” How come he sounded so unsure?! “Hey, while you’re here, can you grab some of this crap since somebody is too pathetic to help me.”

His request visibly annoyed his aged companion, “You scoundrel! You can’t go askin’ ladies to carry your stuff because you can’t.” He argued.

“Naw, it’s fine, Mr. Cullen.” Walking over, she bent down and hoisted the longest bag onto her withers, adjusting for the weight. “Wow, you weren’t kiddin’, James, what’s in here?” She openly pondered, rolling her shoulders.

“Our weapons and ammo” Finn casually answered.

“Oh.”

Nevertheless, disregarding her clear uneasiness, Finn picked the lightest-looking bag. “We also got our belongings and some food and ‘bits’ as thanks for saving your town. Sheriff Silverstar’s a generous ma- stallion. You’re lucky you’ve got such a kind person in charge.” While James picked up the final, fattest bag, Finn’s furrowed eyes searched down both directions of the road. “Although our newest problem is that we don’t know any place we can stay. Or what we’re goin’ to do next.”

Without skipping a beat, Big Iron Answered. “Oh! You can stay at my place.”

Astonishment weaved itself into every fiber of both Finn's and James’s visages, “What? We can’t do that, Miss Iron! You’ve done enough for us, it wouldn’t be right to barge into your home.” Big Iron giggled, covering her mouth.

“It’s a good thing I’m inviting y’all. So there’s no reason to barge inside.”

James just sighed.

Chp 5: Rocky start

Sharpened steel glides across leather-wrapped stone. Each swipe flings glowing sparks with wire-thin hissing, illuminating the claustrophobic expanse, darkness trailing its wide trajectory and enveloping stale, dry air. Even, solid breathes occupied the undisturbed stillness between every silent moment before another hissing glide. Soon, all noise disappeared. Silver eyes pierce even the room’s densest shadows, unreadable but judging; raising sharpened metal bound at its handle by chewed wood, a sturdy dagger enticed a satisfied snort.

“My lord, we’ve brought as you’ve requested!”

Those same silver eyes, sharper than their owner's freshly whetted blade, lazily peered onward. “Good. Leave them.” Baritone tones deeper than any ocean trench shatter the room’s serene stillness like glass during an earthquake, spoken without any sign of uncertainty or latent weakness.

Blazing heat and blinding light flood the previously inky abyss, three silhouettes clumsily entering through a square hole and falling to their knees.

“Oof! You sonnava-!”

“Oh, Celestia! Oh, Celestia! Oh, Celestia!”

“Mommy, I’m scared!”

Three voices dripped with primal fear, shaky and alarmed. Releasing the room’s folding entrance, one female and one juvenile scream rings out. “For the love of the gods, will you two shut up?! Screaming isn’t help-!”

Thunderous chuckling contained behind twisted closed lips killed the three newcomers screaming, “A leader raising their voice only proves their weakness. They must command armies with but a single whisper.” Warm light slowly revealed a near-empty hut, cloth walls adorned by weapon racks, and an iron chest. The three figures, all lions except for an elderly mare, ragged and heavily bruised, gasped, their eyes solely set on a singular body still partway concealed within shadow. “For you, General Leonhart, you can’t even control your collared whore and bastard offspring.” He snickers maliciously.

General Leonhart, a rotund, bold-chested lion, growled lowly while cavernous trenches formed between his brows, scowling at the shadowed being. “I’ll rip you apart, and wear your striped hide as a fur coat!” He roared, pouncing forth with practiced speed.

However, his rage-fueled attack was easily dismissed when the shadowed being’s bulky hoof effortlessly struck against his fang-filled maw.

Landing hard onto his back, crimson trickles down his shattered nostrils, a groan escaping Leonhart's busted lips. “I liked that about you and your feline kind, General Leonhart- your ferocity. Sadly, your stubbornness outweighs any drive you’ve possessed.”

“You bastard,” Spittling past the bloody pools filling his broken-fanged mouth, Leonhart directed his fiercest glare, but he knew better. He stood by, watching ashy pillars ascend, their touch staining the pure heaven’s gray and black. Smoldering flames drown out anguished cries as flesh melted from bone. Oh, he made the prideful lion watch till the last delicate second. “You may take my homes, my possessions, and even my family, but you’ll never take my pride. As a proud member of the Leonhart dynasty, I shall make you regret taking your first breaths!” The shadowed being rolled his silver glower superciliously. “I swear on it!”

Heavenly soft hair, maroon-colored comfort trapped surrounding an unworthy creature's rotund face. Judging its appearance, not even pegasi clouds held a candle. It made the shadow being want to bury his face deeper and deeper, submit to its dark-red depths, and never reemerge. The finest silks, softest of fabrics, could not compare.

A cruel, scar-tainted grin grew to split the suffocating shadows, gleaming unspoken intentions. “I’ll hold you on that, General.”

Grabbing his blade, the shadowed being intentionally crept at a snail's pace toward the bloody-gummed lion. At first, Leonharts face contorted with confusion, turning horrified once the shadow being’s hoof roughly snatched his luscious, somewhat frizzled, mane, a gleaming silver dagger hovering less than an inch away. Of course, retaliation was met, yet herald no release. Bandaged claws hid declawed paws, molded a rusted brown color, ropes binding his wrists. So, for all of Leonhart’s fighting, it’d been foal’s play for his captive to swat away his flailing resistance. Each tug and slash enticed an almost pained yelp, maroon mane floating downward onto dirt flooring as the elderly mare and lion cub watched from a corner. Tortuous minutes passed for Leonhart, ending with a final swipe and him falling flat, breathing heavily, his once stunning hair reduced to patchy, uneven patches accompanied by shallow knicks and cuts.

The shadowed being chuckled, observing the prideful general whimper and delicately touching his desolated head. “Now I’ve taken your pride.” He stated, dropping the final hair clump in his grasp. “I thank you for this gift. I’ll turn this into Zebrica’s greatest pillow.”

“No no no…”

What a waste of flesh. “Now for you, fair maiden.” Turning to the cowering mare, he extended his hoof, holding out his weapon’s handle. “This is the one responsible for your suffering- a tyrant intent and blinded by greed and worthless pride. I’ve seen many not unlike you, poor shackled souls forced into serving creatures of false rule. However, like those many unfortunate souls, I grant you freedom from your shackles.” The mare’s unfocused eyes gained some semblance of hope and shine, intently scanning the dagger's chewed handle.

Standing on tremulous hooves, stepping closer, she took his offer blade. “Strip everything from his sort- their power, their money, their status, and even their pride -and they become nothing.” Faint lines of chain collars and whips litter the elderly mare’s throat, back, and legs, scars barely mended by time despite their callus appearance.

“Wait,” Leonheart muttered breathlessly.

“...I watched as your men murdered my husband and grandchildren.” Tears streaked from her cheeks to her chin, lips trembling, facing Leonhart. “I watched you order assaults on my children's towns.” The lion cub tried calling out, but nothing reached his ‘mother’. “I watched your face, listened to your grunting on all those horrible, disgusting nights you’ve made me endure.”

“Wait!”

Looming over him, the elderly mare’s eyes shrunk. “I watched you have the fucking gall to label me as your son’s mother!”

“Wait! Wait! Wait!”

Nevertheless, Leonhart's pleas were dutifully ignored. All the while, the shadowed being briskly exited his tent, intently honing onto Leonhart's anguished, pained cries, the freed pony’s labored, angry snarls, and a child's terrified screams.

Outside, numerous ramshack tents covered deserted Zebrica planes in droves, nearly obscuring any hint that this land once housed peaceful grazing lands, now trampled and torn. Truthfully, it pained him, seeing his homeland treated so poorly. Past the expansive field of temporary shelters and moving bodies, amongst a pale-blue horizon, fading smoke wisps and ashes oversee smoldering ruins, burnt black and shriveled ruins. There’s no doubt they’ll remain for months or years onward, a repulsive mole tainting a natural beauty. Lions were prideful- becoming Zebra’s prime competitor over land and resources. Slaves, weapons, and whatnot were not disregarded by their filthy sort. Leonhart included- the worst of them. The general could’ve lived this day and those afterward. Sadly, drunken on proud ignorance and confidence, capturing the shadowed being’s brothers and sisters commissioned his coffin, and he drove each and every last nail until not even Celestia herself could escape such an impenetrable tomb called fate.

He made sure his final siege and any prior were slow and painful, driving a red-hot knife into their wounds.

Leonhart’s final whimpers sounded like a pitiful swansong behind him.

“My lord! I’ve come bearing urgent news!”

Irritated from being interrupted during his mediation, he wore a sly smile directed at an oncoming griffin dressed in wooden armor and ragged clothing. “Please, Grisha, there’s no need for titles when we’re at peace. Now speak.”

Grisha flinched, looking sheepish, then hesitantly nodded before landing. “Oh, forgive me…Zambia. We have confirmation on Shimmering Star’s location. He and our rogue brothers and sister are dead or captured by local law enforcement in Appleoosa.” Hand Zambia a rolled scroll tied with string, “Honestly, sir, if I’m allowed to speak my mind: I never trusted him. Should we send a strike unit to dispose of him? I suspect his questionable dedication and faith to our cause may harm us if Equestria’s sun and moon demons were to gain knowledge of our exploits.” He reasoned.

“And sending a strike unit would make our existence any less known?” Zambia retorted, “I’d wager Celestia and her equally conniving sister already are well aware, but they’re cautious, hesitant. Ponies dislike war and bloody conflict more than my hatred for their existence. They won’t throw the first punch. Sending a cover-up team is too much of an unnecessary risk.”

Shamefully, the griffon lowered his head and diverted his eyes. “I…did not realize that, sir. Apologizes. I just…”

Zambia raised a silencing hoof. “No. Save your excuses- only cowards rely on fabricated and useless reasons to justify their foolishness. I am not displeased, but you would do well to temper your urgency. Celestia and her kind play tactical games, and we’ll abide by her rules until we can insert our own.” He smiled caringly, lowering his hoof.

“Excellently put, Zambia.”

“Thank you. Tend to the mare and have her well fed and rested- we’ll decide her fate later. Do whatever with the cub.” The warlord ordered. Waving off Grisha, Zambia sat, letting the cooling breezing and small patch of grass under him to soothe his senses. Internally, he scowled deeply. Ponies. Weak, frail, and weak-hearted. There are those he deemed worthy of his kindness and hospitality for their service and loyalty, but they were rarer than gold.

Soon, there will be nothing to help Equestria, and Celestia will be alive long enough to brew alongside him in turmoil and suffering.

Zambia swore it.

“No, we’re not humoring this- this…suicide gig!”

James Adrian felt like bashing a hole in Finn’s head so all the stupid could escape and bring the withering coot’s reasoning back. It’d been one thing after another. Mysteriously transported into another world, almost succumbing to dehydration and starvation, saving a town, getting arrested by its populace, and now this.

Infuriatingly so, his senior superior shook his head and side, like what he had said was nothing more than a child’s feverous rambling! “James, we got to!” He repeated for the tenth time.

“Yes. We. Can.” James spat through gritted teeth, emphasizing each word by poking Finn’s chest. “The horse lady said earlier that their princess, “He scoffed the title, “might be able to send us home! Sure, it- it ain’t guaranteed, b-but it’s better than staying here any longer than we have to! I, ah, I have a family and life outside this Ranger business; I want to see my grandfather again!” What part about ‘free ticket ride home’ did this senile fuck not understand?

Apparently, none, dictated by Finn’s neurotic condition of shaking his head anytime James argued- it’s never-ending, this terrible game; one where he constantly folds. The younger Ranger had better luck breaking a solid brick wall using his fingers than being Finn’s voice of reason.

A weary, defeated gust rolls through James's lips. Without raising further objections, letting his weighted shoulders sag, the scene soon switched from a dainty guest bedroom to furnished furniture and open space– a cozy cottage’s living space. Two chairs centered by a small round table face an unlit fireplace, crackling oak scent still present, James groaning, sinking into one of the cushy seats. For once since his unwanted displacement, stress and tension fully wafted off his stiff shoulders.

When had he felt this relaxed?

Horses, ponies- whatever -were still outside and inside, all-encompassing this strange outback town nowhere near his grandfather’s ranch- his haven -is. Still, constantly looking over his shoulder, wondering when these colorful equines would drop their friendly facade and pounce, greatly drained his mental fortitude. He felt like a beast stranded, droughts trapping him on all sides, taunting him as he slowly submitted to death's unfeeling clutches. Hell, it almost happened days ago. Maybe he should be grateful for their hospitality, but Grandfather taught him how some particular folk may act one way, and turn the second you treat them. And James didn’t trust their kind one bit.

They liberated their town from terrorists and the ponies imprisoned them.

They stayed quiet and behaved, and the pony sheriff had the nerve to distrust them.

He agreed they would leave, but James’s partner had…betrayed him?

No, ‘He’s tryin’ to play the hero ranger again. Well, if he so wishes, I’ll tell his wife exactly why she will continue to sleep alone.’ James concluded, closing his eyes. All the old man talked about during their solitary stay was how he missed his family when Big Iron wasn’t there. Did he care for them? If yes, it’s one unhinged way of showing it. He won’t let him. James Adrian will drag Finn home kicking and screaming.

A light tap nudged his shoulder. “Howdy. I guess you and your friend were, uh, disagreeing? Hehe.” Parting heavy eyelids, the burly mining mare stood on James’s left, balancing two steaming tea cups and a saucer atop her fluffy crown.

James dismissively huffed, “Yeah.” He curtly acknowledged, wishing she wasn’t there- to be an illusion conjured by his tired mind.

Big Iron seemingly didn’t notice or reveal her reaction toward his bitter tone, setting both cups and saucer on the table before taking the other seat. “Ah, I’m sorry, suga’.” James shuttered, hearing the gross misuse of human nick-naming. “I, I hope you like my brew– Finn most definitely did. It’s, um, jasmine and honey; an old recipe Mama taught me when she was sick. ‘Good for headaches and belly aches, which is probably what you have, eh heh, judging by your sour face.” She teased, making James’s frown deeper.

“Why’re you talking to me?”

This time, visible surprise knocked Big Iron back a hair, her playful, carefree nature returning swiftly. “Well~, Two of my guests were havin’ a screaming fit everypony from here to Manehattan could hear and you left your room, slammin’ doors like you pay the bills.” Lifting her cup, she took a modest sip, drinking golden brown liquid and giving a satisfied sigh.

Eyeing his dedicated beverage, James awkwardly coughed into his closed fist. “...Sorry. For slammin’ your door. Mr. Cullen has a…special talent when it comes to pissing me off.” He spat. Hot damn, smelling her tea, cotton began filling his mouth. “Your town’s sheriff gave us this ridiculous job, and before I even got a word out, he accepted it.” He hastily added.

The mining mare’s head tilted curiously, ears perked up. “Huh? What for? I heard bits and pieces of your guys’ banterin’, but I ain’t exactly educated on this.”

Shit, there’s no out. “Uh, i-it’s nothing, really, like…like some nonsensical bounty work we could- shouldn’t give two cents about. Do you remember those nasty characters who attacked this place? Agh! Of course, you do,” Big Iron nodded with an even expression. “Nevermind. Point is: your, uh, sheriff wants us to track down someone who might be organizing these sorts and arrest him. I don’t know why Mr. Cullen accepted, it’s not as if y’all hor- -ponies don’t have officers too, right?”

“Right.” The miner mare bobbed her head in agreement.

“S-So…sigh look, I don’t wanna be stuck here. Mr…Finn seems so indifferent- no, bullheaded, whenever I try explaining to him that he has a wife and kid! Hell, if anything, we-we’re gettin’ paid for this gig- and HE nearly rejected it.” James let out a troubled groan, dragging a bare hand down his face. God, his eyes were heavy, pounding like pulsating puss pockets of drowsiness and eye crust.

Big Iron sipped her tea, then shifted onto her side, fully facing James. “...What happens if you can’t go home?” She questioned.

Hearing this dreaded inquiry, James grimaced. “Shut up! I, I don’t need those kinds of…It won’t! Just don’t go there!” He berated tiredly.

An uncomfortable air infested the air, leaving either room’s occupant unwilling or unable to break whatever fragile silence separated them. Big Iron longingly locked onto her half-empty cup, while James’s eye dashed and darted across every surface, not taking in his surroundings, but merely looking without thought.

If the fire were lit, he wouldn’t have these insufferable chills.

“...My…My parents died five months ago.” James nearly jumped but narrowly avoided furthering the strained discomfort keeping their conversation together. Idly examining Big Iron’s solemn features, she continued without pause. “Illness finally caught my mother, and- a-and with mah brother gone, ah, Pa just couldn’t handle it. I tried my best! I did!” A small, missable hiccup rocked her throat, mouth pursed and jaw clenched. “After he’d gone missing, they found him three days after I made the report. They couldn’t scrape everything off the canyon floor.” She shuttered, breathing a shaky sigh.

James sat silently, staring dumbfoundedly. Jesus, if he ever had an emotional whiplash before. “Um, you're pretty open about somethin’ like that.” He chuckled sheepishly. “But…sorry for your loss, ma’am.”

A hollow, humorless laugh responded, “Don’t be. It happened ages ago. Besides, ah’m the one who had ta watch my father's remains be shoveled into ah jar for his funeral.” Her hoof wiped away coagulating tears, a bitter smile replacing her soul-drained frown.

Needles pricked James's chest and hot coals broiled his guts, cold sweat drenching his face. He guesses that no matter where you go, shit’s the same song, a different dance. City life and country living wasn’t so different- despite Mr. Cullen’s claims. It’s just that people living in cities breathe smog and motor oil rather than fresh grass and horse shit. Everyone’s got something wrong, a tumor preventing a perfect life. Is it so wrong for him to feel bad for something- someone he doesn’t trust? It’s probably human nature, empathizing with someone’s tragedy. Why is she telling him this private information? Did she expect something?

James quickly extinguished this line of thinking; there’s no point in being paranoid now. “...Hey, uh, Miss Iron. I, uh, wanted to say-.”

“I’M SORRY!!”

Reeling from the miner mare’s volume and almost falling out of his seat, Big Iron had her two front hooves pushing her high on her chair’s armrest, her face strained and stone-like, carved awkwardness.

“Oh! Do-don’t mind me. Ah didn’t mean to shout…or bring the mood down. I get loud when ah’m nervous, heh.” She apologized, turning redder than a ripe summer apple. “What, uh, what were you gonna say again?” James realigned himself, tugging his shirt’s collar. Good thing he always kept spare night clothes for him and Finn, but their stuffy make wasn’t helping to relieve this unbearable heat.

“Eh, forget it. I wanted to…thank you For all you’ve done for us.” James forced out, “We’ll be heading out tomorrow most likely. Mr. Cullen’s not one for wasting time.”

“It’s the least ah can do, suga’.” She replied, finishing her tea and glancing at a clock’s ticking hands above the unlit fireplace. “So, ah hope ya don’t mind me askin’. Do you mind if ah hitch a ride with y’all?”

James turned to her, staring confusingly. “Well…my word isn’t as…validating as Finn’s, so you have to ask him. Why?” He asked.

Instead of answering his straightforward inquiry, Big Iron stood and retrieved her tea set, rounding her chair and stopping just before the kitchen's entryway. “....It’s complicated. I’ll tell you colts laters, just, uh, remind me, alright?” After James hesitantly nodded, wanting a better response, She gave a small, heartfelt smile and entered her kitchen. Tossing her drinkware into the sink, the heavy-set work pony rushed off, likely to bed.

Alone, the junior ranger switched his attention. As if noticing its existence for the first time since his equine host started talking with him, James’s tea sat cold and untouched, wisps of steam long since faded. Truthfully, he preferred cold tea, especially in hotter weather not unlike Appleoosa.

Taking it far too small, strangely human-like handle, James pressed the cup's edge to his lips and tilted his head back.

“Damn, this’s pretty good stuff. Reminds me of Granddad’s.”

January 18, 1912

-Day 7

Things are swimming smoothly thus far. Sheriff Silverstar was kind enough to offer us a Conestoga and supplies for our journey. James, as usual, is fighting tooth and nail for us to ignore everything and move on…but I can’t.

By God’s power and his holy name, I would dig through mountains and run across oceans if it meant getting this Celestia gal to send us home. I miss my wife's cooking, my son's face. My stomach’s doing backflips just thinking about it and how I won’t be seeing them anytime soon. But I can’t just leave these folk here and ignore the shit this liberation group is doing. Back home, it’s our job to maintain the peace and smack around any dumb sonnava bitch who would dare break it- it doesn’t matter where we are.

Maybe I lost it at some point, or this is all a dying dream I’m having. We’ll find out.

Also, Miss Iron will be joining us. I thought about rejecting her offer, but having more hands- or hooves -on deck will make things easier. Hopefully. Me and James are going to need every bit of help we can get.

“Alrighty! I think that about does it, mister!” Closing and stashing his journal away, Finn rotated around to find a weary James and a worn, but jovial, Big Iron behind the wagon, sweat glistening their foreheads.

Jumping off the wagon deck, blistering desert heat beat down onto Finn’s stiff joints and sun-kissed skin, his hat providing him with precious shade. He and James ditched their fur coats miles back, so both men were outfitted with their barely washed, dust-stained vests and dress shirts- sleeves rolled to their elbows. Weapons- Finn's revolvers and rifle, and James’s dual Borchardt pistols -were stashed alongside food and other provisions. “Looks like it. I could’ve helped, ya know?” He said, quirking a brow.

James, adopting a shit-eating smirk, chuckled. “I’m not a cruel man, sir. Someone as old and frail as you, heavy lifting? I’d imagine your bones would be grounded more than wheat by the halfway point!” He quipped, Big Iron including her own little snicker, making Finn’s eyes roll.

“Ah, don’t go throwin’ stone in your glass house there, Hoss. You ain’t looking too hot yourself. Climb on inside, both of you. We got time for resting before we head off.”

Neither helper raised an objection, nearly running over Finn as they climbed into the wagon’s cool, shaded oasis. Finn sighed, smirking. Letting Appleoosa’s rolling, dry breeze drift over his exposed skin felt nostalgic; no snow, no gray clouds blocking the sun, and no bears for naked partners to piss off. It’d been what seemed like years since his olden bones were properly heated, excusing the blisters and sunburns. Scents of apple and fur circulated the gentle breeze, carrying hints naturally found in open, wild areas. “Not much for farmin’, though. I wonder how these ponies ever began growin’ apple trees' at all. James’s the dirt digger, not me. What do I know?” Finn conversed alone.

Pst!

Peering left and right, a perplexed Finn spotted a cloaked figure poking their crown out from the wagon's side corner, motioning for him to come closer using a familiar hoof. “Over here.” He whispered.

“...Shimmering?” The name escaped him subconsciously, sounding halfway between genuine disbelief and abject disdain, both coated underneath a flat, strained tone.

The cloaked figure flinched hard. “Hey! Not so loud, Who-mane!” He shushed, anxiously double-checking if his cover had been unceremoniously blown. “Look, before you blow up, I-.” However, Shimmering’s explanation died swiftly within his throat, which found itself tightly secured between Finn’s clenched fingers as the senior Ranger shoved him down.

“James, get the deputies, we-!”

“Sh-Shimmerin’, is that y-you?”

Trailing behind James, who held Finn's rifle, contrasted the younger Ranger's panic with denial and pure relief- at least, those were some emotions Finn caught before she hopped down and separated the two. “W-What are ya…how? Are you… why…?!” A jumbled mess of words and disjointed sentences came spewing out, audibly withheld and bottled for years til this day.

Shimmering Comet peeled his hood back, revealing guilt-etched glimpses of his grimacing visage, diverting his eyes. “It’s…complicated Sis. I want…t-there’s so many things I haven’t said or done that I should've, and no amount of apologizing will repay my sins.”

“Brother.” She breathlessly said.

“I was stupid, thinking life was better after joining them.” The young stallion continued, breathing deeply. “So, the Sheriff and I came to an understanding. I’m joining you guys.” He stated.

Finn huffed exasperatedly, crossing his arms, James pumping the rifle’s lever- Shimmering visible flinched, hearing the sharp, oiled clicking. “For such a brooding loner type, you sure as shit tell good jokes. Too bad we ain’t laughing, boy. What makes you think we believe you, much less allow you to come along?” Immediately, Shimmering Comet conjured a thick parchment from under his cloak with his magic, handing it to Finn.

Huh? “A bounty poster? Where’s the date and amount?” Finn openly pondered, mulling over the monochrome image depicting a scowling Comet.

“If I get outta line or cause any trouble that he might hear about, Sheriff Silverstar will post copies across Equestria and alert even Celestia and her sister of my presence.” Shimmering further detailed, looking uncomfortable. “I’m lucky that word of what happened stayed inside Appleoosa so far. This deal I made, to help you Who-mane’s, is the only thing standing between me and petrification. If that.”

Not too keen on delving into what he meant by petrification, Finn nodded. During his short prison time here, he remembered idly reading bounty posters for outside gang members and local troublemakers mounted on a board near the jailhouse’s entrance. Checking Shimmering’s poster, nothing stuck out as being forged. For all intents and purposes, this piece of unsigned paper appeared legit.

How official his words were was yet to be seen.

“Alright, let’s say I believe you.”

James cut in. “Sir, you seriously can’t be considering this scoundrel's demands, right?” He exasperated.

Curse his words. “We’ll need all the help we can get. It doesn’t mean I’m willing to accept, depending on what you bring, boy.” Finn said, staring intently at Shimmering’s unsure expression.

“You have my word, Who-mane, I’ll do anything to get back at that crazy bastard.” Shimmering nodded, a fiery determination burning bright in his eyes. “Besides, my life and freedom depend on it.”

“Make one mistake, and you’ll be wakin’ home alone, get it?”

“Yes.”

Finn didn’t agree with one bit of Sheriff Silverstar’s plan, but saw how it may help them in the long run. Shimmering Comet would know things- important Zebracian Liberation Front outposts, their operation routes, number of soldiers. Even if it’s limited knowledge, any bread crumbs would keep a starving, desperate man going. Loading the remaining supplies, jumping into the wagon, and hitching Finn and James's mounts to the yolks, they began marching onward without further interruption. Buildings and ponies were soon replaced by sand, bleached bones, and faraway desert mountains.

He practically envisioned a thick wall of animosity and distrust built between James and their new crew member, sitting face-to-face, subtly scowling.

If they hoped to survive this journey, then they’d need to share the breadcrumbs.

However, Finn wondered who was the most desperate man amongst them.

Chp 6: Dodge Junction

January 20

-Day 9

I had a dream last night…more like a nightmare.

Recalling it now, it’s foggier than a misty midnight. But I saw his face, a face I will forget until uttering my final breath. His scarred lips, those demonic eyes filled with utter hatred and sadism; despite my beliefs, I never once thought that satan walked the living world disguised as God’s precious creations.

Yet, remembering him, reminds me that there are things worse than the devil living among us humans.

Never mind that, anywho. He’s dead now, and we're all better off for it.

My crew and I stopped two days out from Appleoosa- no sign of civilization yet. Shimmering pointed out a town not too far, hosting some Liberation members, scouts, who’re judging whether or not it’d be worth raiding. It also turns out that it’s where Shimmering and his dead buddies wandered into Appleoosa from. He’d convinced them prior and broke off once those who weren’t defecting turned their attention elsewhere. So, hopefully, our welcoming committee won’t be too paranoid and attack us on sight, especially with Shimmering tagging along.

Thinking it over, I realize this whole ordeal may be harder than I thought. Shimmering’s an outlaw (basically). James and I are towering hairless monkeys to ponies and stick out like sore thumbs. Mrs. Iron is the sole ‘normal’ member void of attracting unwanted attention. Getting anywhere, especially when things ‘re stirred up, won’t be easy, so to speak.

We’ll figure something out after the day breaks. Camp’s set and the tents are erected. We only brought three, so Shimmering’s sharing Big Iron’s for now.

Imagine James and him splitting a tent- how much sleep would we lose?

There was an immediate, glaring issue Finn’s entourage was currently facing- dietary costumes.

Ponies, by their nature, are herbivores- anyone who spent more than thirty minutes around equines knew as such. Home-bred ponies and Equestrian ponies are similar in that regard. Humans, in contrast, can theoretically live exclusively off fruits and vegetables, but meat is vital for maintaining energy. Without it, Finn’s aging self wouldn’t be ten feet near a saddle or firearm, bedridden and frail.

Sadly, since the buffalo James proved cumbersome due to its sheer mass, he’d been forced to abandon any leftover meat he couldn’t carry. And whatever they took didn’t last.

So, logically speaking, hunting for food comes next.

Sadly-

“I-I can’t believe you two.” Across a crackling, dancing campfire, Big Iron appeared ready to empty her stomach and faint, face pale, caked with glistening sweat illuminated by crackling flames. Eyeing the skinned lizards ran through by sticks positioned over the flame, sizzling and cooking, she shuddered. Shimmering, the cold-blooded killer and monster he (still?) was, looked no better.

James sighed, clearly disgruntled. “How many times do I have to say this? If you two don’t like us eating meat, go eat your fruit bowls in your tent.” The words sounded rehearsed, spoken with little to no enthusiasm or weight. Bags weighed James’s eyes, solely focused on his and Finn’s first real meal- not entirely consistent with greenery goods- in days. “It’s bad enough we got scrapes from these lizards, and they’ll be bland too. ‘No reason to use spices on something so minuscule.” He bemoaned. Hares littered the area hours ago, but Big Iron…heavily disagreed on eating them; lizards were what they settled on- for now.

Closing his journal, Finn huffed, taking refuge near the crowded flame. “Be glad we found something, boy. I’m all for eating sweet fruits, but it isn’t my thing.” He chuckled, patting his knee.

“I bet your veins look like clogged sewer pipes.” James deadpanned, earning a hearty laugh from his older companion.

“...Is it any good?”

Three pairs of eyes widened, shooting their stunned looks toward Shimmering Comet, bundled underneath his cloak and intently staring at the cooking lizard meat. “Several creatures ate meat when I wandered around the liberation camps. I-I’m not fond of its smell…but tasting is an entirely different thing, y’know?” He muttered, shrugging impassively.

Big Iron shot up, “H-How can you ask somthin’ like that, Shimmerin’?!” The young stallion leaned back, squinting. “Ponies can’t eat meat! It’s just wrong!” She scolded loudly.

“Come on, Sis. You can’t tell me you wondered as well!” Shimmering retorted.

“N-No!” Big Iron answered hesitantly, an embarrassed blush forcing her to turn away. “It’s weird.”

“You’re weird.”

“Says the one thinking about eating meat!”

Finally, Finn raised his hands and flagged down the bickering siblings, while James struggled to suppress his laughter. “Simmer down you two! Let’s not get into a debate on whether ponies should eat meat or not.” After sharing a look, Shimmering and Big Iron fell silent, the former sitting down. “Although…I’ve seen horses back home eat snakes and mice. Perhaps it ain’t all too different here. The ability to digest meat, that is.”

A low neigh sound behind the wagon past their tent, Shimmering’s ears flicking in the same direction. “Why do you keep calling them Whorses? A little rude, ya think?” He stated, frowning.

“There’s. No. Point.” James muttered repeatedly, hands obscuring his face.

Unable to resist deadpanning, Finn shook his head and picked out a cooked lizard. “Uh…let’s save this discussion for tomorrow, alright?” Neither pony raised further complaints, exhaustion evident on their faces. It’s another funny quirk Finn noticed ponies possessed, their easily read expressions- hell, an Equestrian would most likely go broke from one poker game. It’s traits brought upon by wider eyes, he reckoned. They held more emotion. Nevertheless, Finn’s mind was less occupied with pony faces than his growling stomach, the freshly cooked lizard smelling vaguely of earthy musk and chicken intensifying his hunger.

After finishing their respective meals, Shimmering Comet hesitantly rejecting his meat taste test under Big Iron’s piercing gaze, they all retired for tonight, snuffing the fire. Hopefully, when Finn woke up, things smoothed out.

Unfortunately, they did not.

Firstly, good news.

James partially explained why horses WEREN’T oversized pony prostitutes or sex slaves, didn’t talk, and what their riding gear did. It still didn’t help them understand how Who-mane wasn’t correct either, but one step before the next.

Also, the town Shimmering mentioned stood a mile ahead!

The bad news?

“State your business, strangers! I’m not afraid to use this!” Shakenly ordered a shouting pony dress in ragged leather, armor plating, and a repurposed- what Big Iron saw as -royal guard helmet. This imposing character peered downward at them, stationed high behind erected walls constructed from scrap and junk. Painted faces, vulgar messages, and point appendages poking through the wall's gaps made Finn ponder if these folk weren’t too appreciative of newcomers.

However, what concerned him and his partners more was looking alongside the antsy guard's sights, its rear resting on his cheek.

Another liberation rifle.

Raising a submissive hand, Finn smiled cautiously. “Hey there friend! Sorry for startling you.” He greeted.

“I ain’t your f-friend, freak!”

He ignored the blatant insult, “We were passing through looking for refuge ‘Supplies is runnin’ low, so it’d be kind of you to open this gate.” Truthfully, they had two days worth of consumables left, but restocking never hurt anybody.

A sharp crack shattered the still desert air, newly given pain cutting across his left cheek, blood trickling onto his lower jaw and shirt.

Smoke billows from the rifle's shaking barrel, the guard's wide, terrified eyes reflecting an inferno of rage. “NO! We ain’t fallin’ for that again, freak! We let your buddies inside and they ruined us once. Wild Wind won’t let it happen, he won’t! Turn around and leave us ALONE!” Spittle flew past his snarling lips, tears glazing his unfocused eyes. “Go away! Go away! Go away!” He demanded frantically. The first shot was his first and only warning, and Finn doubted this feller’s obvious distress hindered his sharpshooting abilities. Behind him, James primed his rifle while Big Iron protectively shielded her brother, said brother appearing unsure and panicked.

Taking the golf ball-sized hole centimeters from James's legs as reassurance, Finn returned his attention. “A-Alright, partner. I won’t settle here if you don’t want us to.” He carefully said, inching a hand closer to his holstered sidearm.

“Alright everypony, take five!”

An audible click followed the unexpected new voice, the guard yelping loudly as he jumped. Thank God this idiot didn’t have one of those newer automatic rifles. How did Finn not notice? Regardless, a slender peach-colored mare appeared, approaching the spooked gate guardian’s side, resting a comforting hoof on his wither.

The guard turned to the lanky mare, “Mrs. Marian! W-Why are you-?” Her hoof left his shoulder, wordlessly signaling for him to stop talking.

“Worry not, Clean Streak, I was simply passing through.” Mrs. Marian’s voice rang softly like a gentle river flow, but Finn caught firm undertones lining her tone. Strangely enough, this soft-spoken mare reminded him of his aunt. Blondie hair tied into a hair bun, reading glasses, and those clam yellow-brown eyes. “My injuries are nothing to be concerned about. You, on the other hoof, should go rest for now. I’ll have Brigade take your post.” Clean Streak looked conflicted- whether he should reject her offer or not. Ultimately, he nodded, stealing one last glance toward Finn’s gang and walking off.

Strapping out and onto the ground, James stored his rifle over his shoulder. “Hey, Finn, you sure we’re supposed to be here? This isn’t looking good so far.” He lamented, grimacing. Finn returned a hesitant side-eye, shrugging.

Only one way to find out.

“Pardon us, Miss…Marian, right?” She faced them and nodded pleasantly, “Sorry for causing you trouble! If y'all aren’t accepting visitors, we’ll leave.” Finn said.

Marian giggled lightly, shaking her head. “Nonsense. Wild Wind hasn’t turned down somepony in need- thus far.” She replied jokingly, although there was a hidden trace of uncertainty. “I’ll have the gate open momentarily, and I shall accompany you fair creatures soon.”

With that, Marian’s head dipped past the gate's upper railing. “This isn’t good, or maybe it is?” Shimmering Comet spoke.

His sister raised an eyebrow. “Shimmerin’?”

The disgruntled ex-liberation soldier groaned quietly, pulling his cloak tighter around him. “This was swarming before I left. There should be enough soldiers to storm Ponyville easily! A-And this wall…it’s most definitely new.” Finn slowly digested this information, nodding in understanding. He’d also expected unpleasant company, which led to bloodied, drawn-out combat.

To feel cautious or optimistic, it matters only after the gate opens.

Minutes later, rusted wheels gliding across improvised railings pushed the towering scrap metal gate aside, bridging a gap connecting Finn's gang and three ponies. Marian, as expected, flanked on each side by similarly dressed guards, came close, stopping in front of Finn and James’s mounts. “Again, apologies for our rather unkind greeting. You see, some undesirables invaded Dodge Junction recently, leaving us destitute and frightened. Even following reinforcements and Wild Winds provided training, the after-effects remain raw and painful.” She solemnly explained, both guards shifting uncomfortably. “Besides that, we welcome you…” Judging her drawn-out ending, Finn smiled.

“Finn, and here’s my partner, James.” He greeted and motioned toward the guarded young Ranger. “There’s two others behind me, but it’s best to let them be. Travelin’s taken a lot out of them.” Big Iron revealing herself, no problem. Shimmering Comet? ‘Let’s not get ourselves shot at or banned when we haven’t even taken one step inside.’ Finn thought.

Marian’s small smile grew wider, “Pleasure for your acquaintance. I’m Marian, Dodge Junctions Librarian. Although, due to recent events, you may view me as Dodge Junction’s caretaker, of sorts. I’ll handle any request, complaints, or questions- that I have no doubt you have -you harbor.”

“Lead the way, Miss,” Finn said. “Are there any open lodgings nearby?”

The composed mare nodded, turning back and walking away, Finn’s gang closely trailing her six. “Unfortunately, if they weren’t destroyed beyond proper use, all of our hotels, motels, and inns are at full capacity- some even doubling as hospitals.” Again, grief flashed over her features, a subtle frown overtaking her smile until it swiftly returned. “However, we do have open stables we used to house livestock in. You can store your wagon there.”

Then, James made himself known. “Stables? What happened to your town’s livestock?” He absentmindedly questioned.

“Rotting in the stomachs of those who attacked us.” Marian answered bluntly, making the younger Ranger flinch.

“S-Sorry.”

If Appleoosa’s scuffled was bad, Dodge Junction looked damn near abandoned. Empty streets lined with torched, shattered rubble, some spots showing signs of clean-up; houses missing entire chucks, empty spaces where shops used to be, and ruined wagons littered all four directions. Worse yet, they came across a pony here and there, all almost wearing dried, bloody bandages, splints, or just exposing infected wounds to the naked air. Groans and sobs accompanied this tapestry of disappearing, residents wandering aimlessly with glazed eyes. Finn could hear Big Iron’s subdued gasps, her brother all but silent, as James scanned their surroundings. Seeing the Liberation’s aftermath, Finn seethed internally.

“Take whatever you can grab, boys! Whoever brings me the most expensive shit and the most fuckable whore this shit-hole has, I’ll reward you handsomely!” The scarred devil cackled, his bloodlust unbound. Finn stood frozen, mostly numb and cold despite the burning town surrounding him.

Dammit.

Slower than he preferred, Finn eventually stopped when Marian did so. “Here we are!” She announced. Four square boxed-in structures made of plank wood housed ten or so injured residents, cracked roofs providing their sole protection against the sun. Mud had long since dried, feeding troughs devoid of slop and repurposed into compartments holding miscellaneous items. “There’s an open stall on the very end,” Marian pointed out, “Just park your wagon behind the stables. Oh! Make sure your possessions are secure or nearby. Ponies here are…desperate.”

All Finn responded with was a shallow nod, allowing Marian and her two acquaintances forlorn departure. “Goddamn, this’s sick,” Finn muttered bitterly, clenching his hand holding the reins tighter. James glanced at him, lips pulled thin.

“You spoke my mind, sir.”

Shimmering Comet didn’t sleep that night.

He had stayed hidden within their improvised lodgings until Celestia’s sun disappeared, but it didn’t stop their pained moans and cries. If anything, Luna’s night amplified the already noiseless town’s desolate air, including the sounds of suffering.

Is this what he meant by freedom? Zambia preached non-stop about free choice, how no being, mighty or benevolent, could restrain the common creature’s will. How you can simply take back your life if you joined him- on your decision, of course -and helped create a new Equus. Shimmering fell hook, line, and sinker for his gilded promises, having felt shackled by life’s misfortune and whatever crap he believed then.

Did having an unadulterated choice mean building a foundation of bodies? Anger blinded him, tugging Shimmering along like an obedient dog.

And Zambia was pulling his leash.

Sitting up, Shimmering tired eyes checked his reluctant allies. Finn and James lay upon the dried straw they found during a patrol, discovering any important landmarks they felt they should know. Their weapons rested not far away, two smaller ‘pistols’ stacked on top of a sleek rifle, one much more streamlined than Zambia’s forces standard-issued weapon. Thank Celestia he didn’t have firepower just as destructive. The older Who-mane snored noisily as if somepony were strangling a sea serpent, James soundlessly dreamt, his facial muscles twitching periodically. On Shimmering left, Big Iron’s back hid her face, but, judging by her rising and falling shoulders, she’s suffering similar night problems as well.

The ex-liberation soldier sighed, “Can’t sleep?” He whispered.

His older sister hadn’t replied immediately, letting Dodge Junction's agonizing symphony play out longer than Shimmering wanted. “Remember those trips Dad took us on sometimes? The ones to Manehatten?” She said lowly, her voice dejected. “I’d always wanted to visit the entertainment district, play games, and eat junk food till I got sick. Then you come running, putting on your best shit-eating grin, askin’ me if I wanted cheesecake because you knew I wouldn’t say no regardless?” A weak chuckle escaped her, sounding more like a choked sob.

Try as he might, it’s hard resisting a faint smile when Shimmering recalled simpler times. “Dad stepped in, saying we’ll get some to go. And despite your later stomach ache, you ate half after we fell asleep.” He added, earning a slightly heartier noise of amusement.

“Funny, huh?” Big Iron said, shifting, “Dad had been there for us whenever needed. He kept you from doing stupid things out in town. He made sure I wasn’t overworking…I miss him.” Hearing his sister’s sudden juxtaposition gave him emotional whiplash, her wince clear without a direct visual.

“Me too.” Shimmering pathetically said.

“...I w-wanna, b…bu-but I can’t forgive y-you.” Big Iron’s words were broken between muted sobbing, her head and hind legs curling into her midsection.

His heart choked, causing a sharp inhale and pursed lips.

“...I know.”

Big Iron didn’t seem to hear him, continuing with feverish distraught. “You. Left. US!” She hissed, “You didn’t even say anything to us, didn’t try. Is this- “Her hoof shot out, pointing toward the ruined town, “-what you left our family for?! This mindless destruction?” Nothing left both siblings, skin-writhing discomfort filling the void between them. She continued. “You know? Dad went lookin’ for weeks after you abandoned us. I helped too, of course. We found nothin’. Mom was heartbroken, and he began drinking again.”

Instantly, Shimmering diverted his eyes when his sister began rolling over. What must’ve been minutes passed on before he dared a look. Big Iron’s puffy, red eyes produced endless tears streaming down her stained cheeks, her breath shaky and uneven, passing through quivering lips. He saw hurt, anger, sorrow, and guilt mashed into one, all confined inside her soul-crushing whimpers.

“Was it worth our Pa and Ma’s life, Shimmerin’?” She spat.

Surreal is what Shimmering Comet described this current moment. He saw Big Iron, his sister, as an immovable temple; no matter what, she pulled through, never complaining once, wanting for nothing beyond her standard interests.

He hesitated, “That’s a foolish question. Then again, I’m no better, am I?” There’s no reality where explaining himself would do any good. What happened, happened.

Zambia was right on one thing, excuses were useless.

They couldn't change how filthy he felt.